#look at him spinning the ball on his finger what a king

[bluerosefox]

Bellatrix Star

A TaliaxDanny idea that came to me.

Damian, Bruce, and the rest of the bats discover the Talia al Ghul they had been fighting against, the one that cloned her own son, had the clone kill him, plant a control device in him when he broke his spine, etc etc was actually not the real Talia al Ghul.

Turned out Ra's had cloned her and killed the original when she discovered his little plans to take over Damain's body and she confronted him about it. Ra's had to make a clone when after tossing a dead Talia into the pits but never returned (he meant to kill her as a warning, as a "you may be my blood but will not hesitate to end you Talia.") It explains so much to Damian when remembers how out of nowhere his mother changed, her training him changed from harsh to deadly, the soft motherly love she would give him when behind closed doors suddenly stopped, the tales she would spin for him about his father no longer whispered to him for bed.

How this was find out?

Well it's hard to ignore the facts that when your foolish grandfather in his quest for immortality summons an eldritch being known as the Ghost King into the Mortal Realm and uses Damian as a sacrifice while his (not) mother watches emotionless.

When the being appeared, plunging the room from green glowing flames and the glow of the Lazarus Pits into darkness before a cosmos exploded to life, its glowing green eyes snapped open in the stars and stared at them all. Making every single one of them feel small, so very small.

It took a single glance around the room before stopping on the al Ghul's. It's eyes widen before a steel and firm look entered them. Just as quick as the cosmos sprang to life, it suddenly swirled away into a ball, putting them all back into the Lazarus room,and reformed in front of them to a more humanish height and body.

When the body, around the height and build of Batman, was done forming it took a step forward and suddenly as one blinked a man stood in front of them. Or rather floated. Snow white hair that flickered and wisped towards a crown made of fire and ice, glowing green eyes that held none of the madness but all of the power the Lazarus Pits could give. His clothing were tailored made that were tastefully a mixture of black and white with some silvers and greens, clothes fit for a King one would say. The cosmos that once engulfed the room had shifted into a cloak that hanged around his body, on one side more than the other (think like how CW wears his only the hood is down).

This, this was no doubt the Ghost King, he stood tall and regal and made everyone in the room feel the need to look down, to bow ones head for even just a moment. Even Ra's had trouble disobeying the urge to do so.

"Well..." the being said, his voice deep but not as gravely as Batman's was "What an interesting way to meet my In-Laws and Step-Son..."

He has said that as he looked towards the al Ghul's. Damian flinched back with a frown of confusion and disbelief while Ra's looked panicked for a second when the words registered into his mind, meanwhile Talia... looked emotionless and barely even twitched.

"What the fu-?" Someone began only to stop when the King lifted his hand and with a snap of his fingers a green portal appeared, it looked almost like the Lazarus Pits but it felt... cleaner? Less angry?

"My Bellatrix, my warrior star. I believe I've been summoned to your home dimension. And judging by the looks of it your father created a barely functioning Mirror of you and planned on using your son as a sacrifice to me." He spoke out towards the portal before holding his hand out.

A hand appeared from the portal, a slender hand and with green and black painted nails manicure to perfection before someone walked through it as they took hold of the Ghost King's offering hand.

Standing in front of them was another Talia, only this one looked a tad older than the one in the room. She wore clothing that matched the King to a T but even then, as always, Talia looked deadly in it. Beautiful but very deadly. From the heels she wore to the crown upon her head, a crown made of not ice and fire but of stars and black jewels. Her eyes were sharp as she stared at everyone in the room, frown on her painted lips, but her eyes lit with a small soft joy when she saw Damian only for them to turn poisonous when they landed on Ra's and the other Talia nearby.

"I should had know you would had created a Mirror of me instead of admitting to my son you killed me Father." Queen Talia spat out. "The least you could had done was not make my Mirror so cheaply, it doesn't even have a proper soul attached to it."

[izvmimi]

cw: smut, minors dni. brat!reader. angry sex that turns soft. not really infidelity but a little targeted flirting on the part of reader. female anatomy for reader. f! receiving oral. penetrative sex.

“You’re getting way too good at getting on my damn nerves.”

The door to your hotel room is barely closed by the time he starts his tirade, but neither of the Itoshi brothers are particularly known for having any type of manners, and the current state of affairs is that you’ve successfully pissed Rin off the entire night. It doesn’t help that Rin’s kind of a crybaby, and his beautiful eyelashes line red-rimmed eyes right now; in fact his whole face is red from embarrassment, and as you kick your high heels off, he’s glaring at you with aggravation, hands balled into fists.

“So?” you ask flippantly, turning to him with a flourish in your satin, form-fitting dress that seems to practically mock him. You don’t intend to spin that joyfully but it works for you tremendously. After all, Rin takes himself far too seriously and it’s your God-given task to cut him down to size. Flirting with his brother - well, barely so - has worked wonders for you. Rin is now so hot he’s practically ripping his shirt off at the collar as he tries to loosen it, and you plop onto the king sized bed in practical glee. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve provoked him like this and it works every time.

You don’t have to do much. Just a few heavy lidded glances in Sae’s direction, a little too much interest in whatever the asshole has to say, letting your eyes linger on his drink then on the curve of his lips for a little too long, shrugging when Sae disrespectfully asks you, right in front of his brother, if you’re willing to spend time with an actual athlete before declining.

There will be a point in time where Sae’s advances towards you result in his face drenched in sweetened alcohol, but for now, when Rin’s waffling about how much you mean to him despite being desperate for your attention, keeping you on his arm for event after event, you don’t have to be his ride-or-die.

But you can ride him. 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to prove but if you keep fucking playing with me, you’re going to end up biting off more than you can chew.”

He’s a lot of talk and a lot of energy as he tears off your panties, but he’s the one with his face shoved into your folds just moments later, sliding his tongue up and over and along every part of you, lapping up your cream like milk, drinking up your squeals and moans like sweet ambrosia. His arms are practically wrapped around your lower half, dragging your hips up to his face as he sucks and swallows, spitting on your clit the lesser half out of disgust, the greater half out of sheer desire. Face still covered in your slick, and practically drooling, he takes your lips in his mouth again and kisses fervently, pulling your leg around his waist as he descends on you.

“Stop acknowledging him,” Rin hisses. Your back arches as his cockhead presses first against your entrance, missing first before he re-steadies and slips inside you, biting your lower lip as they pull back in a wince. Your fingers claw into his bare back as he claims you, a shudder leaving his throat as he nestles inside you, warm, inviting, his, oh so necessarily his.

“Stop worrying about him,” you hiss back. “Focus on me.”

Your eyes narrow as they meet, but he’s softening as you look at him. The first few strokes into your center are fast, harsh, quick in the snap of his hips, but the next ones, with his eyes slowly filling with adoration as he watches your reactions, the scrunch of your face and the lust in your eyes as they roll back, are slow and tender. 

“Focus on me,” he whispers now as he rolls his hips against yours. “Be mine.”

Be mine, be mine, be mine. He kisses your neck, marking you with each press of the lips, each squeeze of his fingertips on your flesh, and he wishes you would scratch and claw your name into his skin if only it means he’s definitely yours and only yours and you’re only his, forever.

[bigdumbbambieyes]

lemon lemon lemon

Steve is confident that Billy is all talk when it comes to the bedroom - before they actually get the chance to fuck.

because with all the rumours and shit that goes around school, there’s no way that Billy is that good.

so, when Billy does show interest and Steve’s willing to at least give him a try, he takes the opportunity to prove Billy wrong.

he’s ready for Billy to cum quickly, to not be very giving or caring, to be into really weird shit — he’s not even expecting to cum with Billy.

but then, once they’re alone in his room, Billy’s kissing Steve so slow and deep that it makes his head spin.

okay, fine. Hargrove can kiss. whatever.

he’s laid down onto his own bed with such tenderness and care that he doesn’t realize Billy’s pressing him down onto it until he’s on his back and opening his eyes, his lower lip gently sucked into the blond’s mouth.

and Billy’s hands wander his body, just feeling and touching as he pleases, and it’s…actually nice. really nice.

and while the soft stuff is nice, Steve moans when Billy kisses down his neck and bites.

Billy gets a little rough then, but just the perfect amount. he’s calling Steve a princess, like he always does, and Steve rolls his eyes even though the name does have him chubbing up in his jeans.

they undress each other and Steve expects Billy to be quick about it, careless and determined, but no. Billy’s fucking peeling Steve’s clothes off him, taking in the view once he’s got King Steve completely naked, his hands roaming once again - this time, wrapping around Steve’s dick and making a crude joke about the size of him and what he’s done with it, stroking it nice and slow before taking Steve into his mouth.

Steve’s face turns hot as he chokes out a moan.

and it all kind of blurs at that, because Billy’s sucking his dick and he’s just…so much better at it than anyone Steve’s ever had. he buries his hands into Billy’s hair, gasping quietly as Billy spits on his dick before taking him in again, fucking slurping like a slut and he doesn’t even seem to care about things like shame as he works Steve’s dick.

horrified at the sudden realization that he’s about to cum, Steve stutters out, “w-wait, Billy, stop, m’gonna—” while he tugs on those blond curls.

because he’s going to cum if Billy doesn’t fucking stop.

but, he does. and Billy’s got this smug fucking look on his face as he licks his shiny lips, surging up to kiss Steve, and Steve just — lets him.

and he moans when Billy shoves his tongue inside, tastes himself there and it’s so fucking hot that his dick twitches where it’s lying heavy and hard on his lower stomach, smearing precum and spit across the trail of hair there.

“you gonna let me fuck you, king steve?” Billy grins as he pulls away, sliding his fingers down the length of Steve’s sensitive cock so slow that it makes Steve jolt a little. Billy continues with that filthy smile, those slick fingertips tracing down his balls and further, ghosting a touch over his rim, “you gonna let me stretch you out, princess? i promise it’ll be good.”

there it is again, that arrogant confidence that got Steve here in the first place.

and while he doesn’t feel as confident in his beliefs as he did in the beginning, because Billy’s mouth is fucking heaven, Steve wants to see what Billy’s got.

so, he spreads his legs wider and quirks a brow, trying to act like the way Billy’s just playing with his hole doesn’t affect him at all.

Billy chuckles and hums, “Atta boy.”

and the approval stirs something hot in Steve’s gut, like he made the right choice and Billy knows it.

the lube is taken from his bedside drawer and Steve gets comfortable, lets Billy settle between his thighs that are spread so fucking far it’s almost embarrassing, and waits.

maybe a squirt of lube and a finger is all he’ll get.

no.

no, he gets three fingers coated in lube and the tip of Billy’s tongue teasing his stretched-out rim.

and Billy’s fucking moaning, like he’s the one getting finger fucked into next week, and Steve fucking hates him because the length of the blond’s fingers are goddamn perfect and the press of them so deep has Steve sweating and panting, clenching around them just to hear the purred words of approval from Billy’s mouth.

“that’s it, princess, taking me so good,” and “let me hear you, baby, you sound so pretty.”

embarrassing shit that has his dick leaking all over himself.

by the time Billy’s pulled his fingers out, slow and careful, Steve’s more than ready. whatever Billy can give him, he can take — easily.

that is, until he feels the press of Billy’s dick, and then his breath is catching and he’s grasping at Billy’s shoulders and arms, his eyes wide as he gasps, “holy shit—Billy, Billy, wait—”

he expects Billy not to wait, to just take what he wants because he’s been nice up until now, but he stops. he doesn’t pull out because that’s not what Steve’s asked, but he does stop and he stares down at Steve smugly.

like he knew his dick would be too much for him.

that smug smirk has Steve pouting because fuck him. Billy isn’t going to get the best of him here.

the urge to prove himself right, that Billy isn’t a good fuck, is renewed enough that he takes a deep, calming breath and nods.

Billy stares down at him, looking him right in the eyes as he continues to press in, in, in —

it makes Steve’s jaw drop, his brows furrowing and lifting as Billy keeps going, keeps stretching him open like he promised Steve he would, and he feels so fucking perfect that Steve doesn’t know what he wants anymore.

not until Billy bottoms out, of course.

“holy fuck,” Steve breathes out shakily, his breath catching as Billy grinds his hips forward, pressing just a little deeper because he’s a fucking asshole.

“yeah, baby?” Billy hums smartly, “that feel good?”

Steve tries to glare up at him, but he can’t really muster up the ability to do it properly because Billy’s pressing down to kiss him and the way Steve’s dick rubs against Billy’s stomach is just kind of fucking amazing.

they kiss for a second, maybe even two, because Billy pulls away not long after just so he can push himself up and adjust the width of his knees, keeping Steve’s thighs spread open, like he can do whatever the fuck he wants—

Billy pulls out and the slow, hot drag of his dick makes Steve breath out a whine, their eyes meeting again once the sound is out.

“c’mon, make that pretty sound for me again,” Billy smirks as he sinks back in, both of his hands finding the underside of Steve’s knees and the skin is so sensitive it sends little sparks up the back of his thighs when Billy grips him there.

stubborn, Steve shakes his head ‘no’ but the more Billy moves, the faster his hips rut into Steve. he can’t help the way his jaw drops again and how fast his breaths come out, able to glance down at where they’re connected and if he were to lift his head a little, to contort just a bit, he’s sure he can watch Billy fuck him.

“mm, so fucking tight,” Billy groans, tilting his head back as if he’s really savouring it, and Steve watches the line of his throat through blurred vision—

he blinks it away, still clinging to that stubbornness even though Billy’s picking up the pace now, pushing Steve’s knees back and back until he’s nearly folded in half now, the sound of his hips meeting Steve’s ass slapping so loud and wet that it brings a new wave of heat to Steve’s face.

fuck, it’s good, it’s so good—

he can hear himself whimpering with every thrust, little ‘uh’s pushed out of him every time, and he’s letting his eyes close as the pleasure shoots through his body when Billy fucking stops.

“—pretty boy, right?”

Steve opens his eyes, comes back to earth a little as he refocuses his gaze on the blond above him.

“hm..?” he hums, blinking slow like a cat.

Billy smirks, “I said, you’re a pretty boy, right?”

Steve frowns, swallows thickly around a dry throat but doesn’t say anything because Billy knows the answer. he’s the one that calls Steve that in the first place.

“Say it,” Billy demands.

Steve frowns, clenches around Billy’s dick inside him, as if to tell him to fuck him again.

a hand grasps his face then, thumb and fingers digging into each cheek, and Steve’s eyes widen as he stares up at Billy.

“Tell me you’re a pretty boy, Stevie.” Billy mutters low.

Steve shakes his head ‘no’, as best he can like this.

Billy grinds his dick deep again, makes Steve nearly go cross eyed from how fucking good it feels as Billy growls out, “I’m not going to fuck you until you tell me what a pretty boy you are, Harrington.”

he feels Billy’s hand wrap around his neglected dick and that’s fucking it — with a whine from his chest and glassy eyes, Steve stares up at Billy and whimpers out a pathetic little, “I’m a pretty boy.”

the hard look on Billy’s face melts away at that and he coos, “Good boy, Stevie,” and begins to fuck him again, a hand still wrapped around Steve’s dick, “You gonna cum on my cock now? Gonna make a mess all over yourself?”

and it’s fucking embarrassing, the way Billy talks to him like that, but what’s even more embarrassing is the way it brings Steve to the edge way too fucking fast, like he really has no control, and it makes him panic because oh fuck, oh shit, he’s gonna do it—he’s gonna fucking cum—

he gasps Billy’s name as he spills all over his own stomach, tensing his entire body as Billy strokes him through it, praising him with a chuckle.

he’s so out of it, he doesn’t feel Billy cum, not until he feels it on his chest in long, hot ropes. and that’s going to be annoying when it dries, because his chest hair will pull and it’ll hurt but now Billy’s kissing him again, humming into the kiss happily as those hands begin to wander now-familiar territory.

he feels the weight of Billy settling on him and so Steve blinks his eyes open, realizes that he’s cuddling Billy now, and it immediately annoys him as the realization sinks in.

turning his face to press it into Billy’s curls, he mumbles like a brat, “i hate you.”

and it makes Billy chuckle, “why’s that?”

he can’t tell Billy. he’d never let him live it down; that he was able to prove Steve wrong.

and while he was proven wrong, Steve can’t be too upset about it, not when he’s still floating in that little high with Billy Hargrove kissing at his neck and cuddling him into the bed.

“just cause,” Steve huffs, relaxing into Billy’s hold.

“if you say so,” Billy smirks, already knowing.

he lets Billy prove him wrong again in the morning.

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐬

Pairing: Criston Cole x reader

Warnings: None

1.04

Feeling a sense of déjà vu, you place the brush in your hand, hear a knock at your chamber door, and call out, “Come in, Raya.”

You take a small amount of floral-smelling oil between your fingertips and rub it on the ends of your hair. Once your hair was braided, you’d be able to leave to attend a meeting with your father to go over the terms of Meera’s betrothal. You could practically see the wheels turning behind Otto Hightower's eyes when he suggested there may be a more suitable match than the one you had already made.

“Princess.”

“Ser Criston,” surprised by the knight’s presence, you stand. “I dismissed you this morning. You aren’t supposed to resume your duties until nighttime.”

“I’ve decided to decline your gracious offer of time off, princess.”

Amused, you shake your head. “I don’t believe you are allowed to decline me, Ser.”

“In truth, I would feel more comfortable escorting you and the young princess myself to the dragonpit this afternoon.”

“Very well.” You skim your hand over your vanity to your mother's old jewelry box, open it, and start sliding various rings on your fingers. “I’m assuming you’ve dismissed the king's guard posted outside my quarters already?”

“Yes, princess.”

Taking out the last piece of jewelry you’d chosen to wear, a gold herringbone-link necklace that was a name-day gift from Rhaenyra. Noises of frustration leave your mouth as you struggle to attach the latch at the back.

“Princess, allow me.”

Criston stands in front of you, holding his hand out to take the necklace. You hand it to him, then turn to face the opposite way and pull your hair away from your neck. His cold fingers briefly brush against your skin before clasping the necklace together. When he steps back, you let go of your hair and fix it behind your shoulders.

You look over your shoulder at him and say, “Thank you.”

He says nothing, but you feel a slight tightness in your stomach while his gaze lingers on you. The knight finally breaks the silence and, in a humorous tone, asks, “Is it a coincidence that you and Princess Meera are wearing matching dresses this morning?”

“She picked her dress after I chose mine.”

Your answer causes him to smile. “It must be the greatest of compliments to have a child that idolizes you.”

Lady Laena had sent various dresses in rich colors over from Pentos as an apology for missing your wedding. You’d chosen to wear an orange beaded gown; the fabric of the skirts is much thinner and flatter than what highborns in King's Landing wear. Meera’s dress was the same color as yours; it meant a great deal to you that your cousin had taken your daughter into consideration as well.

“Forgive me, princess,” Raya says, rushing into your bedchamber, flushed in the face. “Good morrow, Ser Criston.”

“Good morrow. I’ll wait outside until you’re ready, princess.”

You sit back down at your vanity, and Raya begins to section your hair into different parts to braid. You feel a slight tingle on the back of your neck where the knight’s fingers brushed against.

—

Your father sits at the head of the small council table, listening intently as Otto pushes his own agenda as expected. You were thankful Ser Criston was there, as you were short of allies in the room. You sat on one side of the table, while Alicent, Otto, and a very disinterested Gwayne sat on the opposite side. Your husband had remained silent while the queen and her father continued to ramble on.

“Why isn’t my sister here?”

Otto glances at his daughter, then back to you. “I wasn’t aware that you wished to have Princess Rhaenyra present during this discussion.”

You spin the green marble ball on the table with the pads of your finger. You weren’t a fool; yourself and Rhaenyra had already spoken about the Hightowers deliberately excluding her because they thought it would be easier to sway your decision without her there. “My sister is the heir to the iron throne, and my daughter is the link between House Targaryen and House Stark. I would think her opinion is rather important on the matter.”

Alicent stands, holding a goblet in her hand and a strained smile on her face. “I know you have considered several suitors, but my son Aemond isn’t much older than your daughter, Meera. I propose we betroth them and strengthen our houses.”

“A most judicious proposition,” your father says. “But as my daughter has already stated, she has accepted a marriage betrothal. The matter is settled.”

“Oh.” Alicent struggles to remain neutral as cracks of anger begin to show on her face. “Might I ask what princess Meera will be fostered at Winterfell?”

You take a small drink of wine for courage before standing yourself up. “She won’t be. After my husband’s death, Lord Rickon Stark and I discussed betrothing his youngest son Cregan to my daughter at length; they will only marry after Meera celebrates her eighteenth name day, and until then she will remain by my side.”

“And how do you plan on upholding this betrothal if the princess remains in the red keep?” Alicent asks.

The question itself wasn’t vicious or malicious, but the queen's voice was. Alicent looks at the image of the mother with her modest green dress and hair healed back neatly in a bun. It was mind-boggling how someone who possessed such beauty and intelligence could equally be ambitious and scheming.

“I plan on taking Meera back to Winterfell many times so that she remains familiar with her northern roots and the Starks have an open invitation to visit whenever they wish.“

Otto chuckles, “I’m sure House Stark won’t—”

“Lord Rickon is as much my daughter's grandsire as my father, the king, is.”

The Stark are honorable, and you weren’t going to break faith with them for any reason.

—

While walking in the godswood, you mumble to yourself in High Valyrian while twirling the rings on your fingers. It would be another hour before Meera’s lessons would finish, and the courtyard had become the place you go when seeking comfort. The entire meeting in the small council chamber seemed so pointless; all you had done was add to the Hightowers dislike for you.

“Can I speak freely, princess?”

“You may always speak freely with me, my good knight.”

“I believe you handled yourself better than most would have under interrogation.”

Ser Criston says this in a serious manner, but when you meet his eye, you both laugh. “I had heard how intense the Hightowers can be, but it does baffle me how opinionated they all are aside from Gwayne, who seems to have lost his voice.”

“Perhaps he knows his input isn’t warranted.”

You studied him for a moment; the shift in his expression was obvious. “You don’t like him, do you?”

“Do you?” Criston counters. “It’s not me who’s married to him.”

���Pity, you would have made a fine-looking couple.”

He chuckles, “Let us hope any children you bear inherit your looks and not Ser Gwayne’s.”

Your lips press into a thin line. If anyone overheard, they might have mistaken the knight's jest for a compliment.

[happilyhertale]

A royal encounter - Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Oberyn Martell

Summary: Daemon had a great idea to bring a breath of fresh air into your marriage. But his plans were thwarted.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Oberyn Martell

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; oral f receiving, fingering (f in v and f in a), p in v sex, p in a sex

Author’s note: To celebrate the one year anniversary of my very first posted story, I've decided to finally post the Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Oberyn Martell story.... I hope you like it! And… Thanks for reading my stories for a year! 🖤 I am very happy that you still want to read my stories!

English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 3.3 k

Other stories of mine

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You cling to the railing with your hands. Daemon's hands dig into your hips almost unpleasantly, the marks of his fingernails will be visible for a long time. His thrusts slowly subside and his breath comes heavily. A warm breeze envelops you, here on the balcony of your old chambers. You have sought a little excitement, escaping the boring ball that has lured many lords and ladies to King's Landing. That's how Daemon came to practically push you into your old chambers for a bit of excitement.

You are both still breathing heavily as Daemon slowly pulls out of you. His soft laugh rings out as he gently kisses your nose.

But then this gentle moment is interrupted as someone applauds you and a clap is heard.

For a second Daemon's gaze meets yours before he looks over his shoulder and sees Prince Oberyn Martell standing in the middle of the chambers. He grins, "Perhaps I should have tried harder to seduce a Targaryen princess after all," Prince Oberyn says cheekily. In one movement Daemon pulls his trousers completely up and spins around, his eyes narrowing.

"Oh, is the Prince of Dorne trying to make a pass at my wife?" hisses Daemon.

A gasp escapes you and you try to hide your naked body behind Daemon's. Your gaze wanders, searching for your dress, which Daemon had torn off you just moments before.

As Prince Oberyn chuckles, "No... But now that I've seen how much fun you've had, I wish I'd had it too," he says to him. Daemon's gaze falls slightly over his shoulder, seeing you trying to cover your body. He sees you reaching for your dress, which is lying on the floor.

He looks back at Oberyn and his mood suddenly seems more relaxed. He starts to button up his shirt, "I think we were just looking for a little excitement here," Daemon replies.

"But..," Daemon adds suddenly, "if you want to join us, I could certainly be persuaded."

You are pulling up your dress and frowning when you hear his words, "Daemon? Did you just invite Prince Oberyn to a threesome?" you ask him a little shocked.

Daemon hears your words, but before he can say anything back, Oberyn intervenes. 

"A threesome?" asks Prince Oberyn with a grin, "I would have thought you were a jealous husband rather than an adventurous one...". Oberyn's words echo through the chambers and your eyes fall on Daemon again. You know he can be jealous, but this time something else is reflected in his eyes.

Daemon chuckles softly, "We could have a good time in these old chambers here," he says mischievously, "It might make everything a little more exciting." Daemon turns slightly, looking you straight in the eye, "What do you think? Is the Prince of Dorne a threat to our marriage?" he asks you gently. His thumb gently strokes your cheek.

You are not easily embarrassed, but this idea makes you blush. You bite your lip lightly, the pulsing between your legs reignited. Prince Oberyn was a handsome man. No less handsome than your husband, but in total contrast.

"No... he's not a threat. I only love you..." you say softly to Daemon.

Your gaze drifts to Prince Oberyn and his mischievous grin jumps out at you. He begins to unbutton his shirt and his lightly tanned chest is revealed. It is a stark contrast to your fair skin. Gently he brushes his shirt off his shoulders, revealing muscles that are rather small compared to Daemon's – he is defined but slender in stature. You step forward and stand next to Daemon.

But Daemon's gaze follows Oberyn's actions as he unbuttons his shirt, looking at his wife. He sees pure lust in Oberyn's eyes, the brown of his eyes barely discernible – his pupils dilated with lust.

Daemon notices how handsome Oberyn is and feels an excitement welling up inside him.

Oberyn's gaze falls on Daemon's face and notices Daemon trying to hide his excitement, but he sees his eyes fixed on the scene before him. A smile spreads across Oberyn's face. Oberyn walks towards you and slowly kneels on the ground in front of you.

You gasp briefly as his gaze goes up to you and he smiles at you. His hands reach for your dress and slowly begin to lift it.

The blush on your face continues to spread to your cleavage. Never has another man been about to touch you like this.

As Oberyn's voice brings you back to reality, "The blush is much more visible on your pale skin, Princess," he murmurs, "No need to be nervous, you'll enjoy it"

You bite your lip, even though you don't want to be nervous, you feel it flood through you.

You feel Daemon behind you, his hands on your shoulder. His thumbs glide gently over the crook of your neck. However unfamiliar this situation may be, Daemon's touch soothes you.

"Well?" asks Oberyn suddenly, "Do you want me to have her?" 

Your eyes slide from Oberyn's to Daemon's purple eyes. Slightly peeking over your shoulder, your lips meet, "I want you both, Daemon..." you whisper against his lips.

Oberyn chuckles lightly as he lifts your dress further. You're not wearing any undergarments and as Oberyn pushes your dress up to your hips, your light pubic hair is revealed.

"Mmm, the silver hair of the Targaryens..." he murmurs, pressing his face into it. A smile crosses his face, the smile of an artist when he sees the masterpiece he has created. 

You gasp as Oberyn presses his face into your pubic area. You exhale heavily, watching Oberyn enjoy the warmth of your private parts.

Daemon watches Oberyn and a slight, excited growl forms in his chest. Your previous words, "I want you both," also add to his arousal. Daemon's lips gently touch your neck as his hands begin to slide your dress down from your shoulders.

Prince Oberyn lets his tongue slide slowly through your womanhood. His fingers gently pull apart your folds so he can fully enjoy you.

You moan as you feel Oberyn's tongue find your bundle of nerves and gently circle it.

A "mmhmm" sounds from Oberyn as he pushes his face further into you. Your breath quickens as you feel Daemon lightly bite the soft skin of your neck and Oberyn circles his tongue faster. Your moans echo through the chambers.

When Oberyn suddenly lets go of your warm core and you whimper in disappointment. Your eyes fall on Oberyn, who looks up at you. His lips are glistening with your juice. Slowly he stands up and begins to open his trousers. Meanwhile Daemon lets your dress fall to the floor. His hands slide to your breasts, massaging them lightly. His thumbs and fingers grip your nipples, teasing them lightly. His lips continue to caress your neck as another moan leaves your lips.

You are now standing naked in front of them both. And your teeth don't want to release your lip. As Oberyn takes one of your hands and leads you away from Daemon. You take a step and slip out of your dress, which is lying at your feet. Slowly he leads you to the bed.

You climb onto the bed and Oberyn, who is naked himself, lies down beside you and begins to caress your body with his fingers. You see how Oberyn's hot length is already aroused and unlike Daemon's, a dark ring surrounds his size. You can't resist, you run your fingers through the hair. Oberyn grins at you and now he lightly bites his lip.

Your eyes fall on Daemon and you watch as his gaze is fixed on you. A shiver runs down your spine as you see his gaze follow Oberyn's fingers on your skin. Daemon begins to undress, his eyes never leaving you. First his shirt falls, revealing his muscular torso. The scars from all the battles won litter his pale skin. Your arousal rises immensely. As Daemon undresses from the waist down and his arousal immediately springs free, you moan. The way Daemon stands in front of you and Oberyn's fingers find their way between your thighs is too exciting.

Daemon's attention is on you, the love of his life, and the tanned man next to you, caressing you on the bed and sliding his fingers through your wetness. Daemon comes towards you with long strides, gently sliding himself onto the bed with you. His fingers find your hips, reach into your curves as he begins to play around your nipple with his tongue. You moan again as his teeth begin to nibble lightly. 

Daemon's lips slowly glide up your neck. A game of kisses and light bites until he encloses your lips. You breath into his mouth as Oberyn slides his hand to your bottom and turns you to Daemon. You lie on your side, your hand glides over Daemon's chest to his neck while your tongues dance wildly around each other. Oberyn brushes your silver hair aside and begins to kiss your neck softly. His fingers slide down your thigh, until his hand reaches the curves of your bottom and grips firmly. You whimper into Daemon's mouth. Oberyn releases your butt cheek and lets his fingers slide between your thighs. You whimper again as he covers his finger with your wetness and slides it to your butt hole. He applies light pressure and your whimpering repeats itself.

His fingers are slick with your wetness, easing the way as they tease the sensitive spot. He wants to push you further, to see how far you're willing to go. Experimentally, he stroked his fingers against your hole.

Oberyn's breath hitches as your hips begin to move slightly. A soft sound comes from you and your bottom presses lightly against his finger, your slight gasp sending a wave of satisfaction through him. He pressed a little harder, his finger slowly sliding into your tight, forbidden entrance.

The feeling of you around his finger, it all fueled his desire, igniting a primal need within him. He let out a low grunt in response, his own pleasure intertwining with yours.

He could feel his own cock hardening almost painfully, aching for the intense pleasure that only you could provide at the moment. The sound of your whimpering, your vulnerability and need, only served to heighten his own desire to please you.

Daemon's fingers mirror Oberyn's movements as his fingers slide between your legs. His attention is on your clit at first until he slides them inside you. You hear him growl softly as he feels the walls of your cunt already clenching around his fingers.

Daemon looks at you with slightly parted lips, enjoying the sight of ecstasy on your face. "You always take my fingers so well inside of you," Daemon mumbles a little breathlessly, "just like my tongue... My cock"

You whimper again and your fingers grab his biceps.

Daemon growls again and his gaze falls on Oberyn, who grunts slightly as he slides his fingers into your butthole.

"The princess is so tight," Oberyn murmurs and Daemon feels a tingle inside him as he hears the words. You gasp and bite your lip lightly as Oberyn's fingers thrust deeper, his warm breath on your neck.

Daemon lets his lips meet yours again, both of you breathing heavily, his fingers thrusting faster into you, completely wet with your juices. He starts to insert another finger into you and you moan almost desperately. The sensation of your wetness coating his fingers only fueled his desire further, knowing that you are becoming more and more receptive to his touch. He elicits a long whine from you as he curls his digits against your sensitive walls.

You feel the fingers thrusting into you. But this time it's so much more than usual. Daemon's fingers keep rubbing over the rough part of your wet walls, making you whimper, while Oberyn's fingers keep stretching your tight hole, awakening the feeling inside you that you need to feel so much more.

You moan out loud and before you've fully realised it, you feel Daemon's fingers pull out of you and slide his hot length through your wet folds. You whimper slightly each time he grazes your sensitive pearl. You moan even louder as he presses lightly against your entrance and you whimper again at the thought of how perfectly he will fill you.

"I think the princess will be perfectly filled tonight," Oberyn whispers, followed by a slight chuckle, as if he can read your mind. His lips still pressed against your neck as his fingers continue to explore your depths.

Daemon thrusts hard into you and your walls give way to his size. Daemon grunts loudly as he's back in his warm, soft home. His large hand slides to the back of your thigh, but you are distracted by the penetrating thrusts. He grabs your thigh and guides your leg closer to his body, placing your knee on his hip so he can penetrate you deeper.

He thrusts forward again and again, conjuring up the sweetest whimpering noises from you.

When you suddenly feel Oberyn's fingers leave your tight hole, you almost feel an emptiness inside you that needs to be filled. But then you feel his cock sliding along between your thighs from behind. Again and again he rubs it through your wet folds, soaking it with your wetness, while Daemon continues to thrust into your cunt.

Oberyn's cock throbbed with desire while his lips are still pressed against your neck. His breathing becomes heavier and you feel the warmth on the soft skin of your neck as he positions himself at your tight entrance.

You're slightly distracted by Daemon's thrusts and grunts, but you feel Oberyn begin to press the tip of his cock against your butt hole. You cry out slightly, but it ends in a long moan.

With a deep, primal grunt, he presses the tip of his cock against the entrance, feeling the resistance and tightness that awaits him. The whimpers and moans escaping your lips only fuelled his desire, his own need becoming unbearable.

But your butthole quickly gives way. Still slightly stretched by Oberyn's fingers, it almost greedily envelops the tip of his cock. You hear Oberyn moaning in your ear, breathing heavily.

"Gods... Princess... I haven't even been all the way inside you yet and you already feel so divinely tight," Oberyn murmurs breathlessly – you can only whimper.

Oberyn follows Daemon's rhythm and every time Daemon pushes your pelvis backwards, Oberyn takes the opportunity. Your bottom is pushed towards Oberyn again and again and each time he thrusts a little harder to meet your movements.

You feel yourself getting restless and your hand suddenly reaches for Oberyn's bottom. Your hand grips his small, firm bottom and squeezes gently. Oberyn continues to thrust slowly but firmly and you are caught up in the feeling of wanting to feel him deeper, but the slight pain forces you to take it slowly. But your hand starts to push him closer to you as a mix of whimpers and moans leave you. Oberyn stretches you further and further and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

With one final, powerful thrust, Oberyn conquers your tight hole and moans loudly. You cry out briefly, but the pain quickly subsides and gives way to pure pleasure. You realise how completely filled you are. Daemon and Oberyn are now thrusting in unison and you are trapped in their grips – and you don't want it to end. You put your head back and Oberyn immediately turns his attention back to your neck. He bites in lightly as he thrusts into your tight hole.

"Gods... Gods... fuck..." leaves his lips again and again.

With a primal instinct, he grabs your hips and slides closer to you. His thrusts now go deeper. He savours your tightness and the pleasure he brings you. The sound of your soft cries and moans fill the air as Daemon and Oberyn thrust into you, driving them both even further into a state of primal lust.

Daemon's hand is still on your thigh, lifting it slightly as he thrusts into your cunt. Oberyn's fingers grip your hips tighter as his thrusts penetrate you from behind.

Daemon grunts to himself, feeling the unusual resistance on his cock every time Oberyn thrusts into you and it turns him on. He thrusts harder and feels your cunt literally pulsating. His hand slides from your thigh to your breast, gripping it tightly as his lips slam onto yours. A wild kiss, accompanied by whimpers and moans, unfolds between you.

Your foot slides to the back of his thigh, wanting to pull him closer, needing to feel him deeper.

Daemon breathes heavily and grunts as your kiss ends. His eyes are fixated on the sight of you taking Oberyn's cock up your ass as he continues to fuck your cunt. The combination of your actions, the raw lust emanating from you, elicits a primal moan from deep within him.

With each thrust, he feels the lust building inside him and the need for release becomes almost unbearable. But he wants to savour this moment, savour your pleasure, revel in the intoxicating connection you share. Daemon's hand lets go of your breast and slides to your leg again.

His grip is firm and so are his thrusts, which become more intense and violent. The sound of your moans and the beginning trembling of your thighs only fuel his desire and bring him even closer to the edge.

You feel that you are about to come. The sensation of being filled in both holes is almost too much and you feel the familiar pressure spreading through your abdomen.

"Yes... Come on my cock," Daemon grunts, " Show me how good it feels for you to be filled like this," he grunts as his cock starts to twitch dangerously as well. Oberyn starts grunting behind you. He can feel your whole abdomen literally start to clench. His hand slides from your hip to your warm core. You look down, breathing heavily, and see Daemon thrusting into you and Oberyn's fingers begin to rub your clit. You are a moaning mess. The pressure inside you becomes almost unbearable.

"Be an obedient wife... come while our cocks fill you," Oberyn grunts in your ear as his fingers rub faster.

You only whimper, followed by a loud moan.

"I'm going to fill you up, princess... My seed will fill this tight hole," Oberyn grunts further, thrusting deeper.

And then you come, your cunt clenches around Daemon's cock, milking him and driving him over the edge with you. He growls and grunts loudly, pumping his cum deep into your cunt with deep thrusts.

Oberyn follows shortly after you and dresses your dark walls in white. He bites the back of your neck and immerses himself in the sensation. The grips on your body are firm, the feeling wonderful.

You whimper softly as the grunting around you slowly dies down. There is a smell of sweat and sex in the air. Heavy breathing echoes off the walls. Your light whimpers come to a climax as the two of them slowly pull out of you. Exhausted, you let yourself sink against Daemon's chest while Oberyn lies on his back, breathing heavily. His hand rests on your bum, stroking it gently.

"Maybe I should visit King's Landing more often after all..." mumbles Oberyn as he looks up at the ceiling.

Your eyes are closed, but instead of a reply, you hear a slight chuckle from Daemon.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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[corpsebasil]

Brother and Sister

When being chased by enemy Grisha, your friend and you have to do some questionable things.

"Come on," Nikolai urged, tugging you down the hallway. He was your friend, your best friend, but he had no patience for you now as you gasped for breath. Damn you, you should've taken up his requests to join him on his morning runs. "move faster or I'll pick you up, Y/N."

"Pick me up and I'll beat your ass, Nik."

You were shorter than him. Much shorter—the man towered over you, for fuck's sake—and he had a habit of carrying you around when you didn't want him to. Picking you up and tossing you into the lake, spinning you around with you bridal style in his arms at balls—at balls; you'd never felt so embarrassed—and even, one time, lifting you up and tossing you over his shoulder, making you shriek as he sprinted up the stairs, your eyes trained on the ground, your hands digging into his sides.

"It'd be like fighting a kitten." He snorted but froze when the two of you rounded the corner and reached a dead-end. "Fuck." He cursed, looking over your shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps. "Hurry, make out with me."

"What?"

"Oh, don't pretend you've never wanted to."

"I have never—”

"Darling!" He yelled, way too loudly, and your eyes widened. "What are you doing, making such moves on me?!"

"Nik, what the fuck."

"Don't touch me there! Not in public!"

"Nikolai I swear on every single Saint in history—” Your words died as the first Grisha moved into sight, and you hurriedly allowed him to drag you up against him. "Oh—” you quickly searched your mind for a name.

"Adonis." He whispered sharply.

"ADONIS!" You wailed, forcing him to sit on the nearest bench, hiding his face from the Grisha's sight. If they recognized him, it was over. "I want to touch you! My bosom aches for you!"

"You cannot think such things about me!" He protested, and you had to quickly stare at the wall when you looked down to see him grinning. "Y/N no—” You climbed on top of him, throwing your head back and letting out a pornographic moan. Nikolai stuttered, his hands gripping your hips tighter, before he managed to speak again. "Y/N no! You're my sister!"

"Only by blood." You groaned, running your hands all over him, and you heard someone retch in the background.

"Should we kill them?" The Grisha whispered, most likely to an ally. "Would save the world from at least one disturbing occurrence."

"Oh sure, saving Ravka from incest. How noble."

You, feeling inspired, unbuttoned the front section of your dress, allowing the top of your corset—the thing pushing your breasts up sky high—to show. Nikolai practically choked on his own saliva as he fought not to stare and, as he watched with barely suppressed horror, you turned and allowed the Grisha to see the top of your chest. You were barely a centimeter of fabric away from being exposed and the two men's eyes widened.

"Are you not gentlemen?" You demanded, pretending to hurriedly cover yourself up. "I am a lady. Look away from me you perverts."

"My apologies miss." The first one said, the second merely turning completely red and sketching a hasty bow. You could've laughed; even when they turned against the King, they still had manners beaten into them from a young age.

"Get out!" You shouted, watching as they backed up rapidly. "I shall tell General Kirigan of this! Can a woman not have one night left with her brother before war and—”

You'd never seen two Grisha turn and bolt so quickly; the one on the left gagged again as he ran, and it took everything to hold back the laugh that soon burst out of you. Nikolai was watching you, eyes wide, when you turned back. All of your thrashing had settled you ridiculously close to him on his lap—your chest was practically pressed up against him.

"You, Y/N," he said, reaching out to button up your dress. You tried to ignore the way your skin flushed at the touch of his fingers deftly hiding your corset. "amaze me."

"Should I go into theater?" You asked, tilting your head as he moved to hold your waist again, and you once again ignored the feel of his hands squeezing you gently. "I think the sibling thing really sold it. Good improvisation on your part."

“Thank you. I am talented if nothing else.” He laughed, peering up at you. “But don’t moan like that again. I swear you’re doing things to me.”

“What things?” You teased, wiggling around in his lap.

“Stop it.” He said, glancing at your mouth, then your eyes. “We need to get out of here.”

“Lead the way, prince.” You said, climbing off his lap, and allowed him to take your hand, leading you out towards a secret exit.

[yuujispinkhair]

Separation Anxiety (Chapter 08)

Put your lips on my scars and teach me to love

When a ritual separates Sukuna from Yuuji, Sukuna is delighted to find that besides having his own body, there is also another gift handed to him: The brat has lost all his memories and is now the perfect little plaything to take home and manipulate. At least, that's the plan. But the King of Curses isn't prepared for the feelings that come along with being human again. And another complication is how cute the brat is when he has no idea who Sukuna is and, instead of hating him, treats him with genuine love and affection. So, without realizing it, Sukuna suddenly finds himself on a journey of learning how to be loved and how to love.

++ Masterpost ++

Pairing: Sukuna x Yuuji Genre: Memory Loss AU, fluff, smut, light angst Word Count: 4k Playlist: Separation Anxiety Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of violence, dub-con (Yuuji has lost his memories, and Sukuna lies to him about being boyfriends). All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

Chapter 08

Your love is scaring me. No one has ever cared for me as much as you do (Scary Love by The Neighbourhood)

"Am I still a good boyfriend, Sukuna?"

Big golden eyes gaze sheepishly at him. The question catches Sukuna by surprise.

"What do you mean, sweetheart?"

A moment ago, they were busy watching a movie while sharing the occasional kiss. But now the brat is squirming uncomfortably on the couch next to Sukuna. A light blush is staining his cheeks when he explains,

"I probably changed a lot because of the memory loss. And I... I just want to know if I still make you happy. Am I still what you want?"

Sukuna frowns. Where is that coming from?

"Of course you make me happy."

You are the perfect stupid little pet that I hoped you'd be.

But the boy is worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

"I just feel so weird. I mean, we live together and everything. I'm pretty sure we already had lots of sex. And I really like what we do, but... but I always feel like... I feel like a virgin. I have no idea what I'm doing when I touch you. I can't remember. I'm sorry if this isn't what you're used to from me, baby. But I'll learn it again. You can teach me again, right? Please teach me how to touch you in every way you need."

Sukuna's breath catches for a moment. He is sure the brat has no idea what his words are doing to Sukuna. How desire pulses through him, making his veins tingle. How his pants feel too tight all of a sudden. How his fingers want to touch so fiercely that they leave bruises. How his teeth want to mark the brat up for days to last.

Itadori has such an enticing innocence about him. It makes Sukuna's head spin. The way the boy gives himself to him, bearing his all to Sukuna.

The brat's cheeks are glowing deep red now, but he sounds indignant, unashamedly spitting out all those words in his eagerness to be a good boyfriend.

"I promise I can become him again!"

His hands are balled into fists, and his eyes burn with a hard conviction, just like the old Itadori before the memory loss. He is cute like this.

A smile spreads over Sukuna's face, and he reaches out to put a long finger under the boy's chin and tilt his head up.

"Oh, sweetheart. You are perfect the way you are."

My sweet little pet. Just as broken and obedient as I like it.

He silences the brat's complaints with his mouth, claiming his lips with a searing kiss.

Sukuna always knew the brat would look cute on his knees. And he was right.

The best thing about it is that Sukuna didn't even have to force him to do it. Itadori is willingly kneeling on the living room floor, between Sukuna's spread thighs, mouth stuffed full of Sukuna's cock, making unashamed loud slurping noises and soft moans, so eager to please, so turned on by having his boyfriend's cock in his mouth.

He asked, or rather begged, Sukuna to please let him blow him. To teach him how it works again since he cannot remember.

He's such a good pet. And Sukuna treats him accordingly. Running a hand through his hair, petting him, cooing at him, praising him for being so obedient.

"My good boy. So sweet for me. Look at me."

The boy's eyelashes flutter, and he looks up at Sukuna while his sweet mouth is still wrapped around Sukuna's thick length. Big golden eyes meet Sukuna's gaze. They glow so prettily, like liquid gold filled with desire and devotion. All for him. All for Sukuna.

His cock twitches in the boy's mouth. Long fingers tangle in soft pink hair, and a low groan falls from Sukuna's lips. He never was one to deny himself pleasure, always taking what he wanted. But this here is the most delicious thing. To have the brat willingly on his knees for him, so happy that he is allowed to suck Sukuna's cock.

His inexperience is showing, of course. His rhythm is a bit off, and he doesn't know how hard to suck at first. But Sukuna teaches him, guiding him up and down on his cock, and soon he can't help but groan and fuck into the boy's mouth, reveling in how good it feels.

One of the things Sukuna always appreciated about his former vessel is that he is a fast learner.

Itadori sucks and slurps happily on Sukuna's cock, looking into his eyes while he does so, ignoring the tears that gather there and instead taking Sukuna even deeper.

When Sukuna cums, Itadori moans loudly and eagerly swallows all his warm seed.

Sukuna smiles at him afterward, wiping the corner of the brat's lips where a small trail of Sukuna's cum trickles down his chin. He looks so pretty like this. Sukuna catches the cum with his thumb and pushes it into the brat's mouth, laughing softly when the boy instantly begins to suck again.

"Yes, eat it all up, darling. You're such a sweet thing."

He can see the way the boy basks in Sukuna's praise. So happy that he could please his boyfriend.

Itadori sighs happily and nuzzles his cheek against Sukuna's inner thigh. His smile grows even brighter, and his golden eyes gaze deeply into Sukuna's, filled with nothing but affection and adoration.

"I love you, Kuna."

The world stops spinning for a moment.

Everything fades away. Everything except those big golden eyes that look up at Sukuna with so much love.

Sukuna's fingers in the boy's hair tighten. The fake smile on his face freezes, making his cheeks feel uncomfortably tense.

He thought he would be ecstatic upon hearing these words coming out of the brat's mouth. He thought it would be the ultimate victory to make his loathed former vessel fall for him. To take the brat's heart and soul hostage. To have Itadori Yuuji completely at his mercy.

But strangely, Sukuna doesn't feel any joy. The only thing he feels is rage.

It doesn't make sense, but he's angry at the brat! How can Itadori be so stupid? So naive? Doesn't the foolish boy know that love is a dangerous thing? How can he be so trusting and give his love to a monster like Sukuna? How can he serve his precious little heart on a silver platter and give Sukuna the best weapon to destroy him?

Sukuna lets out a slow breath, trying to collect his thoughts again. He doesn't know why he feels such apprehension all of a sudden. This is what he wanted! This is what he planned!

The corners of his lips twitch, and he forces himself to loosen the tight hold on the boy's hair and instead pets it gently.

He can do this. He knows what's expected of him. He knows what to say to bind the brat even more to him.

And so, he smiles at the brat, all charming and sweet, and for the first time in his long life, Sukuna says those cursed words that he never thought would leave his lips,

"I love you too."

It's almost like he can taste the ancient magic those words hold, even though they are just a lie. But they work their magic on the brat regardless.

A happy giggle falls from Itadori's lips, and a second later, he climbs into Sukuna's lap, straddling him and hugging him tightly, all flushed and giddy before his lips press against Sukuna's in a passionate kiss.

Fool.

Another day, another movie night with Itadori all up in Sukuna's space.

He is a cuddly little pet. The moment they sit down on the couch, he is already seeking Sukuna's touch. It's gotten even worse during the last few days after the love confession.

At first, the brat just leans against Sukuna's side and rests his head on Sukuna's shoulder. But soon, a hand is placed on Sukuna's chest, and this hand wanders down to caress Sukuna's abs first through his shirt and then more intimately when that hand slips under the thin shirt.

Sukuna smirks. The brat is such a shameless little slut around him. It fills him with the utmost glee to see this inexperienced little virgin so starved for Sukuna's touch and knowing that the brat never touched anyone else like this.

This is how it was always meant to be. The brat was made for him, after all. It's only right that Sukuna is the only one who is allowed to be that intimate with him.

Itadori Yuuji belongs to him alone. Sukuna already claimed what's rightfully his. He already lived inside that body, walked in that skin, wore that face, held that heart in his hand, heard those thoughts, and felt that soul's red and golden warmth. He already claimed the brat in more ways than anyone else ever could.

And yet, he wants more.

He wants to take Itadori in another way. In the most primal way. He wants to throw him down and fuck him and fill him with his seed, claim him completely.

The brat's hand is slipping into Sukuna's pants now, massaging his hardening cock slowly while his strong warm body snuggles against Sukuna, and hot wet kisses get trailed up and down Sukuna's neck.

Something about it makes Sukuna's blood sing. He cannot wait any longer.

"Come here, baby."

He pulls Itadori onto his lap. His hands sprawl over the boy's firm ass possessively, kneading it roughly through his sweatpants, smirking when he hears the needy moan falling from the brat's lips.

Sukuna makes sure to position the boy right where he wants him, so he can feel Sukuna's hardness rub against his ass, letting him know how things could be. How things will be.

The boy whines loudly, his face flushed and his eyes brimming with desire.

Sukuna chuckles softly, watching the brat with a gleeful expression. He can't help but tease him.

"What do you want, darling? I didn't catch it."

"I want... I want more! Please!"

Sukuna raises an eyebrow,

"More?"

He's basking in the power he has over the stupid brat. How sweet this is! To hear Itadori beg him for more. It's almost addictive.

"Yes, please. I want to be even closer to you... I want you inside me. Please..."

His words sound needy, and his fingers twist desperately in the front of Sukuna's shirt.

Sukuna's cock throbs, making his pants sticky with his pre-cum. This is what he wanted when he started this stupid little game! The brat is all hot and bothered for him, practically begging him to fuck him.

It's perfect. Sukuna smirks up at the brat. Yes, he will claim the boy tonight. He will be inside him again, will fill him again.

They make it to the bedroom in a tangle of limbs, their lips locked, never stopping the hungry, sloppy kisses, their tongues licking at each other, mixing their spit obscenely. Strong hands tug and tear at each other's clothes.

Sukuna pushes the brat onto the bed, grinning broadly as he looks down at the horny boy, half-naked and so hard for him, golden eyes clouded by lust, kiss-swollen lips whimpering the sweetest little pleas, begging Sukuna to take him, to make him his. To ruin him.

Sukuna wants to commit this moment to memory. It's just one of his many victories, but this one holds a special sweetness.

He joins the brat on the bed, and they are back to hungry kisses and demanding touches, undressing each other hurriedly, gasping when their freed hard cocks rub hotly against each other.

The brat chuckles suddenly, big golden eyes blinking up at Sukuna, a sheepish grin on his face.

"I know we did this before, but I can't remember... and I am so nervous somehow. I don't know what to do. It feels like my first time."

Sukuna almost laughs out loud. The brat is so pathetic. So trusting, so stupid. Beautiful.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll take good care of you."

I'll make sure to enjoy this thoroughly, knowing that I will take everything from you.

The brat smiles at him with that stupid love-drunk expression, eyes glazed over from horniness but a sweet, dopey smile on his face, full of affection and trust.

"I know... just like you always do. I love you so much, baby."

He is lying on his back, naked, all spread out for Sukuna, giving himself to Sukuna completely.

Sukuna takes a moment to savor his victory and appreciate the sight before him. The brat's beautiful, smooth, tan skin, the firm muscles, and the pretty cock standing hard and tall, oozing pearls of pre-cum for him.

Sukuna's chest feels full and warm. The brat is his to take. His to do with whatever he wants.

He crawls between the brat's thighs, pushing them further apart and gazing down at him with hungry eyes. The feral part of him wants to just take the brat by force, ram his cock into that tight little hole unprepared, and make the brat scream, use him like the little toy he is.

A low growl vibrates in the back of Sukuna's throat.

But he has to take it slow. He has to stay in his role as the loving boyfriend. 

And so he hastily prepares the brat, fingering him open, telling him to be a good boy and spread his legs. And, of course, the naive brat does anything Sukuna asks of him. Blushing deeply but spreading those muscular thighs shamelessly.

Sukuna's own breathing is loud in his ears as he leans over the boy and fucks him open with two fingers, watching him squirm and moan and push eagerly onto Sukuna's hand.

The boy is pathetic, a blushing horny mess that grabs at Sukuna's arms to pull him closer but has no clue what to do with all the needy desire he feels.

It stirs the dark lust in Sukuna even more. He pats the brat's hands away and captures them, fixing his wrists on the pillow above his head with one hand as Sukuna presses him down and smirks at him.

His cockhead is teasing the brat's hole, brushing slightly against his heat, not pushing in yet, but just playing with him, making him even more desperate.

He grabs Itadori's chin with his free hand, pushing his thumb between the brat's lips and prying them open.

Sukuna's blood feels on fire as he lets a thick thread of spit drool into the brat's open mouth, claiming him, marking him, and making him take everything Sukuna chooses to give him.

He watches hungrily as Itadori's eyes cloud over with lust, and a loud, needy moan falls from his mouth as he swallows Sukuna's spit obediently.

The boy is so endearing in his inexperience and eagerness to please. It makes Sukuna's cock throb almost painfully.

You want to be mine so bad, huh, brat?

Golden eyes look up at Sukuna with a pleading look, and Itadori opens his kiss-swollen and spit-covered lips to breathe a whiny,

"Please fuck me, Kuna."

And something in Sukuna's brain snaps.

He pushes into the brat with a violent thrust that makes the brat cry out in pain. Finally claiming him completely, burying his whole length deep inside the brat's tight ass.

Sukuna groans in pleasure, triumph filling his senses akin to the feeling of walking over a battlefield after a victorious battle.

Mine. You're mine.

He tightens his hold on the brat's wrists, pushing him down with his full weight, not giving him any time to adjust to the feeling of being filled, but rutting his hips in a punishing pace, fucking him deep and hard. So overcome with desire that he becomes careless. He wants to hear more of the cries of pain! He wants to ruin the brat! Wants to make him bleed and scream and bruise him for days!

But instead, another sound carries to his ears. The brat moans in delight. And his strong legs wrap around Sukuna's waist as if wanting to pull him even closer.

"Ah! Feels so good, Kuna!"

Something doesn't make sense. Why is the brat moaning in pleasure and pulling him closer?

A second later, Sukuna becomes aware of the familiar tingling sensation of his reverse cursed technique.

His eyes widen.

He unconsciously used his technique on the boy, healing him and taking the pain from him, leaving nothing but pleasure, even as Sukuna fucks into him brutally.

He falters momentarily, the tight hold on Itadori's wrists loosening so the brat can free his hands. But he doesn't push Sukuna off him.

Instead, he puts his hands on Sukuna's back, pulling him closer, caressing his muscles needily, digging his nails into them as he grinds against Sukuna and moans his name,

"Sukuna.....ah baby! Please, please don't stop!"

Golden eyes full of love and trust meet surprised light-blue ones, and Sukuna feels like he is falling.

Like he is drowning in the soulbond, they used to have, feeling it wrap around him again, engulf him and swallow him whole. He is one with Yuuji again. Their bodies and souls are connected again in this intimate moment.

When he spills his seed deep inside the boy, it is with a loud, breathless moan, a sound he can't remember ever making before.

Sukuna doesn't understand it. What is this feeling? He can remember what it was like to be a human a thousand years ago. Not everything, of course, but he remembers feeling various emotions. He remembers feeling anger and joy, desire and hatred. Strong emotions that filled his body with their fire.

But lately, he feels something else. It's not as loud, not as violent as those emotions he remembers. He cannot quite place it, but he's pretty sure he never felt anything like it before. It's nagging him. Why does he not know what this is?

He is pretty sure it has something to do with the brat, though. With the way the old Itadori Yuuji, the one who approached Sukuna with nothing but hate, is gone, and in his stead, there is this other Itadori Yuuji. The one who looks at Sukuna with nothing but love in his eyes. The one who holds him every night and snuggles against him, all trusting and sweet.

It has to do with the way the brat cares about him.

It has to do with the way the brat says he loves him.

Love.

It's the most dangerous curse of all. That's what Sukuna heard back in his time, and the words stuck with him.

Love is a weakness. A way to ruin yourself and others. A dangerous addiction. A form of insanity. It makes the ones afflicted with it vulnerable. Love is a wild force. It's uncontrollable. A magic so ancient and potent that Sukuna fears even he has no power over it. And the loss of control is an idea that makes his skin crawl.

And yet, the brat dives into this madness head first.

Why is he like this? No wonder Sukuna is feeling all kinds of strange things lately! The brat is confusing him! He is making Sukuna see things he has never seen before.

The boy is sitting on the kitchen counter with his stupid, bright smile, looking like he has nothing to worry about. Telling Sukuna how glad he is to be with him and how happy he is about this life they have. There's nothing but sincerity in his honey gaze.

It's a concept so foreign to Sukuna. Everyone he ever encountered had their own agenda. Their own motives. Their own selfishness which influenced their actions.

But not Itadori. He is selfless to a fault.

Itadori Yuuji is a contradiction. He is so weak and so strong at the same time. It makes Sukuna's mind spin as he tries and tries and tries to wrap his head around it.

Sukuna is standing at the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room, one hand touching the cold window pane lightly as he stares unseeingly over the nightly city.

He cannot find any rest tonight. He had to untangle himself from the heavy and warm body of the brat to walk to the kitchen and get a cold glass of water before he came here to look at the endless sea of twinkling lights.

He cannot fight this uneasiness that has been plaguing him for the last few days.

Anytime Sukuna's lying on the couch during a lazy afternoon with the brat draped all over him, cuddling him and resting his head on Sukuna's chest, sometimes looking up at him with hazy eyes and ruffled hair and an affectionate smile, Sukuna is scared.

He is scared because there's a strange warmth spreading through his chest, and he is too aware of how loudly his heart is thumping.

He's losing control.

Things are slipping out of his hands, and he doesn't know how to stop it.

The brat means something to him. He cannot quite say what, but something makes him want to have Yuuji around. Safe and sound, wearing that happy, genuine smile on his stupid face.

He wants to keep the brat safe. Sukuna wouldn't mind burning this whole city down and killing everyone in it. He doesn't care about the pain or destruction he causes, even enjoys it. But now there is one person he doesn't want to stand in this chaos.

So, instead of hurting him, Sukuna's hand always finds its way into soft pink hair and strokes it gently, holding the brat in place, holding him close, making sure he won't get up and leave Sukuna's embrace.

This is a development Sukuna didn't see coming. He doesn't like it.

It terrifies him.

Does the brat have power over him? No one ever possessed any power over Sukuna! No one!

Is it because they used to share a body? Does it have to do with this strange separation anxiety he is experiencing since their souls were forcefully separated? Is it fear of losing this bond they had? A bond formed by fate itself?

"Kuna?"

Itadori's soft, warm voice speaks up behind him. Sukuna doesn't turn his head. But a moment later, strong arms wrap around him from behind, and the same voice asks again, closer this time, breath warm on Sukuna's neck, a warm muscular body snuggling against his back,

"Are you ok, Kuna? Did you have a nightmare?"

That stupid nickname! Sukuna grits his teeth. He wants to lash out at the brat, wants to slice him open, and tell him no one calls Sukuna like that. But he cannot do it. He hates it, but deep down, there's a part of him that feels so warm anytime the boy calls him Kuna.

Is that part of it? Of being loved by someone? To feel this warmth when they wrap you in their love and care? The sheer power a name holds when spoken by someone who loves you. The way Itadori says that name in such a tender tone. As if it is the most precious thing he owns. As if the name alone carries love.

Sukuna isn't ok. He is far from it.

But he nods and laughs softly,

"Yes, I'm ok, darling. Just needed something to drink."

Yuuji's arms tighten around him, and his head rests on Sukuna's back.

"Alright, but you can always talk to me if something's worrying you, ok? I love you."

"I love you too."

Empty words that are so cruel in their deceiving nature. One loves, and one doesn't. One says the truth and one speaks lies. And yet, tonight, the words taste dangerous on Sukuna's tongue.

He unfocuses his eyes from the city view and looks at the soft reflection of his face on the window pane. Wide, terrified, light-blue eyes stare back at him.

Finally a new chapter!!! I had such a hard time editing this, but I am happy to finally share it. That last scene is one of my favorites in the whole story. I love the thought of Sukuna looking terrified at being confronted with Yuuji's genuine love and care. Love must really be a scary thing to our dear King. Uncontrollable and powerful. Well, Kuna YOU were the one who wanted to play this little game ;)

Ahahaha I am so soft for Sukuna slowly falling into Yuuji's sweetness and not being able to get out of it again. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet!!

[harper-hook]

Beast Inside | Ben x Reader

Summary: After seeing Chad flirt with you, a whole new side of Ben is unlocked.

Author’s Note: I feel like I put my whole ussy into this lol

You felt slightly troubled as Ben stormed after you into his office. You frowned when you heard him lock the door. Ben turned around, giving you a pointed look. "Well?"

"So you're jealous of who again?" You asked, still confused as to what just occurred. One minute, you're in the hallway, speaking to Chad. The next, Ben's baring his teeth and growling at him before ushering you away.

"I'm not jealous! Just-" Ben cut himself off, running a hand through his already messy hair. "You didn't see the way he was looking at you? Like a piece of meat?" He asked.

You were unimpressed. "You know Chad is flirty, he looks at every girl like that. Besides," You blew a piece of hair out of your face. "Its not like he would actually make a move. He's one of your best friends." You pointed out.

Ben looked down at the carpet, hands still balled up. He mumbled something even you couldn't make out. "What?" You asked, concerned. You'd never seen Ben like this before. "Did," He swallowed hard. "Did you like the way he looked at you?"

You could hardly believe what you were hearing. "Have I been ignoring you lately?" He asked, voice trembling. Well, he kinda had but you’d expected that dating the king. “No.” You lied. Ben was quiet.

“You're lying to me.” Ben look up at you, a dark look in his eye. He quickly backed you up against his desk, grabbing your wrists.

Your eyes widened. "Ben..." You whispered breathlessly. "Ben." You repeated, more forceful. "(Y/N)." He breathed gruffly, spinning you around and pushing you down against your desk. You gasped, your front stinging from the manhandling.

Ben's hand ran its way up the back of your thigh, flipping your skirt up. His knee made its way between your legs, making you hiss. One hand was tracing your ass, the other lay easy on the smell of your back but the message was clear. You had his attention.

The hand on your ass moved over your throbbing clothed heat, a singular finger dipped under your panties into the slick. "This is all for me, yeah? No one else." He asked, pulling his finger out and wiping it on your skirt.

Your mind was foggy from arousal and a bit of fear. You licked your lips, still trying to catch up with how you got there. You felt like you left your mind out in the hallway. You jolted back to reality when he groped your ass again, much rougher. You nodded in response.

“Good.” He replied, almost cheerfully. “Because I’m going to make you feel so good.” He dropped his voice down to almost a whisper as he trailed his hands up and down your sides and back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll never look at another man again.” 

You let out a moan at his words, a fire igniting in your veins and heading straight between your legs. Ben placed one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip and gently but firmly, turned you over to sit directly on the desk. You shifted and rubbed your thighs together, spreading wetness between them. 

In this position, you got a better look at Ben who, to most, looked absolutely regal and proper. But anyone that knew Ben like you did could see the signs. His shirt was partially undone and untucked. His belt was also undone and right below the buckle, you could see his arousal pressing tight against his pants. 

You followed your gaze up and met his hungry gaze, looking at you like you were prey. You’d never felt so exposed. “It’s alright, hun. I’m going to take good care of you.” Ben spoke sweet words but the teasing smile on his face implied anything but.

You gasped as he dropped to his knees in front of you, slowly kissing up the inside of your thigh. Your breathing quickened as his hot breath got closer to your dripping heat. Sensing your eagerness, Ben pulled away much to your dismay. He rested a hand on each of your knees, smiling up at you. 

“Don’t get impatient, hun. We have all the time in the world.” He rubbed your leg affectionately. You returned his smile albeit shakily. He reached up and met you for a kiss, full of love and trust. 

At the same time, both hands ran up your legs and to the waistline of your underwear and started tugging them down. Without breaking the kiss, you raised up a bit and allowed your underwear to be removed and tossed behind Ben. Ben finally broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes. He planted a final kiss on your lips before returning to his original post between your legs.

“Keep your legs spread.” The switch back to his darker tone caught your attention and you could only nod in agreement. This time with no barrier in the way, Ben continued his trail of kisses, ending directly on your clit. 

You shifted impatiently, wanting more. As if reading your mind, Ben began leaving kitten licks down your slit, paying close attention to your clit by licking and sucking roughly. You moaned, throwing one hand behind you for balance and the other into Ben’s hair, pulling it in response to him. 

You could feel his wicked grin between your legs every time he paused his movements. You whimpered as he moved to your thigh. “What are you-” You cut yourself off with a yell as he bit the inside of your right thigh, quickly soothing the sore spot with kisses and licks. 

He sat back further on his knees to admire his handy work, what you could only imagine was an already purpling bitemark. He turned to meet your gaze and grinned, a sheen of your arousal around his mouth and chin. His pupils were dilated and hair an unkept mess. This was the Ben only you got to see.

Before you realized it, Ben was back between your legs, licking roughly all over. You moaned and your back arched as Ben’s tongue found your hole and dipped in, his nose rubbing roughly against your clit. 

As your foggy mind realized what he was doing and finally heard the obscene wet noises and moans coming from yourself, you felt your face flush even further. You felt shameful but the pleasure was outweighing the shame.

“Ben...” You whined, feeling the urge to release become harder and harder to ignore. Ben looked up at you and raised an eyebrow. You knew what he wanted. “I’m close...” You continued, eyes shutting as the pleasure increased. “Can I...?” You trailed off, Ben not stopping his assault on your clit the entire time.

“Go ahead, baby.” He hummed, clearly out of breath himself. He punctuated his permission by sucking hard on your clit. That was all it took for you to release, head thrown back by the loudest moan you’d ever heard from yourself. You were sitting back on both of your elbows, breathing hard. 

Ben was breathing just as hard as you but managed to get to his feet, jerking himself the entire time. You hadn’t noticed his missing hand when he was down there. Ben smirked at you and lined himself up with your dripping hole. He glanced up at you with a concerned expression. Knowing what that meant, you nodded. You wanted him to get off too.

He smirked again before slowly entering you. You winced as he finally got all the way in, both from overstimulation and size. Ben hovered over you, looking like it was taking all of his self control to not move yet. You leaned up and planted kisses over his neck and collarbone, stroking his arms and shoulders.

“It’s a good thing I love seeing your beautiful face, yeah? Cause if it wasn’t for that, you’d be on your hands and knees like a whore.” Ben spoke as if he was stating a simple fact, like he was speaking about the weather. You flushed shamefully as you tightened around him at his cruel words.

“You like that, yeah?” He grinned deviously at you. “Maybe next time.” And then he started rocking back and forth, bringing whimpers and small moans from your throat. He began thrusting fully with both hands on your hips, helping pull you down onto him.

Both of your moans and groans flowed together, creating the most obscene sounds you had ever heard. A part of you wondered if Ben would ever record himself for you. You know, for research purposes.

One orgasm down, you were already close to release after a few minutes. “Ben!” You whined, clawing his shoulders and back, making him hiss in pain. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.” He ran a hand down your front and rubbed his thumb in rough, clumsy circles around your clit.

Stars exploded behind your eyes as you came again, hips jerking up into his. He let out a loud groan at the tightening of your muscles around him. You fully slumped back on the desk, head thrown back limply and arms by your head.

After a few moments, you realized that Ben had only slowed his thrusts but hadn’t stopped. In fact, he was picking the pace back up. You whined, overstimulated and nerves on fire. You put a hand on his chest and gave him a pleading look. 

He cupped your chin and forced you to look him in the eyes. “You can do this, (Y/N). One more for me?” He asked, eyes half lidded. You were breathing hard and rather sore but you knew that if you needed to stop, he would and he would apologize until he was blue. You trusted Ben.

You nodded tiredly and Ben leaned down to kiss you sweetly. “That’s my girl. My girl.” He repeated, getting a nod in return. Only his. He kept one hand on your hip and held your hand in the other.

Ben was losing rhythm, a telltale sign he was close. He moved the one hand from your hip, back to your overly sensitive clit. You were breathing hard and your vision ebbed in and out. You couldn’t warn Ben about your release this time.

Your head was thrown back in a silent yell and your vision went white. Ben finished too, coming with a yell and burying himself deep inside of you. He didn’t have much choice, seeing as your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him deep.

If you thought you were limp before, you had no idea how you were going to function for the rest of the day. Your eyes were closed and you felt Ben breathing hard in the crook of your neck. You smiled as you felt Ben place little kisses on your neck and collarbone.

You wrapped an arm around his neck and basked in your combined warmth. “You did so good, hun.” Ben whispered, making you feel warm and fuzzy. “So good for me.”

[thebadgerclan]

Kings and Queens

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Requested by 2 Anons

Summary: The coronation ball of King Nikolai and Queen Y/N...

Smut!

It was a joyous day for Ravka.  Your husband had finally been crowned as King, the war was over, finally, there was peace.  The ceremony had gone flawlessly, and the look that Nikolai gave you when the Apparat set the state crown atop your head, proclaiming your Sovereign Queen of Ravka would live in your mind forever; a look of pride and absolute adoration.

There was a reception held afterward, during which Nikolai couldn’t take his eyes off of you.  Your coronation gown was shimmering gold silk and tulle, the Double Eagle embroidered on the train.  You’d returned the state crown to the Royal Vault, swapping it for a diamond encrusted crown that was no less extravagant and caught the light whenever you moved.  Nikolai had you on his arm for every single dance, whispering praises of your beauty in your ear.

“What’s on your mind, darling?” you asked during your fifth dance of the night.  Nikolai smirked, spinning you around the ballroom.  “Can a man not admire his wife’s ethereal beauty?”  “He can, but for the last hour, you’ve been eyeing me like you would a juicy steak.”  Nikolai went scarlet, and you leaned in a bit closer.  “Can I be honest, Y/N?”  “Always.”  “I…I’ve never wanted to fuck someone as badly as I want to fuck you right now.”

Nikolai’s voice was low and raspy, and it sent arousal sparking through your body.  You were always beautiful, but today, you were radiant.  He couldn’t explain it, perhaps it was the significance of the day, perhaps it was how easily you took to your new role as Queen, but Nikolai wanted you.  No, he needed you, he had for hours.  You sucked in a breath, trailing your hand up his arm until it rested on his shoulder.  “Well, my love,” you said, your own voice dripping with lust.

“Say you want me, and I’m all yours.”  Nikolai nearly snarled as he surged forward to kiss you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “I want you,” your husband whispered against your lips, and you smiled.  “Then I’m all yours, love.”  Nikolai kissed you again before taking your hand and leading you from the ballroom.  If anyone saw or wondered where you were going, who cared?  You were a Queen in her own Palace, you’d do as you liked.  

You barely made it out of the ballroom before Nikolai was kissing you, lips on yours, your jaw, and your neck.  “If you keep looking at me like that,” you said, clutching his shoulders.  “We’re not going to make it to bed.”  Nikolai moaned softly, nipping your neck.  “Last I checked, I’m the King, and you’re the Queen.  Which means this is our Palace, which means we can do whatever we want…”

Nikolai had  started lifting your skirts, but he paused, awaiting your response.  It didn’t matter that he was so hard, he feared he’d tear his trousers open, if you said no, he’d lift you up and carry you to your rooms, or he’d let you walk away and force himself to calm down before joining you.  But you nodded, and your husband smirked, kissing you again as he hiked your skirts over your hips, easing one of your legs over his waist.

With one hand, he unfastened his trousers and freed his aching cock, aligning the tip with your entrance.  “Fuck me,” you whispered, and Nikolai thurst forward, swallowing you answering moan with a kiss.  He fucked you hard and fast, there wasn’t time for him to worship the way he would have liked.  But that would come later, in the privacy of your rooms, where Nikolai would strip you bare, make you come on his fingers, his tongue, and finally, his cock.

“Nikolai!” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck and drawing him in for another kiss.  “Fuck, right there!”  “Right here, sweetheart?” he replied, kissing your neck, though he resisted sucking a mark there.  If you had a hickey at your coronation ball, Nikolai knew you’d never forgive him.  “Y-yes!  Fuck, Kolya, don’t stop!”  Nikolai moaned, speeding his thrusts a bit, already close.

When he reached between your bodies to rub your clit, you couldn’t hold back the moan and tore itself from your throat, and Nikolai couldn’t be bothered to stop you.  “Are you close, pretty girl?”  “Mhmm,” was all you could manage, feeling your cunt begin to squeeze around your husband’s cock.  “Then come for me, Y/N.  Come on my cock, love.”  Nikolai kept his thrusts at an even pace, rubbing tight circles around your clit, and you were coming, your head tipping back against the wall, a shuddering, breathy moan leaving your mouth.

Nikolai tumbled over the edge a moment later, pressing his face into your exposed throat as he came.  As you caught your breath, Nikolai kissed your cheek, gently pulling out of you and lowering your leg to the ground, righting your voluminous skirts as he did.  “Do I look too disheveled?” you asked, and your husband shook his head, kissing you again as he tucked himself back into his trousers.

“You look perfect, Y/N.  You always do.”  With one more kiss, he took your arm and led you back into the ballroom.  You received a few knowing glances, but for the most part, your absence went unnoticed.  You caught your reflection in a window, seeing that your hair was still perfectly styled, your makeup was neat, and your dress was unwrinkled.  “Nikolai,” you said, taking his hand and pulling him to you, kissing him deeply.  “I love you, my King.”  Nikolai beamed, returning your kiss.  “And I love you, my Queen.”

[blossom-hwa]

Worn-Out Soles [3] | b.c

pairing: Chan x fem!reader genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au warnings: kidnapping, injury, death word count: 16.8k notes: — this is a retelling of the 12 dancing princesses :) inspiration taken from the original fairy tale, the Barbie movie, and the retelling by Jessica Day George, Princess of the Midnight Ball. — mc in this story has multiple sisters as befitting the original fairy tale, but they are not blood-related for inclusivity reasons. In a world where magic lies in the arts, you are a princess of Terpsichani, the kingdom whose power comes from dance. Loved by many, you care for your country deeply, though in truth your heart only belongs to the palace's royal cobbler, Chan, who holds equal affection for you in return. It's a love that could never be, you both know, though it doesn't stop you from pining. But then you go missing on the final night of your kingdom's Moonlight Festival, leaving behind nothing but the memories of a final dance. When your sister brings news of your disappearance to Chan's doorstep, there's only one thing he can do. Follow you into the depths of hell to bring you back—or die trying. Part 2 >> Part 3

To Spin a Yarn | Stray Kids Masterlist

Chan finds himself in front of the witch’s hut with no idea how he got there. 

His sides heave with the effort of taking breath. His mouth feels dry, like he hasn’t had water in days. He reaches up and finds there are still tears in his eyes, and the sun has risen and nearly set during the time it took to return.

He failed. He failed so badly—didn’t manage to get the necklace, didn’t manage to get you out. All he has is this wretched crown in a wretched case, and he doesn’t even know how to unlock it. With luck he won’t need to unlock it, he’ll be able to just burn the whole thing together, but the king still has his necklace and he still has you—

Shut up. Chan knocks on the door and tries to breathe. Panicking and crying won’t help you. He needs to think, because he’s going back. Obviously. For the ruby necklace, and for you, and then you’re going to get out of that godforsaken kingdom and never look back. 

Yeah, and look how well that went last time. 

The door swings open before he can try and refute that. 

“Oh! Young man—” The witch sees the look on his face and cuts herself off. 

Wordlessly, Chan opens his bag and extends her the case with the crown. “I have the crown,” he says, and his voice sounds terrible, rough and hoarse and his throat is dry, so dry. “It’s in here, but it’s locked. I don’t know if you can burn it outright.”

She waves him inside, taking the case. “There are many enchantments woven on this. I don’t know if it would burn in the fire in this box,” she replies, brows furrowed. She taps the dent that Chan saw in the middle. “This is where you would unlock it, if there was a key.”

Chan takes a closer look at the dent. He hadn’t tried much before; the king’s room was dark, and then there was no time. Now that he can see it in the light, it’s not really a dent—more of a carefully molded groove, the inset similar to the edges of a cut crystal…

“It’s the ruby,” he whispers, horror washing over him. He thought he failed before, but it’s even worse—the ruby is meant to unlock this box. He’s sure of it. The more he thinks about it, the more it makes terrible. He never quite got the closest look at the ruby, but the general shape and set of the jewel seems to match the box and it just fits.

The witch seems to agree. “Do you have the necklace?” she asks, indicating his clenched fist.

Huh. He hadn’t noticed he was holding something so hard. With effort, he opens his fist, his fingers protesting as blood comes rushing back into them. In his palm lies a silver key, its shape imprinted into his skin. Chan almost laughs. He didn’t even need to use it, in the end. What if he hadn’t gone for this, and tried to take the ruby first? Would he have succeeded?

But no. He needed the key, if it was yours. In case you didn’t manage to get out. The knowledge that he’s right doesn’t comfort him much, though.

“No.” Chan rips the word off his tongue, tasting all his failure on it. “He wears it at all times. I—tried to get this key first. And I did. But he woke up, and then there was no time.” He swallows hard. “And I couldn’t rescue my friend either.”

Slowly, slowly, the witch nods. “I see,” she replies, her old voice grave. “So what will you do next?”

For some reason, this is what breaks the dam of tears that he had just managed to erect.

“I don’t know,” he grits out, all the anger and self-hatred from hours of riding coming out in full force. “I don’t know. I failed. I messed everything up, and I lost Y/N—”

The old woman touches his arm. Guides him quietly to a chair. Waits until his chest stops heaving and he stops babbling nonsense, and extends him a glass of water, which he sips at first, then downs in three gulps. She refills it and then sits before him once more. 

“You did not fail,” she says quietly, and the certainty in her voice finally strikes a chord in his chest, his heart beating a little more slowly. “You brought back the crown, and while we may not be able to destroy it just yet, the center of magic being pulled from the kingdom will already lend to its collapse.” She picks up the case again. “I will work at the enchantments and see if I can break any. In the meantime—”

“I have to go back,” Chan blurts out. “I have to—I need to get Y/N out, I need to bring her back.”

“And so you will,” she agrees. “But not now.”

Anger flares in his chest. “What do you mean, not now? She’s already hurt! I can’t wait—”

“You must,” she snaps, iron in her voice. “It is dark. The king’s men will be hunting you in the shadows, and once you leave the hut my protections will no longer cover you. Even with the invisibility cloak, while they may not be able to see you, you will not see them under the cover of night. And, beyond this, you are in no shape to go.” Chan starts to protest, but she raises a hand. “You have not slept in over a day. You need to rest, and so does your poor horse.” Her voice softens. “When dawn comes, you will go. You must, to save your friend. But until then, you will rest.”

She’s probably right. Chan can already feel his body slumping with exhaustion. But the thought of you, alone and hurt at the mercy of a king of hell still raises his voice. “You said the kingdom would collapse without its center of power,” Chan gets out. “Was that a literal collapse? Or just metaphorical?”

“Literal,” the old woman replies easily. “But it will take some time—the collapse would not be as quick as if I burned the crown in the fire right this instant. You have perhaps a day before the palace will literally begin to collapse. Which is enough time for you to rest.” She puts down the box and turns to a cabinet, rummaging around for a minute before coming back with a small bottle that she gives to him. “This will give you dreamless sleep,” she says, not unkindly. “Please, young man. You must rest.”

Chan stares at the small bottle. He thought he was all cried out, but tears brim at his eyes once more. “Why are you helping me so much?” he asks, voice brittle. “In fact, if you knew all this, why wouldn’t you fight the king yourself?”

She laughs kindly, putting a wrinkled hand over his. “I would, if these old bones would sustain another confrontation,” she says, chuckling a little sadly. “I am old, young man. I have seen many things, and I have fought most of my own battles. Trust me when I say that I would not survive another fight with that kingdom.” 

Chan blinks. “Another?”

“Yes. I am one of those who cursed his family, after all.” She continues as if Chan wasn’t immediately reeling from that piece of information. “This was ages ago, and they hadn’t stirred much, to my knowledge, until you came by. Now I realize they must have been wreaking more havoc than I was aware of.” With a strong sigh, she shakes her head. “That royal family is evil, Chan. Their magic is the darkest of all. While I and the other witches were not strong enough on our own to fully defeat them, only curse them so that they could not bear the sunlight, I have hopes now that their power will disappear forever.”

“…But I failed.”

“On your first try.” She smiles. “But you will return, no? And you will try again. It was not on my first attempt that I managed to curse the Kereseians below the ground. You are on a tighter schedule than I was, perhaps, but I have faith in you, young man. You are pure of heart, motivated by love, and you will not give up until you succeed.” Her tone turns stern. “But to do that, you must rest. Yes?”

Chan’s throat hurts, and not just from a day of riding without stopping for water. “Yes, my lady,” he whispers around the lump constricting his voice. “Thank you.”

. . . . .

When your eyes fully open for the first time, you’re not sure how much time has passed. You recall slipping in and out of consciousness, pain blurring the edges of your vision as you gasped for air, so you wait for blackness to consume your vision again, but this time, it doesn’t.

Slowly, you try to take in your surroundings. You haven’t moved from where you were dropped on the floor, after the king broke one of your legs and had someone else snap the other. You don’t think you could even if you tried. You don’t dare try and turn to see the state of your legs, but from the pain still screaming through your bones and skin, it can’t be anything good. 

You close your eyes again, letting a few tears leak out. Gods and stars above, why did you wake? Why couldn’t you just stay unconscious? At least in the darkness of your mind, you couldn’t register the pain as clearly. Now that you’re conscious it’s all just rebounded. For minutes or hours, you lie there on the ground, fully awake, unable to think or move. 

At some point, the door opens. You barely register it until shoes enter your vision, and even then, the image is blurred by tears and pain. 

Someone squats. Lifts up your chin. You grit your teeth and blink away tears to come face to face with the man you currently loathe most in the world. 

“Hello, my queen to be,” the king croons, though now, even he can’t fully disguise the hatred lying behind his eyes. You don’t bother to hide your own—it’s the only thing keeping you up. You note with grim satisfaction that the burns on his face haven’t healed, his skin still red and raw where the dawn burned him, and he isn’t wearing his crown. “It’s time for the evening meal.”

Bizarrely, this reminds you of your first day here. “I’m not hungry,” you mutter, half a smirk curving your lips before it drops. “I don’t feel well.”

“Of course you don’t.” He laughs in your face. “You will soon, however.” From somewhere to the side, he produces a goblet. “Drink.”

You sneer. “How am I to know whether or not that’s poison?”

“I wouldn’t poison my wife to be, no matter how terribly she treated me.” Mock hurt flashes across his face and you want to slap him. “This is enchanted water from the fountain that was to be your wedding gift, Your Highness. It will heal you completely.” He leans in closer. “You will marry me, and you will bear my child. You have no choice.”

You spit in his face. 

“Such unladylike behavior.” He tuts, wiping away a drop of spit with an almost careless finger. “Do you not want to be well?”

You’d give almost anything to get rid of the pain. In fact, you’re seconds away from giving in. But he doesn’t need to know that. So you say nothing.

He beckons to someone outside of your line of sight. Before you understand what’s happening your head jerks back by someone else’s hand, another hand forcing your mouth open as the king himself pours the contents of the goblet down your throat. 

Choking and spluttering, swallowing in spite of yourself, the first thing you think is that this tastes like normal water. Then a warming sensation begins to filter through your body, spreading slowly through your limbs, and slowly but surely, the screaming in your legs stops and you feel them straighten without your will. 

Your mouth fills with a bitter aftertaste. You’re not sure if it was the water, or just your mind trying to turn your tears into something as bitter as your loathing. The pain is gone, your thoughts are clear, and you wish they weren’t.

If you were just a little stronger, maybe they wouldn’t have been able to treat you like this.

“Still hoping for your lover to save you?” The king laughs coldly, icy fingers cupping your cheek. “He can’t come here anymore, you know. We found where he came in and we sealed the cracks. Right now, my people are combing the forest, ready to serve his heart to me on a silver platter.” He smiles like the bitterness in your mouth hasn’t turned to something rotten that tastes like blood, like your heart isn’t beating painfully fast even as you fight to keep your expression neutral. “I will save you, Your Highness. Day and night I will clip your wings, then grow them again—all so that you can stay with me.” His smile widens. “Romantic, isn’t it?”

Briefly, you weigh the merits of throwing up on him. You've already spat on him twice. But you don’t have the energy, so you do nothing, hatred for the king and yourself burning in your chest. You focus on the burns on his face, on his neck, reminding yourself that he is mortal, that for all his seeming power he can be hurt—

Wait. You almost frown before schooling your expression back into one of hatred. If he has this enchanted water, why doesn’t he use it on himself? If it could heal your two broken legs in minutes, surely it would heal him in no time? Something doesn’t seem right about that, but the king speaks before you can take the train of thought any further. 

“Have her dressed,” he says, gesturing to someone else in the room. “Then take her to the banquet hall.” He takes your arms and drags you up and your first instinct is to shove him away, but then you stumble on your newly-healed legs and fall back into him anyway. 

He ignores your attempt, his eyes boring into yours, his lips curving slowly. Knife blades and blood. “We can’t go without our evening entertainment, after all.”

. . . 

For some reason, you’re dressed even more lavishly tonight, given a gown of the smoothest silk you've ever felt, jewelry with the largest gems you’ve ever seen. You sit quiet and miserable as silent servants do your makeup, then slip on yet another dark pair of slippers on your feet. Briefly you wonder what they did with the clothes you came here in, the white robes and Chan’s lovely shoes. 

What wouldn’t you give for them over these ostentatious ornaments. 

Your legs, though healed, still tremble when you put weight on them. Logically you know they must be fine, but you can’t shake the feeling that they are still injured, that bone shards aren’t still poking out of your skin, that you shouldn’t be able to move as easily as you currently do. The high-heeled dance shoes don’t help at all. But because there are guards, and because you are being watched, you force yourself to stand, to walk.

When you reach the banquet hall, it seems as though nothing has changed. You’re not even certain as to whether the court was informed of your escape attempt, because while you garner a few stares and smirks upon your entrance, it’s still no more than you had grown used to before. The king probably didn’t say anything, you conclude through the meal. Doesn’t want to make it seem like he’s lost more control over the situation than he already has, you suppose. They already know he lost his crown. He can’t make it look like you tried to escape, too. 

But something does change when the meal is over, and everyone begins to enter the grand ballroom. Because while the king still leads you inside, he doesn’t accompany you to the center of the floor, as he had done before. Instead—

“Dance for us, Your Highness,” he says, smiling cruelly. “We have been deprived of your magical abilities, as you choose not to show them to us. I can only assume you are shy, hm?” He cups your cheek in his cold hand and a little laugh rises from the crowd, making your skin crawl. “I am rather curious about your magic, Your Highness. I saw it when you danced for your Moonlight Festival, and I must confess, I fell in love.”

You take his cold hand, bring it down under the thin guise of holding it gently when you want nothing more than to stab him in the throat. “You did, didn’t you.” Your voice is flat but for some reason it still amuses the court even more. 

“Of course I did.” He gestures at the expanse of people around the ballroom. “As I’m sure they all will too, when they get to see the wonder of your art for the first time. So dance for us, Your Highness.” He lets go of your hand. “I will enjoy the spectacle as part of the audience.”

You fight the urge to scoff as you step into the center of the floor, legs trembling. Spectacle. You are not a spectacle, you are a human. But of course he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he’s forcing you to dance on legs that he snapped and healed within twenty four hours. He doesn’t care that you don’t trust your bones as you would on any other day. You’re shaking all over and phantom pains keep running up your legs in spite of the healing water, and the only saving grace of this whole terrible outfit is the long skirt of your dress, hiding the way your legs tremble.

Despite yourself, tears try to force themselves into your eyes. You swallow them down even as despair clogs your throat. He does mean to make a spectacle of you, like a ballerina in a music box—an object meant for only the entertainment of others. It hurts. It hurts so much. And it would be so easy to give up, to give in to the pain and hopelessness of it all, but—

Your mind turns back to Chan, and the last words he spoke to you. “I’m not going to leave you behind.”

He won’t leave you. He’ll be back. You swallow hard. And if you don’t want him to give up, neither can you.

The several nights you danced with the king, you forced yourself not to bring your magic into play. You feared that the overwhelming sadness would only bring more demeaning laughter to the court. But you remember the terror you were able to strike into your guards when you tried to escape, their eyes blown wide like they were truly scared. 

Even if it won’t last, even if they will only laugh in the end, you would like them to feel as you have felt over the past several days. If only for a moment.

Hanging your head deliberately, you wait for the music to begin. It doesn’t matter what it is, you’ll spin it into what you need. As if the musicians have sensed how you feel, though, the melody that starts is slow, desolate, and everything you wanted. 

And so you let go, injured legs be damned.

The room blurs into a tapestry of black marble and flame. The stares of the crowd become nothing more than pinpricks of light in the distance. The ominous gaze of the king falters and disappears as you whirl around the room, singing emotion through your movements, spinning everything you remember since the night you were kidnapped into a performance on the floor. Confusion, terror, desperation. Disgust, fear, anger. And when it comes time for you to retell Chan’s appearance and the relief and hope that crashed over you—

You look straight into the eyes of the Kereseian king as you spin past. 

By the time it’s over, you’re panting with exhaustion, sweat dripping down your brow. The music is slowing, fading into the air, and as it finally stops, you become aware of the world again. Aware of the silence of the room, the stares of the court, the shakiness in your legs that still keeps you hesitant to put your full weight on them. There are tears in your eyes and you’re certain they’ve fallen down your face, too. 

Then one person begins to clap. And another. And then another, until the ballroom echoes with quiet applause, despite the fact that you have taken no bow. Instead, you turn to look at the king, who steps forward with something unreadable in his eyes. 

“A lovely performance,” he says, the cruel curve of his mouth lifting into half a smile. “Did you make that up on the spot?”

You nod mutely, trying hard not to cry. 

“Your talent is great.” It sounds like it might be the first sincere thing he told you in—well, in all the week and a half that you have known each other—but you don’t bother to thank him. “I think I fell in love with you again.”

This time, you scoff out loud. “Your Majesty, don’t insult me. I don’t think you’d know love if it slapped you in the face.”

His eyes darken. “I was going to try and be kind,” he says, voice dangerous. “But you’ve made your stance clear, I see.”

You give him half a smile. “You wouldn’t know kindness if it slapped you in the face either.”

He spins you into frame, crushing your hand in his grip. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispers in your ear. “For by the end of the night, you are mine to keep and enjoy. Whether or not I show you kindness or love…it will never matter. Not to you.”

It’s true. Because you couldn’t care for him even if he had showed you kindness, even if he had showed you whatever it is he thinks is love—he took you from your home, took you from your family, took you from those who loved you most. And it’s even easier to remember that when, at the end of the night, he takes you back to your room stumbling, half-dead, and exhausted, and orders guards to snap your legs again as soon as you enter your quarters.

Everything hurts. Your body is on fire and you can’t stop the tears of pain from pooling on the floor beneath you. But though you bite your lip so hard it draws blood, you take a small, grim satisfaction in that you didn’t scream this time. 

. . . . .

It takes the full length of a day or more to reach the earth under with Kereseia lies. Chan sets out at dawn, riding more carefully than his haphazard trip a day ago, and with several short breaks, he reaches the opening the witch showed him when night has already fully set, the sun sunk beneath the horizon.

He stumbles off his horse and barely remembers to picket it before giving him a pat of apology and stepping into the cave. Once inside, he searches for the metallic glow of the silver trees below, but—

The glow isn’t there anymore. 

Chan squints into the darkness, anxiety rising in his throat. Keeping one hand carefully against the wall of the cave, he ventures further inside. After some trouble he finds the two rocks that had signaled the entrance before, but when he feels between them, all he touches is solid earth. As if the opening never existed. 

Panic nearly shuts off his mind. He places his head in his hands and tries to think beyond the imminent mental breakdown. The king has obviously sealed off this entrance, and Chan wouldn’t put it past him to have gone through the kingdom and sealed anything that might even be the slightest opening to the earth’s surface. 

Chan nearly curses out loud. Also almost punches the wall, but forces himself not to at the last second—who knows who is watching out here, where the king could have eyes in this darkness? He sinks down onto the cave floor, placing his head in his hands as he tries to breathe. Why didn’t he think that this would happen? It’s so obvious now that he thinks of it—of course the king would try to find where he came in from after he managed to get in. 

Several frustrated tears roll down Chan’s cheek, but he wipes them away harshly. This opening is closed. More likely than not, any others have also been sealed. He has no way of finding another unless it’s by pure luck—and luck hasn’t been on his side for a while—and he can’t easily go around trying to find one anyway, not when it’s dark and Kereseian guards have probably been scouring the area for him—

The guards. 

His eyes widen. They have to get back into the kingdom somehow. If he can find one of them and stay hidden...

He might just be able to follow one back into Kereseia. 

A rush of hope warms his chest but he swallows it down. No use in hoping unless he can actually find one of them, now. But at least it’s a straw to grasp at. 

For the next few hours, Chan quietly passes through the area of the woods, clutching the clasp of the cloak at his throat. He doesn’t hear a sound, though, beyond the usual murmurings of a forest at night, nor does he see anything particularly strange, even when he decides to climb a tree and watch the ground below for a while. As the hours pass, the sky lightens, and when the sky is a dusty gray Chan almost gives up. Any guards have probably already returned underground, and he’s lost his only lead—

A dark shadow rushes past the corner of his vision. Chan whirls around, clapping a hand over his mouth, to see the black uniform of the Kereseian guard disappearing into the distance. 

Heart in his throat, Chan strides as quietly as he can over soft grass and dirt until he’s ten paces behind the guard. Praying, praying that the guard doesn’t notice him, he follows until they reach a small clearing in the woods. The guard mutters something under her breath and places a hand to the grass.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then a harsh, orange glow flares from the earth, the ground clearing until a small staircase appears, circling underground. 

With every step, Chan thinks the guard will hear him. He doesn’t dare believe luck is on his side. But they reach the bottom of the staircase without trouble, the guard muttering expletives about damned humans and damned king, and Chan finally lets himself breathe just until they emerge from a tiny door and Chan nearly barrels headfirst into several other guards. He barely stops himself in time, but even then, one of them looks around suspiciously, like she felt something in the wind. 

Chan holds himself stock still, not daring to even breathe as the three guards begin to talk, winding their way back to the palace. The dark streets of Kereseia look even more unsettling than when he first saw them, cold lamps shining overhead, the strange silver trees casting strange glows onto the ground. The people of Kereseia walk freely through the streets, and it takes all of Chan’s concentration not to bump into anyone while still keeping the three guards in his line of sight. This entrance is considerably further from the palace than the one the witch told him about, and Chan’s feet are beginning to hurt a little by the time the imposing dark gates of the palace come into view. 

But something is strange. Chan squints, almost bumping into one of the guards. “What’s that?” he hears one of them ask, echoing his thoughts. It almost looks like small clouds of…black dust, or something, are rising from the palace. As they get closer, the gates opening to greet them, it only becomes more evident, and Chan hears faint crashing inside, too. 

Oh. Oh, no. His heart stops. 

“The center of magic being pulled away from the kingdom will already lend to its collapse.”

“Was that a literal collapse? Or just metaphorical?”

“Literal.”

The palace is collapsing. Chan looks left, right—it seems anyone with sense has left. Even the three guards he entered with are sounding cries of alarm, already beginning to run out of the gates. There is no one at the palace door. No one to let him in, not that he could even ask—

The doors groan open, and several people come running out, screaming. Chan wastes no time. 

He sprints inside. 

. . . . .

The second night of torture begins much the same as the first. The king comes inside and force feeds you a goblet of enchanted water. The burns still litter his face and neck, but you have barely enough time to wonder why he doesn’t drink the water himself before he’s whisking out of the room, leaving someone else to prop you up on your shaky legs and primp you for the evening festivities. 

You feel sick the whole time, as usual. No one speaks to you but the king, as usual. You dance alone for the entertainment of the court. He takes you as his partner next, and you exchange barbed words as he dances with you hour after hour after hour. 

But then the ground shakes beneath your feet, right as the last waltz is about to start. The ceiling seems to tremble above you. You stumble on your shaky legs, but the king’s grasp on your hand doesn’t let you fall. He doesn’t seem to notice, though, his gaze riveted on the ground trembling underneath his toes. 

All around you, shrieks of confusion and surprise have begun to permeate the air. You ignore them, gaze fixed solely on the king’s face that is growing stormier and stormier by the second. “The ball is over!” he shouts above the din. “Return to your homes.”

“What is happening?” you demand as the ground gives another shake. This time, the king lets you go, and you barely manage to keep your balance. “Why is the ground shaking?”

He sneers. “Because of your little lover,” he snarls. “He’s taken my crown. The seat of Kereseia’s power is too far away, and the palace is collapsing for it. Don’t worry though, darling.” His lips curve into a wide, insane smile. “I’ll escape. But you won’t.”

In the time it takes you to understand what he means, two guards have already grabbed your arms. You writhe and screech, twisting and biting, but their grip is iron. The king laughs, catching your chin between his cruel, cold hands. “It’s such a shame, Your Highness. If you had kept your father’s side of the bargain and just been my pretty wife, instead of having your lover rescue you like some ill-fated hero, you might have lived. But no.” He sneers. “You think your lover is coming back for you now, under this heap of rubble? No. You will be buried here forever, and I will simply have to find another partner.” His expression mocks you as he tilts his head, feigning thought. “What is your second sister’s name…Yeji? I’m sure she will make a fine wife.”

“You—” Rage blinds your vision and you scream, a raw, breathless sound that echoes off the walls. 

The king only laughs in your face. “Take her to her room, and snap her legs,” he says, waving a hand like he’s just asked for another glass of wine at dinner. “I think I’ll leave your wedding gift intact, hm? If only you could escape. If only you had another to dance with.” He cackles, high and loud, and turns around. “If only you could dance in the first place.”

He’s going to break your legs. He’s going to bury you here. He’s going to keep the magic of the stairs intact at least until it collapses on its own, to taunt you—because if you had your legs, if you had a partner, you could leave. But you won’t. You won’t have your legs and you’ll have no one to save you and he knows it. Relishes it.

“MONSTER!” you scream.

He doesn’t even deign to look at you in reply.

You fight the entire way. You kick, writhe, scratch, twist and bite anything you can reach. But in the end, there is nothing, only the pain of two broken legs without the bliss of unconsciousness as pieces of the ceiling begin to fall around you. Sick to your stomach, you cling to the only hope you have left. 

Chan, I know you will return. 

Please don’t be too late. 

. . . . .

By the time Chan reaches your rooms, rubble has already covered the halls, dust rising in the air and choking him until he raises his cloak to his face. The foundations groan beneath his feet, the ground cracking as he sprints across the floor, but he keeps going even as chunks of ceiling begin to fall all around him. 

He’s so close. So far. With every turn he takes, every chunk of stone he dodges, he fears he might be too late. But he is not leaving this palace without you. 

He isn’t too late. He can’t be.

A chunk of marble the size of his fist crashes to the floor just as he skids to a stop at your door. He digs frantically in his bag for the key, the key he took instead of the ruby—and now he knows it was the right decision. If he’d even managed to succeed with the ruby, what would it matter if he’d failed to take you again, and he had to return with no key? His fingers close around the slim silver key and he twists it in the lock with a prayer to any god listening above. 

Something clicks. Chan swings the door open, rips off his cloak, and meets your eyes.

“Y/N,” he breathes. “Gods and stars above, Y/N—” 

“Chan?” You cough on the dust, and Chan immediately rushes to your side. “Chan—I—how did you get back here?" you gasp. “He said he sealed all the openings—gods, I prayed you would come but I never though—”

“I followed a guard,” Chan says, trying not to stare at the sight of your disfigured legs splayed out on the ground. “I got in but—Y/N, what happened—”

“He broke my legs.”

Chan blinks. Blinks again. 

"He healed them every night he wanted me to dance.” Your words fall to the floor, brittle, cracked, broken. “And when the night was over, he would break them again. So I couldn’t run away.” Tears roll down your face but you laugh, an empty noise devoid of mirth that scares Chan more than the groaning of the floor beneath him. “When the palace began to collapse, he threw me in here and did it one last time. So I wouldn’t escape.”

Rocks have begun to thud on the ground around you two, but all Chan can hear is the roaring of blood in his ears. Fury clenches his hands into fists and it’s all can do to stop himself from punching a hole in the floor—save it, he tells himself with more restraint than he thought he had. Save it for when you meet him. “How did he heal you?” Chan asks instead, ignoring the shake in his voice. 

“Enchanted water.” You have to raise your ragged voice above the sound of the palace crumbling beneath you. “The fountain outside.”

Chan blinks. The fountain outside—the one that had been at the base of the staircase where you danced the first time you tried to escape. He knows where it is. He glances between you and the door. He could leave you here and bring back the water, but what if the room collapses before he can get back? “I’m going to have to carry you,” he says grimly, feeling his heart crack with the way your lips tighten. “I’m sorry. I can’t leave you in here.”

You take a deep breath. Close your eyes, then open them once more. “Do it.”

As quickly as he dares, Chan slides one arm under your thighs and another under your back. “One, two, three—”

He lifts you up. You let out a strangled noise and latch onto his neck, holding so tight it’s a little hard to breathe, but Chan doesn’t complain, only throws himself out the door as fast as he can. He’s halfway down the hall when a crash sounds behind the two of you, coming right from the room you just abandoned. 

“There.”

Your voice drags him out of his stupor and he looks to where you’re pointing, the familiar round atrium with a fountain set in the middle. Chan hurries as fast as he can, narrowly dodging a fist-sized piece of marble that hits his leg instead. “Shit.”

“My family wouldn’t approve of that language.” Your voice, though faint, still holds the slightest hint of a smile and Chan nearly cries. You’re not fully gone. Not just yet.

“We’ll worry about my language when we get out of here.” When, not if, Chan reminds himself as he lowers you to the ground. “Give me a moment.” 

The fountain has stopped running, but a fair amount of water remains in the bowl. His fingers fumble with the flask in his bag but he finally manages to tug it free and fill it as full as he can. “Here,” he says, tipping the water to your lips. “Come on, Y/N.”

You empty a quarter of the flask before you push his hand away. “That’s enough,” you say, voice a little clearer. “I can’t taste that anymore.” Gripping the side of the fountain, you drag yourself up on unsteady legs that have already healed. “Let’s go.”

"Didn’t you say he sealed the openings?” Chan asks over the rumble of the palace falling around him. “Even if we leave the palace, I don’t know if I can recreate the opening where the guards came in from.”

“Here.” You stare at the fountain, then at the circle of stones surrounding it. “We’ll leave from here.”

Chan blinks. “How do you know it’ll work?”

“He said he’d keep it intact. Until it fell on its own, anyway. Because he thought it was the most amusing thing in the world, having a clear exit open for me—as long as someone healed my legs, and would dance with me. Neither of which he thought would ever happen.” You laugh once, a sound devoid of amusement, as your gaze fractures with memories of something Chan wasn’t here for. The voice that leaves your throat is brittle, cracked when you speak again. “We should go.” Despite your words, though, you don’t move. 

“Y/N?” He peers into your eyes, into the fragmented expression that terrifies him more than anything he’s encountered during his time here. “Y/N, are you—”

“Chan.” Your voice breaks, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Chan, I don’t want to dance anymore.”

His heart splits. Shatters. Falls to the floor in pieces that mix with the marble dust littering the ground. Then it resurrects itself, fused together with a flame of fury that Chan takes care not to show as he takes your hands, forcing his voice to stay steady. “One step at a time,” he soothes, even as he rages internally at the fact that the king took so much away from you, your family, your liberty, and now even your love for dance. “Just like the other times, yeah?” Never mind that they’ve danced with each other a total of two times, one of which was their last failed escape. Chan’s heart hammers in his chest but he grips your hand a little tighter, lets the other rest loosely on your shoulder so you can shrug him away whenever you need. “Just guide me,” he whispers. “I’ll follow. Always.”

“Follow,” you murmur, so softly Chan almost doesn’t hear you. “He always made me follow.” You blink once. Twice. “You want me to lead?”

“Why not?” Even as the ceiling groans, Chan smiles. “I’ll follow your lead.”

For a moment, it feels as though the world stops as the implication of his words hangs over your heads. 

I’ll follow you everywhere you go, even into the depths of hell. 

You take a deep breath. Look up into his eyes with a gaze still cracked, but a little less so than before. “I’ll lead,” you say, squeezing his hand. Your other hand goes to his back, resting on his shoulder blade the way you danced at the festival just days ago. “I’ll lead.”

“One step at a time,” Chan reminds you softly. His lips quirk. “And I’m sorry if I step on your toes.”

You don’t smile. Not quite. But the barest hint of a sparkle finds its way into your eyes, more of the glass cracks sealing themselves once more. 

“Ready?” You take a deep breath. “One, two, three...”

And you dance.

. . . . .

Your heart leaps into your throat the second you step onto one of the circles. Rocks are flying overhead, the very stone beneath your feet unstable as all hell, but you force yourself to breathe, to guide Chan around the cracks in the marble as you begin to weave your way across the stones. 

For several terrible minutes, nothing happens. The circular steps don’t rise. The ground continues to rumble. With every step you take you can feel yourself faltering, angry tears running down your face. The king lied. He had no intention of allowing you even the minutest attempt at escape. He’s taken away your life, your love for dance, all that you had in this underground hell, and now he’s going to take Chan’s life too.

But Chan keeps dancing. Keeps stepping gracefully, keeps following you, and what can you do but continue? He’s trusting you now, just as you trusted him to return. So despite the tears and the terror, you force yourself to keep moving. Keep dancing. 

And, after what feels like an eternity, you begin to feel yourself rising. 

A shaky gasp bursts from your lips. Between the tears you can barely see where you’re going, but as the circular stones continue to rise you force yourself to focus. It wouldn’t do to trip here and fall, not when you’re so close but so far. Chan’s arms do wonders to hold you up on your unsteady legs, made worse by the shaking of the stone beneath you. For all you’re leading him, he’s the one lending you the strength to keep going. 

You're so grateful he's here. So grateful you are no longer alone.

The vaulted ceiling finally groans open, letting in the gray-pink light of the sun. You almost collapse right then and there, but you don’t. Instead, you take Chan on a last few dizzying spins onto the final stone circle before leaping onto the solid earth outside. Only then do you let yourself go, falling to the grass with Chan in one unceremonious tumble, hands still clutching each other tight. 

For a moment, you let yourself breathe, taking in the pale light of dawn in the sky, letting its rays caress your skin. Slowly, you force yourself to sit just as Chan also rises, never once letting go of your hand on the way. Then somehow you’re in his arms and he’s in yours and you’re—not sobbing, the sounds being ripped from your throats are something beyond tears and cries—but you’re crushing him close, as close as you can with your trembling arms, and trying to believe that you’re free. That you’ve escaped. Kereseia is collapsing and you won’t ever have to go back. 

“Chan,” you gasp. “Chan, I—”

“Shh,” he whispers into your ear, voice shaking as much as yours. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Just then, the earth rocks a little beneath your bodies. You both freeze. 

“The palace is still falling,” you say, wiping away tears. “The ground must also be unstable. We should leave.”

Chan nods. “I have a horse. Let's go.”

. . .

You don’t make it there. 

As Chan leads you through the grass and trees, two pairs of feet dragging to where he remembers leaving his horse, a sharp scuffling noise sounds in a nearby grove. Warily, you look at Chan, who looks back. “Should we—” you start to ask before an unwelcome figure materializes out of the trees and sends you reeling backward into Chan, a scream cut short in your throat.

The king looks—terrible. Far worse than you last saw him, which can’t have been very long ago—only a few hours, maybe. At most. And yet every bit of his exposed skin looks raw and red, angry burns peppered along his throat and face despite him standing mostly in the shadow of the trees, out of reach of the brightest rays of dawn. Even though he wears the same clothes as when he left you to die in that palace, he looks smaller in them. More haggard. 

It doesn’t diminish the hatred in his eyes, though. 

On instinct you push Chan slightly behind you, stepping forward even as your heart threatens to leap out of your throat. “What are you doing here?” you hiss. 

“I could ask the same of you.” The king smirks, though the expression looks more like a grimace than anything else. “I thought I’d never see you again, Your Highness.”

“I could say the same for you,” you reply, acid on your tongue. “Though I didn’t just think, I hoped.”

Behind you, Chan chokes on something that sounds almost like laughter. The sound lends you a little hope. But then it dies away just as quickly, because even though the king looks severely weakened, he still has power. He still has the ruby necklace. You don’t really know what he can do with that power—he’s never actually shown them to you, beyond when he teleported you to his kingdom—but there was a reason his family was cursed underground. It can’t have been because they were harmless. 

“So your lover did come back for you.” The king shoots a hateful glance at Chan, who only steps forward to meet it. “I can’t tell if you are brave, or just plain stupid.”

“Faithful,” you correct.

“No sense of self preservation.” The king laughs. 

“Not as if you have much either,” Chan says slowly. “Not when you’re standing in the sunlight.”

The king sneers, though for the first time, you don’t pay attention to it. Chan’s words made you remember something. While the king had forced you to drink the fountain’s water to heal your legs, he never took any of it for his burns, which you remember finding strange. “It’s too bad you don’t have any of that enchanted water to heal you, yes?” You force a laugh, carefully eyeing the king’s reaction. 

It happens in less than a second. If you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have noticed. But the king flinches, ever so slightly, before he regains his sneering composure. 

An inkling of an idea begins to form in your mind. “Water,” you hiss to Chan out of the corner of your mouth, angling your hand behind you. You school your face into neutral hatred, praying that he heard you, and praying that the king didn’t. “Why are you out here in the sunlight, Your Majesty? If it hurts you so much, shouldn’t you be sheltering underground?”

“Yes,” Chan chimes in, pressing the flask into your hand. Your fingers close around it as he continues. “Your palace fell, but surely the rest of your kingdom is safe?”

“My reason is standing right before me.” A manic gleam enters the king’s eye. “You have my crown, don’t you, lover boy? The seat of my power?” He steps forward and instinctively you step back. “Or if you don’t have it here with you now, you know where it is, don't you?”

Chan scoffs, though you hear the hitch in his voice. “Even if I did, I’d die before you got it out of me.”

“Oh, you might die without issue.” A smile curves the king’s lips, sending chills up your spin. Your grip tightens around the flask. “But how long would you last if you had to see your dear princess hurt?”

It happens in a second. The king leaps. Chan yells. But strangely, your heart remains calm, even as the king’s cold fingers graze your chin—

And you throw the contents of the flask on his face. 

Time seems to suspend itself. The king stares at you. You stare at him. His fingers are just barely touching your chin, like he meant to claw off your skin. Which he might have if he didn’t suddenly crumple to the forest floor, screaming in agony. 

Your legs give out immediately after. If it weren’t for Chan, you’d have collapsed right next to the writhing mess of a king before you, but Chan grabs you and tugs you back, his eyes riveted on the scene before him. 

You can’t look away either. The king’s face seems to be…melting. It’s the only way you can describe it. The raw redness of his skin flares angrier until it looks like he’s—being boiled, or something, you don’t know how you can even put it into words—but the screams of agony grow sharper and louder until they finally begin to die, turning into raw animal sounds of torture and pain as his mouth twists into something unrecognizable. You stand there, clutching Chan, shaking like no tomorrow, until finally the king stops screaming and goes still. 

For a long moment, you and Chan just stand, frozen, unable to tear your eyes from the lump of flesh before you that used to be the Kereseian king. Eventually, though you’re able to speak. 

“I didn’t think that would happen.”

Then you lean over and throw up on the grass. 

Chan’s over you in a second, producing a handkerchief out of nowhere to wipe your lips, raising the remnants of the flask to your mouth to wash out the taste. He’s shaking too, his face a sick shade of green, but he successfully holds himself back from following in your footsteps. 

Finally, you have enough strength to stand up on your own. On unsteady legs, you walk over to what used to be the king. The bright red ruby still rests on his chest, glinting sinisterly in the pink sunlight. Before you can second guess yourself, you pull the necklace around the melted form of his head, trying not to gag. 

Chan takes the necklace from you and stuffs it into his bag. “Let’s go,” he says gently, turning you away from the body. “Let’s get out of here.”

You don’t object.

. . . . .

You reach the witch’s hut just as night is falling. Chan is reeling with exhaustion and you don’t look much better, nearly falling off the horse when you try to dismount. You catch yourself on him just in time, and then there’s not much time to think before the hut door swings open, washing the two of you in warm light. 

“Goodness.” The witch pulls the two of you with surprising strength into the hut, shutting the door firmly behind. “Come inside, my dears. Sit down.”

Despite his exhaustion, Chan pulls out the ruby necklace from his bag and gives it to the witch before collapsing into one of the overstuffed couches with you. She takes it quickly, turning immediately to the crown case, which had been on one of the nearby tables, and presses the gem into the box’s dent. It swings open. Without a second thought, the witch tosses the crown into her fire, along with the necklace. The flames burn bright white for a moment, then die back down to their previous merry orange.

“You are the witch, aren’t you?” you ask, startling Chan. You’d closed your eyes when you sat down and he’d half expected you to have fallen asleep by now. “The one who helped Chan.”

“I am,” she says, bowing low. “I am also honored to be in your presence, princess of Terpsichani.”

You blink. “I—how did you know?”

“While I may live in a hut in the woods, that does not mean I am bereft of knowledge of the times.” The witch smiles kindly. “I am glad to see you safe in your…friend’s arms.”

Chan flushes red. A ghost of your lovely smile plays on your lips when you look at him. “Friend, Chan?”

“I…” Chan swallows, praying his ears aren’t red at least. “I did not know what else to call you, to a stranger.”

“I tease,” you say, the smile growing a little wider as you squeeze his hand. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I will admit, it wasn’t hard to see through it before,” the witch says, and you laugh as Chan buries his face in his palms. “Just as it isn’t hard to see through it now.”

You lower your head a little, as though embarrassed. When you look up, though, you look better than you have the entire day. “Thank you, my lady,” you say, taking the witch’s wrinkled hands between yours. “For all that you have done for us. For helping keep my love safe. Should you come ever come to my kingdom, you need never lift a hand for a thing. You will be most welcome anywhere.”

“The honor is mine,” she replies, her eyes crinkling with her smile. “I thank you for your kindness, but I do not insist upon reward for my actions. The knowledge that the evil of Kereseia is gone, the seat of the royal family’s power crushed, is enough.”

You frown slightly. “You sound as though you have experience with the kingdom.”

“She was the one of those who cursed the royal family in the first place,” Chan says. It still awes him that this small woman before him was so powerful. 

“...I see.” You rise from your seat, and before either of them can stop you, you give the witch a low bow. “Then I must thank you for your unwavering service, my lady.”

“Do not bow to me, Your Highness.” The witch rushes to seat you again, gently pressing you back into the couch cushions. “Not to me. I only did what I had to. As did you.”

Shadows cross your face, and you look away. Chan takes your hands. Squeezes them against the memories of an evil king, his face half melted away, the dying screams in his ears…

“Enough for now.” The witch stands, gesturing to the two of you. Her eyes are sympathetic. “I will bring you two food and water, and then you must rest. I insist,” she says, though your and Chan’s mouths both open to argue. “You are in no shape to continue riding for days in this state. Rest here, for now, and I will send you on your way come morning.”

You look like you still want to disagree, but Chan remembers how his last attempt at refusing rest went so he just gives you a small smile. “You won’t convince her,” he says quietly. “And we both do need rest. You’re about to fall asleep right here.”

“You’re right,” you acquiesce as the witch bustles off to another area of the hut. “Gods above, I’m tired.”

“Sleep now,” Chan says, guiding your head to his shoulder. “I’ll wake you when there’s food.”

“Alright.” You blink once, twice, slowly. “Thank you, Chan. For everything.”

Warmth floods his chest, giving him the courage to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Of course,” he whispers. “Anything for you.”

. . . . .

It takes a day of riding to reach the outskirts of Terpsichani, and another to reach the capital. When Chan stops the horse at the palace gates, you freeze for a moment. A kingdom doesn’t change much in a week, but even so, everything still feels different. 

It was only a week. You nearly laugh. How could so much have happened in so little time?

The second you dismount the horse everything turns into a frenzy. People shouting, crying, trying to lead you this way and that—noise pummeling your ears, words bouncing off your skull. Someone tries to separate you and Chan and you only pull him closer, not even thinking about what this might look like to those who don’t know of your love. In this moment, he is safety. He is peace. He is the rope you cling to in the ocean of this overwhelming return.

Then the crowd parts for someone and in the midst of it all you lock eyes with Yeji. Her expression, initially disbelieving, crumples into something beyond relief and you feel your eyes beginning to well with tears as she leaps forward, crushing you into a hug. For seconds that feel like minutes that feel like hours you stay locked in her embrace, cherishing the feeling of her arms around you, her face pressed into your shoulder. 

When you pull away, the crowd has quieted at your display of affection. Yeji’s attention shifts from yours to someone behind you—Chan, you realize—and before you know it, she’s walked forward and crushed him in a hug not unlike yours. 

Your heart melts as Chan glances at you over her shoulder, bewildered confusion in his eyes. It’s okay, you mouth, and slowly that confusion turns into a soft relief that allows him to put his arms around her as well. 

Your other sisters come running down the hall, then, along with Chaeyoung, their cries of surprise and relief echoing in your ears moments before they bury you in their embrace too. And for a little while, especially after Yeji joins your hug and pulls Chan into it too, all is right in the world. 

Too soon, though, someone clears their throat. You fight the urge to snap. You want nothing more than to scream foul words at the person who did, but it’s probably not their fault, so all you do is wipe your eyes and turn towards them.

It turns out to be your father’s chief advisor, who wears an expression of half shock, half disbelief. You don’t blame him. You still feel the same way too. 

“Your Highness.” He bows low. “Please allow me to congratulate you upon your return.”

It doesn’t sound like much to congratulate you on, but you can appreciate how hard it is to politely phrase I’m glad you have escaped after being kidnapped by the ruler of the kingdom of hell, so you just try to smile. “Thank you.”

“Your father has received word of your return,” he continues, oblivious to how your heart immediately plummets to your stomach. “He would like to see you, when you are rested and refreshed.”

Your father. You swallow hard. The man who, if the Kereseian king is to be believed, made the deals that landed you in the kingdom of hell in the first place. The man who failed to warn you or do even the slightest thing to prepare you—whatever preparation means in this situation—for what would happen. Even though he could have. 

With effort, you don’t clench your fists. Though you want nothing more than to refuse the invitation and retire to your rooms, he is the king. And you are a princess. Which means you must act as one, no matter how the adrenaline of your return is starting to wear off, no matter how hard exhaustion is beginning to hit instead. “Then tell him I will see him now,” you say, voice as steady as you can keep it. You gesture to Chan. “Please see to it that he is given refreshment. Rooms are to be made up for his convenience of rest. Yeji, have someone assigned to wait on him, please.”

“Y/N—Your Highness.” Chan corrects himself on your name and it almost sends you reeling. He can’t call you by your name here, you know that and he does, but gods and stars above you wish he could. “You don’t need to do all of this for me.”

You look at him steadily. “Chan, there is nothing I could do in the world that would be enough to repay you for you saving me.”

A gasp ripples through the hall. You bite back a frown, turning to Yeji. Did you say something wrong? She must know. What did I miss? you ask with your eyes. 

“If I may.” Yeji looks to your father’s chief advisor. “I would like to speak with my sister before she meets our father. It will only be a minute.” 

He bows shortly. “As you wish, Your Highnesses.”

The crowd slowly begins to disperse, and Yeji walks you to an empty room. Your other sisters disperse but Chaeyoung follows, beckoning a confused Chan with her. It gives you a little comfort to know that someone else is as lost as you. “Did something happen?” you ask as soon as Chaeyoung shuts the door. 

“When Father was informed you were kidnapped, he issued…a challenge, of sorts, to the nobility and royalty of this kingdom and others beyond,” Yeji says carefully. “He promised great reward to the one who would bring you back alive.”

An uneasy feeling begins to spread through your chest. “What did he promise?” you ask quietly. 

“Your hand in marriage,” Chaeyoung replies. 

After a moment's thought, you realize this wasn't unexpected. How many fairy tales have gone the same way? But you never expected to live a fairy tale yourself so the news still hits you like a punch in the gut and you almost have to steady yourself on the wall. You look at Chan, heart in your throat. “Did you—did you know of this?” you ask, hardly daring to hear the answer. 

“I did,” Chan replies, equally quiet. “Her Highness told me, when she came to ask for my aid.”

“And he would have done it without the knowledge that your hand might await his,” Yeji cuts in, her eyes sharp. “You know that, Y/N.”

You do. A deep breath escapes your lips, relief gusting out of you all at once at the reminder. You do know that, know deep within your heart that the minute Chan heard you had disappeared, he would have set out to find you, reward or none. “I do,” you say quietly, meeting Chan’s eyes. He hangs his head, looking almost ashamed, but you take his hands. “You said you would follow me anywhere,” you murmur, tangling your fingers together. “I know you would, regardless what awaited you at the end.”

He squeezes your fingers, a tiny smile on his lips. “I would,” he replies. “Until the end of time.”

“The thing is, he didn’t issue this declaration publicly,” Yeji interrupts. “He announced it to nobility and royalty. I was the one who informed Chan first, but I didn’t know that our father only meant it to be for those of magic blood until later.” Her eyes turn to yours, wide and meaningful.

In your muddled state of mind, it takes you a moment to understand. But when you do, anger begins to burn in your chest. 

He meant for a noble to find you. A royal. Someone of the so-called right blood, someone who would inherit the throne with you without issue or scandal. Someone sure to have magic in their veins. Not one of the commonfolk. Certainly not a cobbler. 

You almost scream. How is this any different from you being married to the king of hell?

This time, you can’t stop yourself from clenching your fists. “I will have no hand but his,” is all you manage to say. “Magical or not.”

“I know,” Yeji replies, putting a hand on your shoulder. “And I will support you, as will our sisters. But you needed to know, so that Father would not blindside you.”

Fury nearly does blind you then, angry thoughts whirling through your skull. Your father made a deal with the kingdom of hell. When he couldn’t keep the first he made a second, and doomed you to a life of agony in the cold underground. To right the second he issued a challenge to give away your hand to the first who would succeed, and in the end, the challenge was only for a select few, and not for the one who found you, who loved you, and whom you’d already given your heart to. 

You swallow hard around the furious lump in your throat. “I understand,” you say. “I will speak to him accordingly.”

“Y/N.” Your name from Chan’s voice cuts through the mess of anger in your mind. You turn to him. “I won’t have you go through more trouble because of me,” he says quietly. His eyes are soft, sad, but he speaks clearly even though he can’t quite look you in the face. “This is not worth as much trouble as it is.”

“You’re wrong.” Two steps forward, and with a surprised gasp from him you’ve locked Chan in your embrace once more. “You’re wrong,” you say again in his ear. “You are worth the moon, the stars. You are worth everything I have to give in this godforsaken world, worth every battle I will have to fight for your hand. Do not even suggest that you are not.” You pull away, your eyes soft. “You fought hell to save me from its clutches. Now, please, Chan.” 

His eyes, full of unshed tears, stare back into yours.

Heart in your throat, you wipe a single tear from the side of his face. “Let me fight for you.”

. . .

Just weeks ago you stood in front of your father’s door just like you do now, arm raised, about to knock. The memory curves your lips, bittersweet, as you rap your knuckles against the wood. 

“Come in,” his voice sounds. You enter the room.

Immediately your father’s eyes widen, like he didn’t quite believe the news that you had returned. Relief crashes over his features and his voice, always so steady in your memory, trembles as he rounds his desk to wrap you in a hug. “Y/N,” he says. “I am glad you have returned.”

If you hadn't known about his role in the contract with Kereseia, you might have hugged him back, perhaps even shed a few tears on his shoulder. For all the coldness with which he treated you over years past, he seems truly emotional now. But even though he seems genuine, it can’t erase the knowledge the Kereseian king gave you. 

It’s true that the king might have lied. If you had only heard the stories of Kereseia, you might immediately assume this was the case. But over the days you spent with him, you know that while he may have teased you in awful ways, spun little white lies about love that he knew you would never believe, he did not lie about the things that were important. Not the threats. Not the punishments. Besides, it takes two to seal a contract. 

Someone had to have done it on your end. 

So you don’t return your father’s hug, only stand there stiffly until he lets go. You sit down silently in front of his desk as he returns to his own seat. “I was told you wanted to see me,” you prompt.

“I did.” Your father’s eyes watch you carefully. You force your expression to remain neutral. “Though it could have waited until you were rested.” When you don’t reply, he frowns. “Why do you remain so cold, Y/N? Did I do something to merit your temper?”

In a moment, you’ve stood, fists already clenched. “That’s rich,” you spit, “considering you should know exactly what you did.”

Shock passes over his expression and then he schools it neutrally, to your fury. “Y/N, you do not understand,” he begins. “Your mother and I—”

“Don’t tell me I don’t understand,” you snarl. “I understand very well. I understand that you were the one who signed a contract with the king to sell my own mother off—I understand that you were the one who later signed another contract when the first fell through to sell one of your own daughters off—to a kingdom we all know as having risen from the depths of hell.” You take a sharp breath. “And now I also know that you used my kidnapping as a challenge, to find someone to take my hand in marriage though I never consented to it—I know all of this, and you dare ask me if something you did merits my temper?”

Your father looks slightly pale. It brings you no pleasure to see him like this, sickens you even because it means everything the Kereseian king told you must be true, but you continue. “I will have you know,” you say quietly, “that the one who found me, the one who saved me, was not one of those to whom you issued your challenge. He is not noble. He is not royal. Do you know who he is?” You laugh shortly. “He is our Chan. Our royal cobbler. Someone you probably have not spoken ten words to in your life.” Your father opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. “I am going to marry him,” you say quietly. “Not because of your disgusting decree. But because he loves me, and I love him, and I refuse to have any other hand but his.”

“You are not well,” your father says, and the dismissiveness in his voice nearly slaps you backward. “You are tired, and not thinking straight. You need rest, and then we will speak again.”

You gape. You never thought that your father would accept this easily, but to just dismiss it out of hand? Just like that? “I don’t need rest!” you yell. “I need you to listen to me—”

“You are not in your right mind!” he snaps. “You know as well as I do that one without magic cannot inherit the throne. You need time to clear your thoughts—”

A laugh escapes your lips, a hysterical sound devoid of mirth. “I have never thought as clearly as I currently am,” you snarl. “You are my father! I am your daughter. You bargained me off to the vilest kingdom on earth so that you would have an heir, you failed to tell me anything that might have prepared me for it, you got both of my legs broken for three days straight for a psychopath who would do anything to keep me from escape, and then to fix that you sold off my hand to the first one who might find me and now when I tell you I want that man to marry me, you refuse!” You laugh again and the sound hurts your throat as it comes up, raw and choking. “You haven’t even apologized!”

Something flashes across your father’s expression, but he masks it too quickly for you to decipher it. “I am sorry, Y/N, for what you went through.” Rage flashes through you—what you went through, like he wasn’t the reason it all happened—“But you are not thinking straight. We will speak later, when you have had time to calm down.”

You choke on your own words, finally feeling an angry tear cascade down your face. “I will have no one but Chan,” you hiss. “Know this, Father. I will fight tooth and nail on this until the very end.” You swing the door open and step out, slamming it shut behind you.

Outside, Chaeyoung waits, pale-faced and wide-eyed. She probably heard everything. “Chaeyoung,” you say, forcing yourself to rein in your tone, “Schedule an audience with my father tomorrow. Make sure Chan is there.” You pause. “In fact, make sure the entire court is there.”

She blanches. “Your Highness, are you sure this is wise?”

“Was my father’s hare-brained decision to send me to that kingdom of hell wise?” You ignore her stifled gasp and continue. “Chan is to be well cared for until then. If he desires to return home, he may. I only ask that he be part of the audience tomorrow. Ensure that he is in proper attire, and tell him that I will speak to him before we enter the chamber, so that he knows what might happen.” 

Chaeyoung nods quickly. “If I may, Your Highness…what do you plan to do?”

You smile a little then, though it surely does not reach your eyes. “My father likes to break contracts, it seems,” you say. “I’m just going to break another for him.”

. . . . .

Chan stands in the throne room, fighting the urge to fidget. It’s not just because of the strange looks being cast upon him the longer he stands here, nor the strange clothes a servant gave him to wear when he came to the palace. That, he can somewhat ignore. 

He can’t ignore the king’s baleful stare on him across the room, though.

Chan takes a deep breath, remembering what you said to him before you entered the room. “My father refused to hear that I wanted to wed you,” you told him first. “He said that I was not in my right mind. But I know I was.” Your gaze, so fiery then, had softened. “Allow me to fight for us, Chan. I will win, or fall trying.”

What could he do in the face of your determination but agree?

Still, though, he can’t help but feel out of place as the court comes to order. The king’s advisor announces you, and you walk forward. “Your Majesty,” you say, bowing low. 

“Your Highness, and my heir.” The king’s eyes don’t waver as you rise. “Announce your intention for this audience.”

You turn to address the crowd. For a moment, your eyes meet his, and Chan feels himself relax slightly as your lips curve into just barely a smile. “I have come before my father’s court, escaped from the kingdom of hell, to announce my intention to marry.”

A gasp rises from the audience. Your father’s eyebrows furrow. “The one I wish to marry is not of magic blood,” you announce, and the whispers grow louder. “But he is the one who saved me from Kereseian clutches. And he is the one to whom I have given my heart.”

The king seems to grit his teeth. “Daughter, you know that one with no magic in their blood cannot join the royal family.”

“And yet you issued a decree, Father.” Your low voice trembles with rage, so much grief and betrayal as you stare at the man who was supposed to love you, to protect you as his daughter, but failed in the end and lost you to the depths of fire and hell. “A decree that the one who found me and brought me back would have my hand in marriage in return.”

The king stares back, impassive. “The decree was not meant for the common folk,” he says, slow, clear. “I don’t know how your cobbler heard of it, but he should have known it was not meant for him.”

Knife blades scratch the walls as your sharp laugh echoes through the room. Chan winces as the sound scrapes through his ears, joining the resounding clack of your heels clicking cold on the marble floor. “Let us not consider right now the fact that you sought to sell my hand in marriage away to the first one who would find me,” you spit, acid in your voice. “I wonder if you made your stipulations evident enough, even to those who heard your decree, considering the only one who found me is of no magic blood.”

It’s the king’s turn for a mirthless laugh to suffocate the air. “If he loves you as much as you say, your poor cobbler boy would have snatched any opportunity at life with you, no matter how absurd.”

All eyes turn to him. Chan stares resolutely ahead at the white marble walls though his shoulders ache to curl in out of embarrassment and shame, red-eared, red-faced shame at the publicity of his love—but there is nothing to be ashamed of, he reminds himself, no shame in loving someone as wonderful and beautiful as you. No shame at having succeeded in a task where all others failed.

There is still that sharp sting of being used as a pawn in the king’s desperate attempt to right a terrible mistake, however.

“And I suppose you would now take advantage of that.” You shake your head. “Take advantage of that cobbler’s loyalty, his love, his life—”

“It would have been foolish for him to hope at a chance with you,” the king interrupts. “Cobblers don’t marry princesses.”

Chan’s shoulders finally slump. The red creeps across his cheeks, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. The king is right, here—cobblers don’t marry princesses. Especially not cobblers without magic.

The silence that follows the king’s declaration is deafening. Every pair of eyes fixed on him weighs heavy on Chan’s shoulders, dragging him down, down, down. He doesn’t want to be here. Shouldn’t be here in the first place. He swallows hard, ready to slip out of the crowd and make his retreat before he hears anything more. 

But then you turn your head. Meet his eyes.

And between all the grief and fury dancing in your pupils, Chan sees a smile, then silent words playing on your lips. 

I’m not going to leave you behind.

An echo of the promise he once made you in a castle set in the depths of hell, your hand desperately gripping his.

“You think he came for me in an attempt at marriage?” And here your laugh cackles vindictive between the marble walls, so sharp and cold but with a touch of fiery warmth that soothes the lash of shame crawling up Chan’s spine as you look back at your father. “You truly think so?”

Only the sound of soft breaths interrupts the silence in the hall.

“My cobbler would have come for me whether or not you had issued the decree,” you declare, and in your step forward Chan feels terror, uncertainty, crushing relief—emotions, he realizes, all of the emotions you felt before and when he arrived. “Because he loves me. Cares for me.” 

Every eye in the room follows the sharp snap of your arm forward, one finger extended toward the man sitting on the throne. Every spine shudders at the vindictive anger you threw into the air with that one movement.

“More than you,” you whisper, voice a terrifying contrast to your blazing eyes. “More than my own father.”

Gasps sound around the court at your audacity but Chan can only watch as you take another step forward, staring your father full in the face. “You made one promise to a mad king of hell and almost doomed my mother to death in flames,” you snarl. “You made another promise to right the first and got my legs snapped in two every night for three nights just so the mad king’s son could have his entertainment. You made a third promise to right the second and now you tell me it was one you never intended to keep. The one promise that would truly have righted some of the wrongs, and you shirk from this one, too.” The peal of laughter that falls from your lips chills the air with the same icy fire Chan remembers from the hell-castle. “Tell me, Father. How many promises would you break so easily?” 

“I—”

“No matter.” Your voice carries over the king’s as you take the last step forward, right to base of the throne. The guards make as though to block you but Chan watches as you flash them a look, a single look and a gesture of your fingers like knives in the air that sends them reeling, horror in their eyes. You ascend the steps until you tower over your sitting father, stone-faced. “When I was born, you made a promise to our goddess. Our deity. Our sacred Mother, the giver of the magic that runs through my veins and yours.” 

Your arms rise. Fingers grip the jeweled crown that rests on your head. A gasp begins to run through the crowd again and Chan finds himself stepping forward, a hand reaching out to stop you as he begins to understand just what you mean to do—

You look at him, and in that single second, Chan sees the smirk twitch your lips so very slightly. 

He stops. 

“You promised I, as your first-born, would be the next heir to the throne of our kingdom.” You lift the circlet from your head and hold it out, letting firelight glitter on the jewels, throwing their shine onto your skin. With your face still as it is, the room completely silent, Chan would have believed it if someone had told him you were the goddess herself. “You made an oath to our goddess that unless an untimely death became me, I would be your heir.”

For the first time, the king’s eyes tremble. Slightly, slightly, but it is more than enough for Chan’s heart to feel that slight vindication, that sharp satisfaction that he’s been craving ever since the king opened his bitter mouth and began speaking. 

“Since you seem to enjoy breaking promises so much, I will break this one for you, Father.” You place the crown on his lap with delicate precision. “In the face of this betrayal—that the king of this blessed land would trade his wife to a king and then his daughter to that king's son, would gamble with their lives and those of so many others—I refuse to claim this tainted crown. I can be no blessed heir for such a cursed throne.” Jewel light sparks off your face and the smile painted across your lips. “I am sure the goddess hears this, and I am sure she understands.”

A clatter and a clang sound on the marble as the crown falls and a flinch carries through the crowd as the king stands, fire blazing in his eyes. “You—”

The voice ripples through the hall, silencing every whisper.

She what, exactly?

Chan’s breath lodges in his throat. He nearly chokes on it. 

The Goddess Mother. Terpsichore. She who breathes magic into this land of dance, who gives the kingdom, Terpsichani, its name. 

At the front of the throne room, the king has gone still, all the color drained from his face. Your own eyes have left those of your father, turned wide to the crowd as you try understand what is happening. Both of you compose yourselves, though, far more quickly than Chan manages. As you and your father drop to your knees, so does the rest of the room. 

You speak first. “My lady.” 

My chosen. 

Your shoulders seem to stiffen under the weight of the goddess’s greeting, but you don’t say a word. 

So, too, does your father speak. “My lady.”

Your…Majesty.

From where he kneels, Chan allows his eyes to sweep around the room, catching several other glances as well. No one, it seems, missed the pause before the goddess deigned to call the king by his title. 

Your father’s face tightens. 

I heard the princess’s declaration. I heard the reasoning she put forth to lay her crown, your promise, at your feet. The goddess’s voice echoes off the marble walls, directed at the king. But while I am all-knowing within the borders of our country, my sight in foreign lands is…limited. 

Princess. 

You look up, ever so slightly. 

You called upon me. 

A pause. You square your shoulders. “I did, my lady.”

I ask you now to show me what you experienced, and from there I will render my judgment. 

Silence falls over the hall once more, though it takes on a puzzled note this time. Though from the moment the goddess used the word show, not tell, Chan understood. And so did you.

The blood seems to have drained from your face, leaving a sick pallor to your skin as you rise to your feet. You hide it well, but Chan notices the trembling in your legs, the legs you still don’t fully trust after having had them broken several times on purpose—legs still riddled with phantom pains and tremors that you have tried to hide but couldn’t fully. 

Chan, I don’t want to dance anymore. 

But the goddess said show. And the deities of this world understand nothing more than the magic woven into their own art. 

As heads remain bowed around him, Chan dares to raise his own. Meet your eyes. 

And smile. 

You don’t smile. Not really. But as Chan holds your gaze, he watches as the fear in your eyes hardens, then mellows slightly into something a little warmer, a little softer. Your teeth that had been worrying the inside of your lip disengage, and your shoulders fall back as you step forward. The crowds of nobles scurry backward, heads rising in curiosity, but Chan remains where he is, his eyes never leaving yours, your eyes never leaving his. 

Slowly, you raise one graceful arm, painting sadness, despair, and resolution into the air. 

“As you wish, my lady.”

. . .

Years later, Chan is sure someone—a friend, a child, a grandchild—will ask him what he saw that day, the day the princess danced her story, the story upon which every Moonlight Festival dance would be based upon in the years after. But even as they ask, he knows that he will never be able to answer, because he could never put the sight before him into spoken word. 

There is no music in the room, save for the hushed breath of those who still kneel, and the alternate patter and thud of your footsteps against the floor. There is no pomp, no cheer, no festival at hand for which you dance. But as you spin and leap and whirl across marble tiles, weaving emotion into the air, Chan understands, truly, what art means. How it is transcends the word spoken by the lips, how it brings new meaning to life. 

Fear, when you first found yourself in the palace of hell. Despair, as you danced night after night with the king to whom your father had promised you away, unable to find a plan of escape. Desperation as days passed and no one came to find you. 

You lock eyes with Chan as you whirl to a stop in front of him, just for a moment, your hand outstretched to brush his cheek. As you turn away, the spot burns with the hope he gave you, smothered when the king nearly caught him before he could escape, but still burning, still there, even as you collapse to the floor with the pain of the king snapping your legs, one by one.

A gasp ripples through the room as you rise, unsteady, face drawn tight and pained. With jerky movements you tell of your despair, dancing around the room almost mechanically as you would have with the king every night he healed your pain only for his entertainment. But finally, after three nights of such torture, you turn back to Chan and before anyone can say a word, you pull him forward—squeeze his hands—

Tears brim in your eyes and his as you begin to lead him in the figures you danced to leave the kingdom of hell. 

Clasped in your arms, Chan follows your footsteps, guided by your trembling arms that grow steadier, stronger, as you lead him across the floor. And when you emerge from the darkness, trembling and exhausted but that hope still growing stronger and stronger in your heart—

Abject terror as you confront the man who had hurt you so badly, and then disgust and relief as you watched him die.

Your eyes and his are not the only ones filled with tears by the time you stop, panting, one arm held out to the open windows and the sky. And as you lower it slowly, slowly, to intertwine your fingers with his once more, he looks at you, and you look at him, and no one says a word when you fold into each other, two hearts trembling, beating as one. 

One clap breaks the silence in the room. Then two. But even as the marble hall erupts into muted applause, you and Chan don’t move. Only when the goddess’s voice again echoes off the walls do you finally step apart. 

I have seen, my chosen. I thank you for your bravery.

You bow, eyes cast down to the floor. 

I render my judgment. 

Chan’s stomach seizes with anxiety. Your hand finds his and you grip each other tightly. 

The princess, my chosen, has suffered beyond compare. Terpischore’s words pound through the hall, cold and furious. She suffered for one man’s folly and arrogance. Her own father’s. 

Every eye in the room turns to the king, who still stands, red-faced, at the front of the room. 

I am fair in my judgment. I understand he…attempted to act in the best interests of the kingdom. However abominable his plan was. Chan can almost see the invisible goddess’s lips twist in the air. But the reason does not excuse the action. And for that, I accept the princess’s decision to leave behind the throne, in the face of this injustice. 

Your grip on his hand tightens. 

But as you are my chosen, I give you a chance to reconsider your choice. I will accept the decision you make, but hear my hand first. 

Bang Chan. 

Chan freezes. Tries to swallow. Tries to breathe. Steps forward. “Yes, my lady.”

Commoner. Cobbler. 

He swallows. “Yes.”

Bravest of all those who stand here today, save for the princess who stands by your side.

Perhaps he’s hallucinating, but Chan thinks—maybe—that if the goddess wished to show her face, she might be smiling. 

I bestow upon you the gift you have earned in helping save the life of one of my chosen. 

Chan blinks. Blinks again. The gift.

Something settles on his forehead—cool, icy, then warm, so warm. It melts down, down, his body trembling with warmth that runs through his skin and into his veins, traveling through his blood until it tickles the tips of his toes—

It is true that one who does not have the gift cannot sit on the throne. The goddess’s voice, edged with disdain, once again addresses the king. But the one you tried to bar from the seat now has it. A stronger gift than even you. 

If Chan weren’t trying to wrap his mind around what just happened, he might laugh at the king’s expression. But it—it doesn’t make sense—this gift, what gift does the goddess speak of—

What just happened?

“You have our gift now.” Suddenly warm hands have taken his again, turned him around to face a pair of eyes that sparkle and shine with the shimmer of a thousand jewels. “Chan, you have our gift.”

Our gift. Our gift. 

And suddenly, he understands. 

He has your gift. A gift bestowed by the goddess, the mother of the kingdom’s magic—he has been blessed by her hand, and now—

He has the same gift of magic as you.

My chosen. 

You look up. “My lady.”

Will you still accept your position upon the throne with your favored by your side?

Chan almost cries when you squeeze his hands just before letting go. “A thousand times, yes.”

Then come forward and reclaim your crown. 

An invisible force lifts the circlet of jewels, diamonds and gold glittering in the sunlight as you kneel, head bowing forward. The crown comes to rest upon your head once more, and the hall takes a collective breath.

Do not disappoint me. 

You look up, a light smile playing on your lips. “I won’t.”

The force of the goddess falls from the hall, leaving behind a curious emptiness in its wake. Chan blinks—it all feels like a dream—but there you are, kneeling on the floor with the crown on your brow, and he can still feel magic curling warm in his veins.

He glances at the king, who looks ready to explode. But where the vision once might have made him tremble, Chan finds himself beginning to fight off a laugh. 

You meet his gaze. Glance briefly at your father, a smile tugging at your lips as you stand once more, shoes clicking on the ground. Your hand finds his and the smile grows and grows, splitting your face as joy sparkles in your eyes—

“You once promised that you wouldn’t leave me behind,” you say. Your voice echoes in the hall but for all Chan cares the world only consists of the two of you right now, you and your smile and the way he can’t tear his eyes from your face. 

The smile widens. 

“I promise you now that I won’t either.”

. . . . . 

Compared to other royal weddings, yours is a simple one, just a quiet ceremony conducted in the palace gardens under the setting sun. Some nobility and foreign royalty fill a couple requisite rows of seats, but occupying the placements up front are your and Chan’s families and friends. Unfortunately, this does include your father, but you pay him little heed from where you stand at the altar, waiting for Chan to arrive. 

The rose gold sunset seems to glow around Chan’s face when he appears at the end of the garden, dressed in all the silks and satins befitting a soon to be prince consort. But you don’t process his finery so much as you process the expression on his face—a certain softness in his eyes that you’ve learned, over the past few months, is reserved only for you. 

Truth be told, you don’t remember much of the ceremony. It’s mostly a blur—the officiant’s voice, the garden’s greenery, the wind tousling Chan’s hair and the love in his eyes that makes you feel so safe, so warm. The only part you’re really aware of comes towards the end of the wedding, when the two parties spin each other once under the flowered archway. Hands joined, you raise your arm to let Chan spin once under the peonies and roses. After that, it’s his turn to spin you, but he pauses. 

You haven’t danced much since you returned from Kereseia. It’s caused some gossip in the court, but when you and Yeji began to further spread the truthful rumor that the Kereseian king had broken both of your legs to keep you from escaping, only to heal you every night he wanted entertainment, the whispers died a bit. That’s not the full reason, though. You don’t quite understand it yourself. Yes, sometimes tremors travel up your legs and you still find yourself stepping gingerly as though your bones haven’t quite healed, but it's also that every time you think of some nameless, faceless person taking your hand and leading you into the figures of a dance, you feel sick. Terrified.

You hate it. Because it feels like the Kereseian king has won even though he’s dead, taken away your love and passion for something that was and has always been part of your blood. But you can’t help it, and so it just keeps hurting.

Chan knows. You’ve told him about it more than once, cried to him about it, even. He was there when you broke down before your escape. He was there when you told him, point blank, you didn’t want to dance anymore. He’s also the only one whose arms you feel comfortable staying in for the duration of a dance, though it’s still harder for you to follow than it is to lead. 

When Chan pauses before he honors the wedding tradition, you’re confused, for a moment. The officiant looks between the two of you with a furrowed brow. But Chan only looks at you, and in his eyes, he asks a question.

Is this okay?

You almost start to cry right then and there. For during a wedding that you broke tradition to have, Chan is willing to break tradition just so that you can feel safe. 

Holding back tears, you nod. And as you turn once under the canopy of flowers overhead, you feel something melt out of your chest, some icy block of fear dissipating into the air. 

The vows come after, spoken softly just as the sun touches the horizon, pink and purple light streaking into the sky. “I promise I will never leave you behind,” you say, voice unsteady with tears, and Chan echoes the sentiment, his own words choked. The officiant pronounces you married and amidst the applause of the small audience you kiss, his lips warm and soft and gentle like the sunset. 

Afterward, in the grand ballroom, you do dance a little. Not much, and never with anyone but Chan or your sisters, but it’s fun in a way you haven’t felt dancing to be in a long time and by the end of the night, while you’re certainly tired, you feel content. Happy. Enough that you can smile wide and true as you bow out of the ballroom, even as your father’s sullen stare attempts to pierce your body as you turn away. 

The silent bedroom provides a welcome contrast to the noise of the ballroom, where you’re certain people are still dancing even though you and Chan have retired for the night. You sit on the bed, soaking in the quiet while Chan washes his face in the bathroom.

He emerges quietly, like he doesn't want to disturb your peace. “Hi,” he says shyly as he sits down next to you. A small smile of your own crosses your lips and you have to fight the urge to giggle. After so many years of yearning in quiet, it still seems surreal that you’re allowed to love each other openly, without issue, but you're sure he feels the same way. Emboldened by this, you lean into him, pressing your face into his shoulder, and just breathe for a moment. “Hi, yourself,” you mumble, voice muffled into his skin.

Outside, the moon has risen, full and bright and glowing in the dark sky. When you pull your face out of Chan’s shoulder to meet his eyes, you seem to see the stars reflected in them, and the words slip out of your lips suddenly, softly, hanging in the air. 

“Dance with me, Chan?”

His eyes flicker from startled to confused to concerned all in a second. “Of course,” he replies, “but are you sure?”

Are you? You search yourself for the answer. True, you haven’t danced much in a while. True, you haven’t wanted to dance with a partner that you didn’t know since you returned from the underground. But it is also true that this all stems from an issue of trust—an inability to trust your legs, an inability to trust your faceless partner, an inability to trust that the scars from Kereseia have fully healed. 

And it is true that you trust Chan, enough to give yourself to him.

A smile flutters over your expression. “I am,” you say, taking his hands. “Dance with me.”

You haven’t changed yet, haven’t even slipped off your shoes. Which means that, as you let Chan lead you into the slow figures of a waltz, you are still wearing the dancing slippers he made for you as a wedding gift, the most beautiful pair you have ever owned. Today is the first time you’ve worn them, and even after the dances you took on the ballroom floor, they are so comfortable that your feet still don’t hurt. 

Every night, in the kingdom of Kereseia, you wore out one pair of slippers during the Midnight Ball. You don’t plan to do much of the same here. But privately, you think, you wouldn’t mind dancing the night away with Chan, if it was just you and him under a blanket of stars. Because you trust him, and he trusts you, and you would never hesitate in his hold, knowing that he will never bring you harm. 

“I love you, Y/N,” Chan murmurs, and his voice sounds like music in the air. A melody upon which you could and will dance to for as long as you live.

You sway in his hold, a smile growing on your face. “I love you too, Chan.”

Always, and forevermore. 

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

[ateezlibrary]

what it takes. (chapter 2/?)

summary: following your mother's passing, the king scrambles to retain power in the kingdom of goseon by ensuring that you are arranged a suitor and wed within a week's time. little does he know, your heart belongs to another that is considered unworthy. how will you navigate a broken heart, an immense loss, and a newfound … friendship, is it? members: wooyoungxreader, mentions of past yunhoxreader

word count: 2,261

genre: ateez royalty/fantasy au, angst, unrequited love, forbidden love, unexpected enemies to lovers

“May I get you anything else, pri—Your Grace?”

You pluck nervously at the lace gloves that creep along your forearms, eyes meeting Yunho’s even in the bed chamber’s dim light. The wedding festivities ended far later than you’d have liked, with endless lines of congratulations and remarks of just how adorable your newborn son-to-be would be as the new face of the kingdom.

He was still adorned in his royal garb, sword nestled in the sheath along his back. You winced at the venom that dripped from your formal title as it rolled off his tongue. You could see the hurt etched across his face, practically hearing the sound of his heart shattered.

“Yunho,” you beg in a hushed plea, feeling suffocated in the billowing white and gold fabric that wrapped around you in layers of silk and gem.

“I’m sorry,” he clips, his voice barely a whisper as he begins to back into the doorframe.

Given your new union to the Gongsam Kingdom prince, you were expected to travel to the allied kingdom in the morning to meet your court to-be and learn more of the logistics in your arrangement. You were familiar with him even before the wedding—Jung Wooyoung.

Over the years, you and Wooyoung had become close friends. You attended lectures together, trained together, danced at balls together. He was as nice as you could expect from a gilded prince, mannerly and well-kept. Though, there was never a distinct charm about him that you could quite place your finger on. Handsome, to be sure, but you would always dismiss the teasing from other the other royal children that he was infatuated with you.

Not to mention, your attention had been immensely swept away in recent time.

With a sigh, you shift from the bed to where Yunho stood. Save for the moonlight that crept through the windows, candlesticks lit the room just enough so that you could navigate your way around. You halt before him, taking note of the way his eyes glaze over at the sight of your layered lace gown and the jewels that hung from your neck. 

“You make a beautiful bride,” he remarks sadly, taking another step beyond the doorframe and back into the hall when you grab his wrist.

“Stay tonight.”

Your request urges Yunho to arch an eyebrow, and you swore you saw a smirk dance across his lips before he was once again masked with concern.

“I—I can’t,” he sighs, pressing a hand over yours. “It would be considered an act of high treason to pursue the princess, especially now that—well …”

“That I’ve been sold off as prized cattle?” you scoff, shaking your hand away from his. You were tired of crying, tired of mourning ever since you’d been summoned to that damned throne room. Your voice was hoarse, your face sullen from the sleepless nights leading up to the wedding.

“Prince Wooyoung is a very lucky man,” Yunho remarks after a long pause.

“And what am I?” you ask.

“A little less,” he replies, another solemn smile etched across his face. You watch as nerves prick at his skin, the way he begins to fidget and look around the room anxiously. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve requested a transfer of duty to the northern border, where our guard is stationed in the mountains.” Your heartbeat begins to pound in your ears, the room suddenly feeling too small.

“What?” you manage to get out. The room is spinning, it’s far too hot. You remain frozen, staring back at Yunho with wide eyes in disbelief. “Why would you do that?”

“I want you to be happy,” he sighs, taking your hands in his as he continues softly. “You will never be able to appreciate what you could have with Wooyoung if you are too focused on what you have—had, with me.”

Your silence is enough response as Yunho lowers your hands, pressing the softest kiss to your forehead before backing into the hallway.

“I wish you well.”

As the door shuts behind him, you collapse onto the floor with a long, drawn-out sob.

* *

“Welcome to Gongsam, Your Grace.”

The foreign palace guard, dressed in shades of navy and stone, offered a hand to you as you descended the steps of the carriage. It had taken nearly a full day’s worth of travel from Goseon to Gongsam, the journey carried out in a painful silence.

You had kept the carriage curtains drawn for the entire ride, arms wrapped around yourself as you clutched onto one of your most recent letters from Yunho. You read, and reread, and reread, reminding yourself of the pain you inflicted upon yourself by bringing it along. Folding it into a neat square, you tuck it into the satchel attached to your waistband before following after the palace staff.

Guards, handmaidens, and council members dash around you, hurriedly preparing for your grand arrival. Drapings of silver and white hang from towering pillars at the front of the palace, the night’s stars dancing across them. Fountains in the surrounding gardens trickled gently, bushels of hydrangeas and snapdragons dancing across their bases.

The estate was beautiful. Too beautiful.

“Welcome, darling!” You recognize Queen Eunkyung immediately, about to curtsy before her when she pulls you into an embrace. You remain frozen for a moment before bringing your arms around her, fleeting images of your mother’s warmth intruding your thoughts before you pull away.

“We are so excited to have you with us for the season,” she chirps, her eyes dancing like starlight as she beams at you. With a tight-lipped smile, you nod and follow her down the hall to what you assumed were your chambers for the next several months. She tells you stories of their preparations for your arrival, how the kitchen staff were on pins and needles to serve you and find out your favorites.

You come to a halt before a tall, ivory door decadent with silver script and markings. She bows her head ever-so-slightly, an odd gesture from a queen to a princess. About to head inside, you turn back to her with a puzzled expression.

“Thank you so much, Your Majesty,” you begin, bowing your own head in return. “But, where is …”

“Wooyoung’s quarters are just at the end of the hall,” she replies instinctively, pointing a manicured finger towards a door twin to yours. With a final smile, she hurries back to the great hall to continue coordinating the staff for your arrival celebrations.

A deep sigh slips past your lips as you shuffle to Wooyoung’s quarters, exhaustion settling in your bones from the long journey as you rap your knuckles against the door. Almost immediately, it swings open and you freeze.

Standing before you is none other than Prince Wooyoung, in all his darkened glory. A silver and sapphire circlet sits across his forehead, matching the silver of his various earrings. His robes are a deep ebony, mirrored by the kohl smudged at his waterline.

“Well, look who’s arrived,” he drawls, the scent of mulled wine on his breath. “Hello, my darling.” You wince at the sound of “my darling”, knowing it paled in comparison to the sound of “my love”.

“Have you been drinking?” you scoff, watching as he sways to lean against the doorframe with a lazy grin.

“Care to join me?” he offers, arching an eyebrow suggestively. “We still need to consummate the marriage, you know.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Why the sudden shyness, princess?” he slurs, turning to stroll back into his room and leaving you to follow. His bed sits at the center, disheveled linens and strewn glass bottles hiding its frame. “We’ve been friends for so long, I know you’re no prude.”

“And I know you’re no drunkard, but here we are,” you chide cautiously, his intoxication leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “What is wrong with you?”

“Wrong?” He laughs, arms thrown out as he does a twirl before you. “I’m celebrating, something you should also be doing.” Staggering to the dresser at the far end of the room, he returns with a fresh bottle of plum wine. He juts it out at you expectantly.

You furrow your brows at him, confused as to how this could possibly be the mild-mannered, cheerful Wooyoung you’d spent so many years with. He was flirtatious, fun, and a bit crude, to be sure, but he had never been one to lose his demeanor like this.

Despite your intense focus on Yunho during the ceremony, you knew Wooyoung was still a well-trained prince and knew all the right things to say—to your parents, to your guests, to you.

Who the hell was this?

“I’d rather not,” you repeat, more sternly this time. “I just wanted to say hello before I retired for the night. Seemed like the polite thing to do.”

“Ever the people’s princess,” he continues to slur. You hadn’t even noticed when he’d cracked open the new bottle of wine and already downed a good third. “Tell me—do the people know you were fucking your guard? Because, we all did.”

“Who’s all we?” you snap, anger churning in your core. You had no idea how he could have possibly known about Yunho. Hatred blinded your vision, blurring Wooyoung’s smug expression beyond your tears.

“People talk,” he replied simply, a shrug as he fell back onto his bed.

“And you will not,” you bark at him, instinctively pressing against your thigh where the folded letter sat. “It’s in the past.” Whether or not you were lying to yourself, was for you to decide.

“Is it, darling?” Wooyoung suddenly growls, appearing sober as ever as he approaches you. His eyes are hazy, yet you can still make out the resentment in them. “Because if I recall, you didn’t look at me once during our wedding.”

You stilled, his revelations throwing you for a loop ever since you set foot in his room. Perhaps it was a mistake to try to be civil with him, after all, considering he’d already decided his emotions towards your arrangement.

“And you’re telling me you wanted to marry me?” you retort, mere inches between you at this point. You can see the hurt reflected in his face, that he wanted this no more than you did. You’d heard rumors of his own scandalous nights with other women, of how he showed no distinction to handmaidens or duchesses that left his bedroom in the early hours of the morning. “I thought we were at least friends.”

A heavy silence fell over the room, both of you glowering and fighting to suppress your own hurt in response to your union. Wooyoung’s chest heaved with the deep rhythm of his breaths, nearly matching yours as you silently took in his features. Undeniably, he was beautiful.

But there was nothing beautiful about the way this conversation was going.

“Good night, Wooyoung,” you say finally, turning on your heel without a second glance at him as you slam the tall wooden doors behind you.

The next morning, you woke up with the expectation that your handmaidens were waiting to draw you a bath, Yunho stationed outside of your door to guide you down to the great hall for breakfast. The sight of cerulean walls that looked nothing like your sage green at home quickly stirred you from that daydream.

With a groan, you kick the sheets off of you and press a hand to your temple. Faint flashes of the conversation from the night prior with Wooyoung come to mind, causing you to groan and roll your eyes.

What an absolute ass.

You were still dumbfounded as to how he had managed to treat you more differently than you could imagine in the years that you’d known him. Last night, he was nothing like you’d ever seen of him. Even at royal balls, you’d shared a drink or two and spend the night giggling with one another, pointing and laughing at gaudy gowns and too-high hair.

Speaking of balls.

“Your Grace?” A faint knock at the door captures your attention and you compose yourself, letting in the handmaiden. “The Queen has sent word that there will be a ball this evening to honor your arrival. She has arranged with the palace seamstress to deliver several of her gowns for you to try on and adjust, if need be.”

“Thank you …” you trailed off, expecting her name. She blinks back at you diligently, and you wave a hand trying to prompt her. “… your name?”

“Ah!” She bows in apology, giving an apologetic smile. “Haneul.”

“Haneul,” you repeat. “Lovely to meet you.”

“I—Thank you, Your Grace,” she stammers, quickly taking her leave. You peer around the edge of the doorframe, down the hall to where Wooyoung likely still slept. Should you go ask him why he was so extreme yesterday?

No, you knew the answer. He despised this arrangement as much as you did, no matter how good of friends you were in the past.

How did he know about you and Yunho?

Without even thinking further about Wooyoung’s suspicions, your mind raced towards your love. Was he faring well at the northern border? The mountains were awfully cold this time of year. He was likely overworking himself, more than any of the other guards stationed at their base. You knew him well enough to know that every time he’d been upset, he would work himself to death.

You sigh again, shaking the hurt that crept up your throat and returning to bed where his last letter lay.

* *

Wooyoung was not at breakfast.

You also saw no sign of him throughout the day, not on your walks through the palace nor when you let in the seamstress to choose your gown and ready for the evening. Queen Eunkyung commented during one of your walks together that Wooyoung was delighted to have company in the palace, making you wonder just how well she truly knew her son.

The front courtyard was bustling with guests and palace staff alike by the time you descended the palace stairs, grand chandeliers hung from the branches of willow trees and long tables covered in dishes of meat, bread, and dried fruit. At the center, partners danced and spun to the tune of the palace band. The King and Queen of Gongsam sat below a canopy of wisteria, two thrones brought to the yard for the occasion.

“Evening,” a voice called from beside you. Turning on your heel, you met Wooyoung’s gaze before it trailed over the silhouette of your gown. He looked dashing as ever, a neatly fitted ebony suit with the circlet sat upon his head. His hands remained in his pockets, bracing him as he leaned against the banister that led to the staircase before you.

“Hello,” you quip, waiting to see if he’d acknowledge his unusual behavior from the night before.

“There are the newlyweds now!” The king and queen call from their thrones, causing the room’s heads to turn towards you at the top of the stairs. Subjects of Gongsam bow and cheer at the sight of you, Wooyoung falling into his role as the beloved prince with a sickeningly sweet grin as he puts an arm out for you to hold.

You scoff, pushing past him and descending the staircase yourself. The crowd barely notices the tension between you, pointing out how they loved your gown and sharing congratulations on your joyful union.

You look back to the top of the stairs where Wooyoung remained, just barely noticing how his jaw clenched at the sight of you.

Joyful, indeed.

[pufferfishstories]

Knives and Feathers.

FANTASY HAWKS AU

Y’all don’t mind me just living out my ballroom, enemies to lovers with the one and only bird boy.

Hawks x FemReader

SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!!

Warnings: knives, smut, or@l (reader receiving), d0m hawks,

————————————————-

Your corseted gown clung tightly to your skin accenting your curves perfectly. You had watched yourself in the mirror as maids fussed over your hair and make up. You sat quietly, making sure to keep an expression of Naive awe on your face.

You were playing the part of an innocent farm girl afterall. Poor helpless little orphan girl, a victim of ongoing war. Although the orphan part was definitely true, helpless was quite the opposite of who you were.

You’d been at the palace for 8 months now, playing the part of the helpless damsel King Touya had saved on one of his royal escapades.

Little did his majesty know you were here on strict business, business that definitely depended on his swift death. A death that would be delivered at the close of tonight’s ball.

“You’re all ready Miss Y/N” a soft voice came from the maid as she stepped back to observe you smiling. “You look very beautiful my lady, no one will be able to take their eyes off of you!” she spoke giving your shoulder a squeeze of reassurance.

You should have felt bad, this woman had cared for you since you had arrived, but you were too busy bubbling with excitement. Tonight was the night you finally killed the King. Giving your country the upper hand in the war.

You meekly smiled at the woman thanking her, before curtsying awkwardly and making your way towards the ballroom.

Your dress flowed behind you as you walked, deep crimson silk wrapping around your body, with a high slit riding up your left leg. The corset layered with undetectable blades, another dagger strapped to your right thigh, hidden in the folds of material.

You quickly pushed the poisoned hair pin into the folds of hair masterfully pulled together by the maid. And finally your look was completed with the necklace you had worn everyday since arriving, a necklace with a tiny vial of poison concealed within it, it’s purpose to kill instantly should the wearer be caught...

You pushed aside the thought. You were going to succeed. You practically had the King wrapped around your finger, over the time you had been here he had taken every opportunity to spend time with you.

And you had made sure to blush and giggle at all the right times. To gently brush your hand against his at all the right times.

And sure enough, as you shyly entered the ball room, there King Touya was standing next to his father and his eyes drinking the sight of you in.

You smiled softly at him.

Your plan tonight was simple. Wait for everyone to be drunk enough that you could draw the Prince away without anyone batting an eye.

For now your job was to keep the Prince’s attention on you. Carefully you began to make your way across the ballroom, flashing shy smiles towards the Prince the entire time.

Just as you were mere metres away from him a deep smooth voice came from behind you

“My my aren’t you an eager little thing”

You held back the need to groan in irritation, spinning around tentatively your eyes met a pair of intelligent golden ones staring down at you.

His large red wings were folded neatly behind his back, he wore a loose black shirt revealing too much of his muscled chest, tucked into his black dress pants.

Hawks pushed a hand through his hair as he looked at you expectantly.

The real you wanted to tell him to fuck right off and let you do your job, but you weren’t playing the real you, so instead you said

“I- what do you mean... Lord Hawks?”

You stumbled over your words, quickly putting on your perfected mask of innocence.

He seemed to be somewhat annoyed by your change in manner, as if he had noticed the brief flash of annoyance cross your features.

“I think you know exactly what I mean” he spoke the words as if they had a double meaning.

He concerned you, he was different to everyone else here. More alert, untrusting. He had never quite let you get any information from him in the time you have been here. It was as if he was simply waiting for you to show your true colours.

Everytime you had the opportunity to get close enough to the King he would appear just in time to save the day.

He wouldn’t break. But neither would you.

And tonight would be different.

Tonight everything would line up. Hawks was the official right hand to the King, which would be concerning except for the fact that it meant he was to be leaving early from the celebration in order to attend to a royal meeting in His Majesties stead.

It was perfect. Once the too well spoken bird man was gone, you were free to do what needed to be done.

“I- was just going to thank His Majesty for the invitation to attend tonight’s event, I- I’ve never been to something like this” you spoke gingerly, while simultaneously cursing his existence in your mind.

Hawks seemed to think about your answer for a moment, finally he spoke

“Well then you’ve got me to thank darling, it was I who invited you”

Taken aback for a second you stared at him suspiciously, your mind whirred thinking through possible reasons for his invitation

“You should know that when you think too hard you drop your little farm girl act” He spoke pointedly, the smirk returning to his roguish features.

Before you could respond your waist was pulled against his.

“Dance with me will you farm girl” which was hardly a question as he began to pull you more than guide you in a waltz.

“You see you’re very hard to read, Y/N if that’s even your name. So tell me, why are you here?” Hawks had leaned in close to your ear, to anyone else it would simply look like the pair of you were engaged in a relatively scandalous rendition of a dance.

But you were feeling a snake of dread unfurling in the pit of your stomach. You knew he was suspicious of you, but he said himself he couldn’t read you. Maybe you could still manipulate his suspicions.

“Maybe I am just after protection, and believe what you want, but I really am just an ordinary farm girl” you spoke quickly.

“Hm a rather pathetic lie, but I respect it” he responded coolly.

As the sultry music changed in tempo Hawks pushed his hand against your back, his fingers digging into where one of the blades were placed against the boning of your dress.

You almost whimpered at the uncomfortable pain now digging into your back. But you weren’t going to back down. You met his eyes, “accidentally” tugging on some of his feathers as he spun you gracefully away from him.

You heard his breath catch, and his confident collected front falter for a second. Happy with yourself for causing him a bit of pain, you continued dancing, pressing your body against his. To your surprise he seemed to have dropped the conversation.

Finally, at the close of the song he bowed low, but not before taking your hand and speaking in a low tone “If I find out you’re intent on anything other than getting in His Majesties pants for his money. I will make you wish you were dead”

“My lady” he smirked before turning sharply on his heel and walking away. Leaving you there to gawk at him.

Recollecting your thoughts, you decided that it didn’t matter what he did to you after you’d found the king, so long as the King died. You knew this mission was suicide. And being killed by the hot bird man might not be the worst way to go. Taking a quick breath you finally made your way towards the King.

You spent the rest of the night *pretending* to drink goblets of wine. Giggling loudly at the Touya’s jokes, drunkenly leaning your head on his shoulder.

Finally, the time of the night arrived where everyone seemed to be swaying. The music slightly out of tune, everyone danced and laughed spilling their drinks and kissing strangers.

It was time. The bird was nowhere to be seen, you had watched him leave hours ago.

You quickly started to stand up, consciously wobbling your legs and leaning on the King.

“Oh I better get to bed” you hiccuped

Laughing softly King Touya gently grabbed your hand

“I will have someone help you to your room” he said kindly

“Noooooo, I want youuuu” you protested, wrapping your arm around his

You knew he couldn’t afford to be seen leaving with a woman, especially not one of such a low status. But you also knew he wouldn’t refuse you. And so he did exactly what you wanted him to.

“Okay Y/N you know the drill. Go wait outside and I will meet up with you shortly to escort you to your room" he whispered to you

You did know this, the pair of you had done it many times.

Nodding happily you had wandered outside. Your heart pounding with how close you were to success.

Typically, the King would follow you after around 10 minutes or so. And so you melted back into the shadows on the corridor behind the ballroom.

You stood there for what felt like forever when you heard footsteps on the cobblestoned floor. Just as you were about to come out from the corner a strong hand covered your mouth and pushed you up against the wall.

Almost instinctively you reach up and pull out your poisoned hair blade. Only for your wrist to be caught and crushed up against the wall.

“Interesting, I knew I wasn’t wrong about you” the smooth voice evenly assessed.

Panicked you look up once again meeting the eyes of the winged Lord. It was Hawks. His eyes now trained on the miniature blade in your hand.

Cursing to yourself you tried to shrink back, and look scared, anything to scramble your character back together.

You felt his hand trail up your thigh, stopping at the blade secured there. Quickly pulling the blade from you he held it up to your neck.

“You know little bird, these are some pretty intense blades for a little farm girl”. He had now removed his hand from your mouth, keeping the cold silvered blade pressing against your neck, and his other arm still pinning your wrist above your head.

“Let me go.” You spoke dangerously. Barely breathing against the blade. Your wrist pulsing with pain.

“See I would if you were the little farm girl you pretend to be, but unfortunately my little sneaky bird. You’re not”

He smiled and tightened his grip on your wrist, causing you to gasp and drop the poisoned blade.

“Now you’re going to be a good girl, be quiet and do what I say”.

He pushed you into the nearest room closing the door quickly behind you. Your knife not wavering from your neck.

Finally you were returned to your position against a wall. Hawks’ body pressed right against yours.

“So, are you going to tell me who you really are little bird?” He spoke sharply into your ear.

You only glare at him in response.

“Hm well, that is unfortunate” he mused inspecting you

“You know I could kill you” He spoke finally,

Panicking you almost blindly reach out grabbing onto his wing. Suddenly his breathing shifts. His normal collected demeanour changes to a dark unpredictable aura circling around him.

His eyes darken as he releases a breath.

“You shouldn’t have done that” he spoke darkly

Suddenly the blade was discarded and his hand was around your neck.

Finally looking at his face you see he’s flushed, his chest rising up and down, breathing hard. You suddenly realise your hand is still entangled within his feathers, almost unintentionally you trail your fingers down his feathers, almost entranced by them. You’d always wanted to touch his wings. But never truly dared.

His breathing caught again, as he watched your hand.

“Are you trying to make me fuck you little bird?” He spat out pressing his body even closer to you now.

Taken aback it suddenly all makes sense. His reaction to you touching his wings. Now you can see a way out of this, and a way you’re certainly not complaining about.

Smiling you raise your other hand, entangling it within his feathers carefully massaging your fingers through his roots. His eyes fluttered for a second. Before smashing his lips against yours.

You moan, welcoming his tongue against your own, he lifts you up as you wrap your legs around his waist.

His lips move down your neck, planting kisses and bites along your neck. He keeps moving downwards kissing and biting along your exposed collarbone.

“Do tell me little bird of mine, why are you still wearing this” He spoke glaring at your corset

“A knife in the seam of my dress” you panted out breathlessly, your body pulsing

“Ah aren’t you just a clever little assassin” He breathed smirking, whilst feeling for your blade, after finding it he quickly sliced up the middle of your dress, exposing your now bare chest. “I hate you” you whispered breathily.

“Doubtful” he responded, then without giving you so much as a second to think his mouth was on you, sucking, kissing and biting causing you to let out small gasps and moans at his torture.

His hands slowly trail their way down your body, before his hand makes its way into your lace undergarments. He begins to run slow circles on your most sensitive spot, letting out a quiet growl of pleasure as you let out another moan.

“Shit” you think to yourself, “so much for getting myself out of this”.

Your thoughts are interrupted when Hawks abruptly pulls you away from the wall, lifting and almost throwing you on the bed, eyes widening you watch him stalk towards you, like some sort of crazed predator. You’ve half the mind to reach for one of your daggers only to remember it lay on the cold stone ground now meters away from you.

“You have no idea what seeing the real side of you does to me” he spoke breathily, his muscled chest rising and falling now almost completely exposed after your pulling at his lose shirt. As you watched him through your lashes you felt a pulse of heat radiating in the pit of your stomach and your sex.

Without warning he knelt in front of you, spreading your legs apart before getting your panties in his mouth and pulling them down leaving you completely exposed. You knew you were getting wetter by the second. Suddenly his mouth was on you, devouring and teasing you, his tongue worked it’s way around your clit, Hawks pushed a finger in you and then another, eliciting multiple unholy noises from your mouth. Finally when you felt an explosion building up inside of you from the torture he stopped.

Almost whimpering from the sudden loss of ecstasy your eyes snapped open to find him, embarrassingly your hips tried to follow his hands.

Chuckling darkly he spoke again.

“You know little farmer girl, I want the king dead too”

Now this was the last thing you’d expected to hear. Shocked you look up meeting his now lust filled eyes.

“He’s a villain to my country” Hawks continued matter of factly.

You stayed quiet waiting for him to elaborate.

“So you’re going to have to be a good girl and be patient, I’m afraid I can’t have you killing him before I’m ready”

Still breathing heavily from his treatment you tried to process what he was saying.

“So” he spoke, “in exchange for you holding off killing him, I promise to keep you” he knelt again, lazily rubbing circles into your clit again “very entertained” his voice dripped like honey, and your eyes were rolling back as the fire built up inside you again.

“So Y/N do we have a deal?” He spoke as you continued to moan.

“Yes” you finally said “oh god yes” as your orgasm finally reached you.

Chuckling darkly his wings unfurled stretching far beyond the length of the bed frame, he finally replied

“Good.”

[killmongerskeeper]

Crashing Waves // Chapter 4 // Namor

Pairing: Namor x POC Reader

Warning: Spoilers

Chapter 3 // Chapter 5

"The vibranium? Doesn't it belong to Wakanda?" You asked.

"So the stories really are true. Vibranium has been sought after ever since the black panther revealed Wakanda to the world. All those countries after that one resource. And if they get their hands on it, the world will blow itself into the ground. With our forces joined together, the surface world wouldn’t stand any chance." He replied and you couldn't help the dreadful feeling in your stomach. You knew where this was going so you decided to change the subject. 

"And this world of yours, what's it like?" You quickly asked and his eyes found yours. 

"The way to my world will not be an easy one for you. The rushing water will crush every bone in your body and leave you mangled for the underwater creatures to consume you." He explained and for the first time you had fear in your eyes. "So you need a suit. You can borrow ours." He said with a grin and you felt yourself release the breath you didn't know you were holding. You followed behind him as he led you to the suit that was on the wall. You recognize it as the one the divers were using at the vibranium site. Two of his followers helped you into the suit as he walked waist deep into the water. 

You slowly followed behind as he dived into the depths before as you floated after him. You noticed the tube-like shape and turned to look at Namor with an unsure frown. 

"You want me to jump in that?" Instead of giving you an answer he pushed you into the current leaving you screaming in fear. The current pulled you side to side as your body curved with the water up until you were in the darkness alone. Your eyes scanned around you in fear that you were really alone. You nearly jumped out of your skin as a whale swam by with Namor on its back. 

"Did I scare you little one?" He laughed and you couldn't help how your face heated up. 

"It's Y/N." You reminded him as he swam back to you before urging you forward. "Do not push me into another current. Your people don't seem to believe in giving warnings."

"You have nothing to worry about, Y/N" He once again swam off and you followed in time to see his world with your own eyes. "This is Talokan."

Your eyes scanned your surroundings as there was an entire palace under the ocean. The people communicating, the kids playing games with a soccer ball. Doing everything the people on the surface do but underwater. They all seemed so happy. Living their lives without a care in the world. How they greet each other with a hand gesture, just like Wakanda. Interrupting your gaze a small child swam up to you to show a toy they were playing with with a large smile on his face. You smiled back before placing your hands together and making a spin motion with your finger, causing a small green sphere filled with water to manifest. The child clapped their hands before you swam further to catch up with Namor. Lastly you approached a bigger temple that began to open. A huge ball of light started to ascend showering the people of Talokan in underwater sunlight. You were amazed at the sight. This city was thriving. Hidden from the outside world.

"It's all made of vibranium?" You asked and he gave a nod.

"I made it possible to bring the sun to my people." He smiled as he stared up at the underwater sun. "This is what I'm protecting." 

You couldn't help but feel where his anger rages from. But part of you can feel the determination to protect radiating from his heart. This isn’t good. There’s no way Wakanda will agree to take on the surface world. Not after the death of their king. You stared down at the ocean beneath you before he opted to take you back to the cave. You agreed and the two of you swam back to where you came from. Or floated in your predicament. When you arrived there was a change of clothes laid for you, sprawled across where you sat before. 

"I'll give you time to change. Namora will bring you to me when you are done." Namor said before disappearing through the doorway. You stared in the space he once was before shaking your head, to break yourself out of the trance. You quickly changed before putting your hair in a single puff at the top of your head. You looked up to see Namora approaching you with warning eyes. 

"You can chill with the glares. I'm not going to hurt him." You said and she turned away from you, walking in the direction Namor went off to. You quickly caught up to her and entered a small hut where Namor was sitting quietly painting on the wall. You scanned the area to see all kinds of little trinkets. 

"K'uk'ulkan." Namora greeted with a small bow as his eyes found mine. 

"Thank you Namora. You may go." He said to her and she went on her way to do whatever it is she does. 

"The clothes suit you." He mentioned and you felt your cheek heat up at his compliment. 

"Your world. It's beautiful." You told him as you stood with your hands crossed. He stood at his full height before beckoning you to sit. He once again kneeled down to your eye level before tapping your forehead. 

"That thing you did earlier, how far into the past can you show others?"

"As far as when my eyes opened for the first time." He seemed more intrigued before running his finger over a beautiful bracelet with jade gems in his hand. 

"Sometimes I wonder why my mother was sad over the surface world. There's nothing but violence and bloodshed waiting there. Her sadness unfortunately killed her." He began speaking as if the two of you have known each other for ages. "What I saw was something no child should've seen." 

"I vowed to protect Talokan and its people the day they destined me to become their K'uk'ulkan. I will go through great lengths to keep that vow. Which is why I have to go to the surface tonight." He told you and you immediately tensed. 

"Why are you going to the surface? What are you planning to do?" You asked with a dreadful feeling in the pit of your stomach.

"To make an alliance." He said in a flat voice.

"With Wakanda? They would never agree to it. They are in mourning." You said and he nodded with a frown. 

"I didn't expect you to agree but it is something I have to do." He said looking forward and you bit your lip. 

"Maybe they can come up with a different alternative that doesn't involve war." You suggested and he chuckled.

"If they did it wouldn't be good enough. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it." He said as he rose from his position and made his way to the door. 

"Namor-" you started but was cut off by the woman you now know as Namora appeared. 

"We've found a way past the river border." She told him leaving you anxious. 

"Good. Keep an eye on the little one for me." With that he was gone. Leaving me with Namora.

A/N: There's gonna be a double update today! So be on the lookout!!

A/N 2: Also some tags aren't working for some reason so if I can't get them to work next chapter I'll have to take them off :( I'd love for you guys to continue getting notified when then next chapter is up.

Taglist: @missdragon-1 @zooni92802 @22carolina08 @bonnapple @arcaerin @bontensbabygirl @simpingfor-wakasa @secretpostts @gardenof-venus @batfam-sitcom @caldodemazapangourmet @naiomiwinchester @moneteguiza @gnkkstarz @aut0matic-supers0nic @historygeekqueen @violet-19999 @euphoricsirens @emberfulclass @pixiest1ckz @randomtumblerusersblog @tired-hungry-angry @aykxz98 @yepimthatperson @hangesbaee @aeilani @juicyj28 @astrospunutt @natalia-rmnva @stitchattacks @xxmusic13luverxx @usernamelotus

[anne-chloe]

Underground | VIII |

Jareth/Goblin King x F! Reader

Summary | Jareth makes it known as to why he is the Goblin King

What had you done?

There was nowhere left to run. Everywhere you turned, every corridor that you rushed through, all of them somehow wound back to the throne room. You were exasperated, your mind spinning in a frightening haze as the consequences of your actions finally dawned on you.

Your freedom now lay in the hands of your ex. Your furious ex fiancé.

If only you had thought through the terms of what you were wishing for. Why hadn't you noticed that loophole? It was painfully obvious now that you had realised, but at the time it sounded utterly perfect. You were ashamed that you had fallen into the Goblin Kings trap like this. You really were naive, just like he had said.

After attempting to escape the throne room for the tenth time, you gave up. Every time you whirled down another hall, it only directed you straight back again. You were wasting precious energy. You slinked into the throne room, ignoring the handful of goblins that lazed around, all in drunken stupor and too occupied to notice your presence.

One of them burped, then cackled straight after. You scowled at the boisterous behaviour, and it quickly reminded you of the times Harry would get drunk with his friends and unleash that alpha-male personality that you despised so much. You wanted to slap yourself for even thinking of Harry. You blamed yourself entirely for this mess you had caused—you'd doomed yourself from the very beginning.

Out the corner of your eye, a small goblin approached. The way he was dressed reminded you of Dobby from Harry Potter. You looked down at him, raising a brow in question. Then, he lifted a shaky hand and presented a crystal ball for you to take.

You scoffed. The Goblin King was taunting you, surely. You stuck your nose in the air and faced away from the small goblin, making it painfully obvious that you were rejecting the Goblin Kings gift. The small goblin realised this, a series of grunts and snorts leaving his mouth as he circled round to stand in front of you, pushing the crystal ball into your line of sight again. You frowned, turning away again. The goblin followed.

You did this a few times before giving in. You took the crystal ball from the goblin with a deep grumble of complaints, and focused your eyes into the reflective centre. Through the mist, you squinted, watching as a scenery came to life. It was like watching a video on your phone—only you could not call for the help you desired from this crystal ball.

Harry appeared. You sucked in a deep breath, suddenly finding your knees shake with anticipation. You slowly sank to the floor, back positioned against the wall for support, your legs sprawled in front of you. What is he doing?

Harry spun around in a circle, his hair ragged and sticking up in various directions, a clear sign that he was frustrated and running his fingers through his hair. He was mumbling something under his breath—probably cursing you out—while searching for something to aid him. Harry touched unsuspecting boulders and jagged lines in the walls, treating everything with great caution.

He was still in the beginning of the labyrinth, from what you could tell. And it appeared as though he was having a hard time figuring out where to go and what to do.

You chewed your lip, thinking hard and hoping you could somehow communicate with him telepathically. But your mind and the world didn't work like that—not that the Goblin King would allow you to cheat anyway. He wouldn't allow you to interfere with Harry in the labyrinth. He probably gave you this crystal ball to keep you occupied, to assure you'd stay in one place. Or maybe it was to add to your distress; if you could see Harry's struggle to complete the labyrinth, that would deflate your hopes even further.

Nothing is ever as it seems, you thought, anxious that Harry wouldn't realise this quick enough. If he couldn't understand that the labyrinth played tricks as though it were fully conscious, then Harry could navigate the labyrinth easier than he was. But Harry was always so incredibly pessimistic—a realist. He'd take one look at the straight path with no visible turnings, and he'd decide that it's how the labyrinth was deliberately created. He wouldn't stare at a wall and imagine a gap to be there; he'd stare at a wall and he'd only picture the wall there.

"He's stuck."

You almost dropped the crystal ball. You regained your posture and held the crystal ball to your chest, now shooting a skeptical glare at the Goblin King as he lounged in his throne. One leg was hooked over the arm rest, and his head was leaning against the other. In one hand was a crystal ball, which displayed Harry's position in the labyrinth, and the other he played thoughtlessly with.

"He hasn't moved for the past 15 minutes," the Goblin King teased, his smile wicked and cruel. He was enjoying every second of this. "I think I might give him a helping hand and... get the ball rolling."

With the crystal ball that he played with, he suddenly threw it high into the air. You waited for it to come back down, but it completely vanished. You leaned forwards, eyes wide at the trick. Then, a series of frightened shouts and yells came from the crystal ball in your lap. You raised it up and stared into it, fear gripping your heart as you watched Harry sprint for his very life, a large, jagged boulder chasing after him.

"He'll get crushed!" You protested desperately, now rising so you were sitting on your knees. "You'll kill him!"

The Goblin Kings expression darkened at this accusation, and he now turned his head to look directly at you. You felt his cruel state pierce you, and suddenly you shrunk back in hopes of becoming small and invisible.

"Then he'd better run faster."

You gulped, turning your attention back to the crystal ball.

Harry didn't pick up the pace. In fact, he was visibly slowing down. He didn't posses a lot of stamina; he was more accustomed to spending his days playing online games with his friends, lazing around and doing the bare minimum. The only active thing he did is when he'd go to work—and even that didn't focus lots on cardio.

Your chest tightened in pure panic. Don't stop, you thought out of fear, keep running, please! Find a gap and turn! Look at the wall and turn!

You hadn't realised, but your breathing had become rather intense.

Harry kept running. And running. And slowing down. And the boulder was rolling closer, crushing everything in its path. You grimaced, wanting to look away and hide your face, so you wouldn't have to witness the violent death of your ex—

—Harry threw himself to the side.

You let out an involuntary cheer, relief clouding any sense of judgement and control that you'd had over yourself. The boulder continued to roll past, and Harry remained with his head on the ground, his body sprawled out as he caught his breath.

You hugged the crystal ball to your chest, tears springing to your eyes at how overwhelming your emotions were becoming. You'd almost been the cause of your ex's death. Truly, you wouldn't have been able to live with yourself for that. How could you ever look at yourself in the mirror again?

No... no, you couldn't blame yourself for being in this position. This was the cruelty of the Goblin King. This was his twisted way of entertaining himself. Finding loopholes in wishes and deals and exploiting the powerful emotions of every human that walked through his labyrinth; this was utterly and entirely in the hands of the Goblin King. He knew the severity of your wish before you'd even comprehended it, and he'd played you right into the trap of speaking it.

But for now, Harry was safe. He'd managed to dodge the boulder at the very last second. He was still alive and still had 9 hours to make it through the rest of the labyrinth, the Goblin City and to the castle.

You gauged the Goblin King for his reaction. He seemed expressionless, deep in thought as he tapped his crop against his leg in a rhythmic pattern. He was extremely focused on the crystal ball that displayed Harry. You shuddered, fearing what the Goblin King would conjure up next to make Harry's journey more difficult than it needed to be.

The only time the Goblin King had been cruel during your journey through the labyrinth, was when he had knocked that stone slab from underneath you, resulting in your almost plunging to your death. No other time happened to be as dangerous as that; had the Goblin King gone easy on you? Then again, you were a lot quicker at figuring out the labyrinth than Harry. You'd also received help from a fairy, a worm and a unicorn—so far it seemed like Harry hadn't encountered any creatures willing to be so kind.

"Such a pity," the Goblin King mused out loud, drawing your focus back to him entirely. You waited for him to continue, feeling as though he would only become more unhinged as the 13 hours drew on. "I was almost certain he'd be squished. Perhaps he might make it half way, after all."

"Half way?" You echoed, blinking slowly as the King readjusted his position. "You don't think he'll make it to the castle?"

The Goblin King flashed you a toothy smile, and it was only then that you'd noticed how sharp his canines were. He was like a vampire, almost. A sparkly, glitter obsessed vampire. Only, it was obvious that the Goblin King could venture out into the sun without the fear of being burnt, and he didn't seem to crave blood to keep himself alive.

"What I believe doesn't matter," he tutted in a playful way, "but if you insist, I'm willing to believe that your fiancé will find himself in an unfortunate situation rather soon, one which he'll have no choice but to admit defeat."

"Ex," you quickly corrected.

The Goblin King chuckled. "Of all the things to focus on, you're bothered by technicalities."

"Are you going to interfere with the labyrinth again?"

The Goblin King simply rested his head in his hand, the crystal ball bouncing playfully in his other hand while maintaining eye contact with you. "Oh, my precious dear, I am the labyrinth."

[angelasscribbles]

Queen of Hearts: Let the Games Begin

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Series: Queen of Hearts

Pairings for this chapter: Riley x Liam

Word Count: 1,027

Rating: E

Warnings for this chapter: None

Series Premise: Riley is the crown princess and the men must compete for her.

Disclaimer: I am sure that I am not the first, nor will I be the last, person to flip the script in this way. This is simply my take on it.

My other stuff: Master List.

Riley opened her eyes and smiled. The man snoring softly next to her had been an unexpected adventure.

Impossibly dark hair, perfectly coiffed the night before, now fell across his forehead mussy and messy. His eyes were closed but she knew they were nearly as dark as his hair. Striking was a good word for him.

He was the younger son of his house, so not an ideal match but a suitable one nonetheless. Not that she was trying to marry him. Or anyone for that matter. She was still young and in no hurry to settle down but she would be expected to choose a husband, or at least a consort or two, eventually. The council had been clear that they preferred it to be sooner rather than later, and her parents had arranged for every noble house in Cordonia to parade their heirs in front of her all summer.

Not that she wasn’t enjoying it. There was a cornucopia of delights to choose from. The one currently gracing her bed for example. She had found him hiding on a balcony the night before.

The Annual Masquerade Ball was in full swing as she stepped out onto a vacant balcony to get a moment’s peace. Removing her shoes, she leaned over the balustrade and inhaled the night air deeply.

The sound of a throat clearing made her spin around. So, not alone after all.

“Sorry,” an impeccably dressed nobleman stepped out of the shadows, “I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I also didn’t want you to think you were alone when you weren’t.”

Heat spiked through her as she took in his trim but muscular physique, dark hair and eyes, the broad shoulders. A flirtatious smile curved her lips, “What a gentleman. I haven’t seen you at court before. I’d remember.”

The young man flushed with pleasure and embarrassment as he dropped his eyes to the ground, “I…ah…this is my first time.”

“Oooh, a court virgin!” she teased.

His flush deepened, “Yeah, I…my parents said I need to start learning how to represent the family at court in case my brother becomes king and I have to take over as duke when my father-“

She took a step closer to him and ran a finger down his cheek, “What makes them think your brother would be chosen and not you?”

He seemed stunned into silence for a moment before stumbling over his words, “Oh! Well, because he…I mean you…that is….”

“Let’s not talk about that,” she interpreted him, “I’m not planning to get married anytime soon despite what my parents, the council, or the press think.”

“But I should probably mention-“

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” she wrapped her arms around him with a sultry smile, “I have a better idea!”

Sunlight poured in from the balcony doors bathing him in a golden glow. He looked absolutely delicious. Just when she decided to wake him up for a little morning-after follow-up, a loud pounding sounded from her door.

She recognized the aggressive knock. With an aggravated sigh she called out, “What do you want, Bas?”

“Are you decent Your Highness?”

“No,” Riley smirked as she watched her companion’s eyes flutter open, “But I’m covered up and you may enter.”

Bastien Lykel was the head of her mother’s queen guard and a huge pain in her ass. He had no sense of humor or adventure at all.

“Your mother wanted to make sure you remember the luncheon today with the Ladies Historical Preservation Society-“ He stopped short as he noticed the man in her bed, “Oh! I…see why you disappeared from the ball last night.”

“Save the judgment, Bas. What time is the luncheon?”

“Noon, Your Highness. Shall I show the young gentleman out?”

“You shall not. Tell Mother I’ll be there. Have the kitchen send up breakfast for two and go away.”

With a disapproving shake of his head, Bastien turned and exited the room.

Riley turned back to her latest conquest and dropped the covers, “Sorry about him. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he blinked up at her, and sleepiness was quickly replaced by something hotter as his eyes took in her naked body.

Two hours later, satiated, fed, and showered, they slipped out of her room and into the hallway.

“Please don't take this personally,” Riley shot him an apologetic glance, “But what was your name again?”

“Liam.”

“Liam? Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Well, I-“

Whatever else he said was lost on her as they rounded a corner and she collided with the textbook definition of a Greek God. Tall, blonde, muscular, and oh so familiar.

“Oof!” His strong arms went around her, steadying her before she could crash to the ground.

“Leo!” She yelped.

“Hey there, Your Highness, I was hoping to run into you.” He grinned down at her with his signature sexy smirk, then his eyes flicked to the man at her side, and he froze. “What are you doing with my brother?”

“Your…what?” Her head swiveled from Leo to Liam.

With a sheepish smile, Liam said, “That’s what I was trying to tell you last night. I know who you are because my older brother is Leo Brooks.”

“Last night?” Leo’s smile vanished as he released her and took a step back, “Wait…did you sleep with my brother?”

“It would appear so,” she answered before turning back to Liam, “You’re not as sweet and innocent as you seem. Well played.”

“Well played?” Leo spluttered, “He…that…my brother, Riley!”

“Oh, hush! I didn’t know he was your brother and we,” she waved her finger at him then back at herself, “have never been a couple.”

“Friends with benefits, Riley!”

“Yes, and what lovely benefits they are,” she stepped forward and ran her hands down his chest, “I must run now. Things to do, and all that. Ta!”

“See you at dinner tonight?” Leo called after her retreating back.

“In the grand hall with everyone else, unless you have a better idea!” she called over her shoulder.

“I’ll text you!” he yelled before turning to glare at his brother.

But Liam had already slipped away and bolted for his room.

[quokkafoxtrot]

First fill for the Spotify wrapped fic meme 🎉

Mid-80s NY. Hustler!Eddie.

“Step right up! Anyone can do it! Anyone can win!”

“It’s a scam, Steve,” Robin says, narrowing her eyes as she watches Steve bite his lip and stare at the man on the street corner shuffling cards from place to place. “Nobody can actually win those things. They cheat.”

“I bet I can come out on top,” Steve says with a wink and jogs across the street.

Robin huffs a sigh and follows, muttering about not wanting to eat lentils for a week when he loses all his cash.

“We have a discerning gentleman stepping up right now,” the hustler says, warm brown eyes twinkling as he looks Steve up and down. His long brown curls shake around his shoulders, hanging over a multitude of patches and buttons on a ratty, sleeveless, denim jacket. “You know the rules, you’re looking for a lady,” he continues, holding up the cards and showing the queen of hearts between the eight of clubs and the three of diamonds. “See the lady, follow the lady, find the lady. It’s so simple, my aunt’s schnauzer could do it. Only ten bucks to find the lady.”

Steve slaps ten dollars on the rickety table with a grin. “I’ve got this in the bag.”

“A confident one,” the man grins and spreads the cards face down in front of him. “He’s got the guts but will he get the glory? Follow my hands see where it lands.”

Steve looks down at the man’s hands as he flips the cards around at speed, rings glinting in the afternoon sunlight, patter falling from his lips like he was born to spin tales.

“She’s here, she’s there, she’s on the L, the R, she’s in Jamaica, Rockaway Bay, treat her right you could find her tonight.” The guy’s hands are a blur as they move the cards around and around until finally they slow and stop, but Steve stopped looking at those a while ago. “It’s 10pm, do you know where your queens are?”

The guy looks up and finds Steve already looking at him. Steve reaches out a hand and taps a card at random making the guy’s forehead furrow.

“Ooh, I’m sorry,” he says with an exaggerated pout of consolation. “Your princess is in another castle.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says, leaning in and cutting the guy off before he can continue his patter. “I was looking for a king.”

“You- Wuh-“ His jaw drops as he stares at Steve glancing briefly at Robin as she slaps a hand over her face, hiding her eyes.

“Damnit, Munson. What have I told you about hustling from my stoop?” A man grumbles, bell jingling as he pushes open the door to the nearby bodega and stares him down.

“Show’s over, folks! Later, Hop!” The hustler shakes himself out of it, collapsing the table in one swift motion and shoving it under his arm as he backs away, grinning at Steve. “I’m Eddie.”

“You’re dead meat if I catch you again,” Hop says around a plume of cigar smoke.

Eddie laughs and jogs across the street, dodging cars in the slow moving traffic. He turns and bounces on the balls of his feet yelling: “What’s your name?”

“Steve!” He calls back, shifting away from where Hop is watching with tired eyes.

“L’Amour tonight, Steve!” He turns and runs down the street, doing an endearing little fist pump before he turns the corner and disappears from view.

“I hate that that worked out for you,” Robin deadpans beside him. “Well, apart from the fact that you just spent ten dollars to get a date.”

“Date? I didn’t get a date,” Steve says, turning back to Robin and shuffling away from the narrow-eyed gaze of Hop.

“L’Amour is a club, dingus. It’s-“

“Oh… Oh! I thought he was just saying he loved the line.” He slings an arm around her shoulder, jostling her as they walk away. “You’re coming with me, right? I’ll do the dishes for a month. Two months. And I’ll remember to water Audrey.”

Robin sighs, patting his hand and linking their fingers together. “I can’t believe I’m going to Brooklyn for you.”