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embrassemoi · 3 years

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Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 25

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader CW: Language, implied sexual content, angst

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 25: Theories of Emotions

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April 30th, 1976

“HAHAHA!” Y/N let out a scream of mirth. She laughed so hard that her knees buckled, meeting the soft grass beneath and wand slipped from her grasp. Her eyes swam with heavy tears, gasping for air as she rocked back and forth, clutching her ribs. Nonplussed and unamused, Regulus gawked at her.

“You wart. You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

It was a passing joke, that she would teach Regulus how to swim but he took it a little too literally. Now, swimming — or attempting to swim in the shallow area of the black lake, wearing bright yellow floaties to keep him afloat, Regulus kept making large splashes; his arms failed around, legs unsynchronized as he kicked to propel his body.

“When you said your swimming skills were horrific, I thought you were being humble!”

Regulus’s face turned a dark pink, but he wore a sheepish grin. He doggy paddled his way out of the lake, which made her laugh even harder and waddled on land. Y/N got up, threw him a towel and ruffled his hair.

Regulus had been looking a little more lively lately, and Y/N was just happy that he seemed to be doing better.

“We can work with this!”

Regulus tossed her a dirty look, “Promise me you’ll never become a professor.”

“Whatever you say, Reggie —” “Hey!”

Once dry, they walked back to the castle and broke off into separate directions. Y/N promised to meet Remus a little earlier than usual at the library, but before then, she stepped into McGonagall’s office and sat in the chair opposite to her. Career meetings have been going on and her scheduled meeting had been weighing her down.

“Hello, Ms. L/N. Biscuit?” McGonagall gestured to the metal tin in front of her.

“No, it’s okay.” “Don’t be absurd.” Y/N was too afraid to reject again, so she took one.

“So, how are you feeling about the upcoming exams?”

“Nervous. Anxious.”

“I can imagine. You did struggle with the change of curriculum at the beginning of the year, but you’ve consistently improved.” McGonagall flipped through her stack of notes; her little glasses perched up high. She cleared her throat again. “You've always excelled in Defense, Potions and Transfigurations — and I’ve talked to Flitwick, he’s said you’ve improved drastically. Although, you struggle with History of Magic.”

Y/N sighed and nodded. Professor Binns wasn’t exactly helpful. “It’s never been a… strong suit of mine.”

“We all have our strengths and weaknesses, no? It doesn’t concern me much. I’ve heard you and Mr. Lupin are quite amicable — you two do study with each other..?”

“Yes, I attend his study sessions.”

McGonagall flashed her a rare smile and Y/N felt immense pride fill her. McGonagall smiling was almost as rare as getting a letter from her mother. “I can proudly say I have faith in you.”

“Thank you.”

“Then, I can assume you’ve given thought to what career you want to pursue?”

This was what she was dreading; thinking about her future. She’d give thought, loads, but it felt like there was such little time to decide the rest of her life. McGonagall waited for an answer as she watched Y/N struggle. “Do you have plans of continuing your education in America or..?”

She tried to make eye contact and her palms suddenly became damp. “I’m having doubts about working in the wizarding world.”

McGonagall pursed her lips.

“It’s not like I don’t want to — I do!” She explained, “I’ve thought about being a Healer. My mother is a Muggle Doctor.”

Professor McGonagall soaked in her words. “Are you struggling because you’re not sure if you want to become one, or do you feel pressured by your mother’s decisions?”

She sat straighter at this. “Er — Yes? No? That’s not my problem — honestly, I think my mom would discourage me from becoming one. It’s just… I mean…” She looked back to McGonagall who nodded encouragingly. “It’s just… the war… I’m not sure if I can…”

“What do you mean?” Her voice shifted, becoming brittle and it took Y/N by surprise. McGonagall wore a look so unlike her. Any trace of her firm, yet strict-kindness facade vanished. It was replaced with deep exhaustion.

“I’m a New — Muggleborn… most people — wizards — aren’t kind to someone like me… and I heard that they’re training them to be medics. I would be in the midst.”

McGonagall took off her spectacles, unveiling her red-rimmed eyes like she’d lost sleep or been crying. She sighed, so sorrowful and heavy that it even affected Y/N. “I won’t lie and say you’re wrong…” Her palms rubbed her tired eyes. “But you can’t let them win. Don’t let go of your dreams to submit to them. I won’t let my students diminish their talents and dreams.”

The professor took a long pause. “I know several institutes that transfer magical credits into Muggle credits if you’re seriously considering disconnecting from Magic. But, I urge you, think about it.”

She nodded gravely. There was already a considerable disconnect from her and the Muggle world that going back seemed impossible, but it was probably the safest.

McGonagall broke the silence, reshuffling her papers.

They continued to talk for some time, jumping from courses and mark requirements for NEWT level courses and Y/N left with a stack of papers and mock schedules. With a heavy heart, she headed towards the library. It seemed like every week when exams neared, the earlier group sessions would be.

Y/N flopped down on one of the couches near the back and let her head loll to rest on the cushion. She wasn’t alone for long before she felt the couch dip beside her. She peeked open one eye; Sirius in all his glory was there. In one hand, he held the Marauder’s map before she snatched it.

“Now you’re stalking me?”

His head made a funny gesture. “You know about the map?”

“... James.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I haven’t told anyone. I promise!”

He beamed and when Y/N flipped through the papers McGonagall gave her, she felt Sirius place a hand on her thigh, slowly inching up.

Snogging — shagging — it made life a lot more fun. Unresolved anger between each other? Broom closet with heated words between kisses. One of them was stressed? Take it out on the other. Wanted fun? Sneak up to Sirius’s dorm. Sirius being a fucking asshole? Kiss him and he’ll shut up (although, Y/N had a sneaking suspicion that he knew this and was purposely being a dick to get a reaction now). Their anger was slowly dwindling to extinction. Moreover, rather than brooding exchanges across the hall, there were one or two sly smiles.

But, they had four unspoken rules they followed:

Never talk about whatever they were,

Because surely, neither meant anything to the other,

If they were with anyone else, they would have to tell the other,

And most importantly; never, ever, tell anyone.

“You look ravishing.”

Y/N felt her face heat. “I wish I could say the same about you."

Sirius smirked, his fingers trailing dangerously close to her inner thigh.

“Here?" She hissed, "What are you doing?"

“The thrill is the fun part.” He pressed a few sneaky kisses to her jaw, “You spend too much time here with Lupin and not enough time with me.”

“Jealous?” Y/N’s brow rose and she turned to look at him. “Of Lupin?”

Sirius didn’t answer but momentarily pulls away. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

She rolled her eyes. “Slag.”

“You know French?”

“Second official language in Canada.”

Sirius nodded. “Well, I’m a slag… for you.” She teasingly smacked him on the head with her papers.

“I can’t stand you sometimes.”

“Feelings mutual, princess.”

Y/N hid a smirk, resuming to ignore him as she flicked through the stack of papers. There was a dreadful feeling settled deep within. Everything was moving too fast and she felt like she had nowhere to turn. Overwhelmed, she pressed herself into the couch further and groaned out, “Fuck —”

“Maybe we can do that later?”

An involuntary chuckle slipped out which had Sirius grinningly like a fool. There it was again, that Sirius Black grin… it made her heart do wild flips. “You’re a literal dog.”

“And aren’t you a lovely witch?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, flipped him off and went to tug on Sirius’ hair to pull him off before a loud moan ripped from him and echoed throughout the library. Y/N’s eyes grew large, mouth agape. Sirius was unapologetic though; his smile grew bigger.

“I promise I’ll let you slap me, lightly,” he winked and wiggled his brows. “Or hard, whatever you want.”

She shook her head and shoved her things into her bag and pulled Sirius to his feet before he led her up to his dorm. His name spewed from her lips like a prayer and consumed every thought.

At some point, they flopped down on Sirius’ bed as they breathed in deeply, catching their breaths. Y/N was filled with content and went to turn on her side, facing Sirius and cuddling up to him. Gently and mindlessly, pressed a series of light kisses to his forehead while massaging his scalp.

The sun made one last feeble appearance before being engulfed by dusk. Rays of golden glow spilled in as she embraced him. Her hands ran feather-light touches up and down his bare skin and Sirius’ head hugged close to her chest. The soft touches were filled with nothing but her (not so) hidden affection and calm peace. She didn’t think much about her actions.

Something she’d come to learn during their stolen kisses and nights under white satin sheets; Sirius was beautiful in a wild, carefree way. He was wild like how wind sweeps through the branches of willows trees and meadows on a cool summer's eve or carefree in the way waves from the ocean crashed upon rocks. He was hauntingly beautiful in a turbulent, pliable way — wild in not just beauty, but essence too.

And it hurt. What were they doing?

Everything moved so quickly. Not even a month ago, she was supposed to be hating Sirius — now their limbs were tangled together. The ever-present war crept up during the worst times and she and Lily hadn’t spoken since their fight.

Lily…

Y/N tried to be indirect, catching her eyes during class or in their dorms, but nothing. She would always re-direct her gaze. It’d grown awkward in the dorms; Marlene and Dorcas caught in the crossfire.

She really missed Lily. Their late night talks, silly games, Lily keeping her in line and Y/N getting Lily to let loose; everything and more.

Usually, once she and Sirius were done with each other, they would leave, peel off each other but Y/N was so tired of — well, everything.

Trapped in thoughts, she hadn’t noticed Sirius’ body go rigid until his body began to tremble. Sirius made a small strangled noise that she originally mistaken as a laugh or snore until she felt wet droplets fall on her skin.

Y/N pulled back to find Sirius silently crying. She watched him, thinking that she should comfort him but was rooted in place and eyes drifted to the door, thinking of leaving. It felt like an intrusion being there with him and comforting someone was not on her list.

“Er — Sirius?” She whispered, alarmed. Her smile fading and his breath hitched. She awkwardly patted him before going to stiffly stroke his arm, but it only seemed to make him cry harder. She quickly ripped back her hand and put distance between them. Her mind raced a mile a minute as she listened to him. “Sirius? Hey — what’s wrong?”

“Get out.”

She froze and looked back at him. “Do you want me to get someone —”

“GET OUT!” He yelled. It scared her so much that her body jolted and Sirius hid his face with his hands. Sirius crying and screaming at her unprovoked made her panic and recline. He stayed quiet after that, rolling over, pulling his blankets above his head.

She chewed on her bottom lip so hard that a metallic taste flooded her mouth. In a rush, she quickly threw on her clothes and grabbed her bag. She shuffled towards the door but then looked back at Sirius; he looked so small and his cries made her fill with immense sadness. She debated; should she leave and respect his wishes? But the way he was crying, so hysterically and abruptly — she worried he might’ve done something impulsive and stupid.

She decided on leaving and sat right outside the door just in case. She listened to his sobs that managed to seep through the walls.

She waited there for a very, very long time that she almost fell asleep before she heard his muffled voice and swore he said her name.

She knocked twice, “You okay?”

There was a knock back.

“Was I that bad of a kisser?” She tried to joke after some time. Luckily, she heard Sirius choke out a heartbroken giggle. This time there were two knocks. A no, she assumed.

Silence crept back in and Y/N leaned against the door and looked around the hall. Nobody else was there, but just in case put up a spell for any prying ears.

“Do you still want me to leave?” She asked. “Just say the word.” Communication with him felt weird.

Sirius remained quiet but then she heard him hop off his bed, feet coming closer to the door. She then felt a small nudge against the door as Sirius slid down to sit on the opposite side.

“You can talk to me,” Y/N said nervously, not wanting him to blow up again. “Did I do something? I promise I didn’t mean it.” She remained still, listening to his quiet sniffling.

Two knocks.

“Er — I won't push and you don’t need to tell me but — um, I promise I won’t tell a soul. Not even the other Marauders. It’ll be our little secret.”

It takes a long time before Sirius eventually stops sniffling and she listens to his uneven breaths; she's extremely uncomfortable and baffled. He tries to speak several times but ends up cutting himself off.

A sharp exhale came from him, shallow and irregular. In a small, weak voice that made it feel like an invisible weight pressed against her chest, he finally spoke.

“Je suis —” Sirius started before switching to another foreign language. Y/N was able to pick up on a few words: it was Italian.

“Nessuno dei miei amanti mi ha toccato così senza volere qualcosa in cambio. Non mi fai sentire usato e ne ho he terrorizza.”

More silence ensues; Y/N thinks that he might’ve walked away until he speaks again.

“Il modo in cui mi fai sentire mi spaventa e non riesco a gestirlo.” Sirius stops, taking a shaky inhale, “Non sono ancora pronto.”

Then, she hears the door click open and the knob turns. She backs away until it opens and her head peaks in. Sirius is staring at the ground to avoid her eyes, hair acting as a curtain to hide his face. She shuffles in, Sirius leans against the door and shuts it. Y/N shifts to sit in front of him. He’s dressed again, but the sleeves of his shirt were damp with tears.

She inches closer to place an encouraging hand on his but stops, remembering earlier. “Can I touch you?”

He closes his eyes — like the question was a mental battle before he nods. Y/N reaches up, pushing back the strands of fallen hair, revealing his red, puffy eyes. Her thumb strokes over his skin tenderly — intimately, but it causes a broken whimper to escape him, but leans into the touch.

“Whatever you said,” Y/N mutters, “Thank you for telling me.”

Pink floods his cheeks and he hesitantly reaches out, his arms going around her waist to pull her into a hug.

“Mi sbagliavo su di te.” He mumbled to her shoulder and Y/N was left to think.

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They both missed the study group and dinner. Eventually, Sirius fell asleep and Y/N snuck out of his room before the Marauders came in. She didn’t want to go back to her dorm to face Lily and was extremely hungry. She then thought back to Sirius before going to grab food for both of them.

She slipped out into the night, being accompanied by Nearly Headless Nick who had a worried expression on his face. Y/N didn’t think much of it, if anything, she was rather annoyed; after the day she’s had, she wanted to be alone for a while.

The house-elves helped to line a large platter of food before she thanked them, making her way out of the kitchens. Nearly Headless Nick floated close, urging her to speed up.

“Sir Nick, I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you following me?”

“Making sure you get back to Gryffindor’s tower safely.”

That caught her attention. “Safely?”

Sir Nick’s eyes widened. “My poor girl, haven’t you heard?”

She and Sirius missed a lot when they were together. Nobody was quite sure what happened to Mary; she wouldn’t speak a word of it, not even to Marlene. All anyone knew was that Mary was a victim of Dark Magic and was found in a torpid state by Hufflepuff’s Head Girl; used as an initiation for Mulciber for the Death Eater ranks.

Word ran wild around the school of Mulciber’s expulsion and everyone was left on edge. Rumours went around of the Imperius curse. Mary was fine physically, Sir Nick told her, but mentally…

Y/N’s blood ran cold while Nick had a sorrowful smile of reassurance. “You’ll be fine — your friend will be fine but you need to come with me, now.”

But out of the corner of her eye, she’d seen a shadowy figure peek out from the shadows and Y/N drew her wand, Sir Nick floating right behind her.

“Lumos!”

There, tall and unwavering was Snape.

He marched up to her, but Y/N began to quickly walk away until he reached out and yanked her back by her shoulder with bone-crushing strength.

“Lay your hands off!” Sir Nick cut in.

Snape ignored him, “What did you say to her?!” His cheeks were tear-stained; eyes glowing with something dangerous and Y/N wanted to run. “She won’t even talk to me!”

Lily must’ve finally confronted him.

“Let go of her! Let go, let go!” Sir Nick chanted, wisping through Snape until he stumbled back.

Y/N turned around, and heard Snape mutter darkly, running off. A cold wave embalmed her as every hair on the back of her neck rose.

“Come with me now,” the ghost said. She didn’t need to be told twice.

The moment she stepped inside the common room, Y/N felt every bone in her body relax. Her footsteps were quiet and rounded into the main area when she saw everyone there. James and Lily were pacing back and forth. James tugged down on his hair; Peter was by Dorcas and Remus, Marlene looked deathly pale, the two Head Boy and Girls were there. Sirius sat in a chair, his arms cradling Toulouse as he nervously swallowed, face imprinted with distress.

Remus was the first to notice, his head snapping up once he sensed her presence. He stood, “Y/N!”

Everyone’s head snapped towards her. James shouted, running up to her. “Are you okay?” His hands went straight to her face and handled her like a doll. “My Godric! We were so worried — we were about to go and search for you!”

Sirius abruptly stood up; chair screeching, eyes wide but then quickly took a seat as everyone tossed him an odd look.

“I’m fine! I’m fine! I just missed dinner and wanted to get food!”

James tackled her into a hug and she almost dropped the plate of food.

Her eyes then travelled to Lily, who looked like she was on the verge of tears. Lily made a move to go up to her, hand slightly outstretched before stopping and quickly ran up the staircase. Everyone noticed but didn’t mention it. Then the Head Girl and Boy exited wordlessly.

Lily leaving fucking hurt.

“I heard from Headless Nick, how’s Mary?”

There was a collective sigh. Marlene got up, going over to her and pulled her into another hug and pulled back. Her usually smooth skin was now littered with furrowed lines. “She’s with Madam Pomfrey, I’m going to sneak into her room now. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Should any of us come?” Peter interjected.

“No… I don’t think she even wants me there. It might overwhelm her.”

“Be safe,” Dorcas said, her eyes wide with worry. And then she left.

Y/N made her way to sit down, James practically glued himself onto her as she plopped down next to Sirius, but still far enough to avoid suspicion.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Remus said. “When you didn’t show up for the study sessions and dinner we all… thought the worst.”

“Sorry…” Then her eyes wandered to the staircase, thinking about Lily again.

Dorcas stirred in her seat. “Don’t take Lily’s absence as offence. She was really worried.”

“She suggested we go out to find you,” Peter said. “Also had a nasty row with Snape in the courtyards too. Everyone saw it. What a bell end, Snape.”

“I think, for now, we all ought to start pairing up,” came Remus. A solemn noise of agreement went around. Nobody talked for a while and Y/N placed the large metal tray of food on the table, no longer having the appetite to eat.

James was the one who broke the silence. “Where were you?”

Sirius stopped petting Toulouse and listened carefully. “I was busy talking to McGonagall. Something about careers. Then I just got tired and ended up sleeping through dinner.”

It technically wasn’t a lie and everyone seemed to believe it.

The air was tense and James wouldn’t stop fretting. Ultimately, Dorcas began to talk to Peter, Remus had a pensive look before going to crack open his book but seemed tense. It was only until she felt Sirius nudge her foot. She shifted her head gradually to examine him.

‘You okay?’ He mouthed, searching for any kind of lie or injury. His eyes were still puffy but overall looked better.

She shook her head. ‘I’m okay, you?’

A nod.

His reaction earlier had new questions arising but she saved that for another time. Her eyes darted to the plate of food and then to him. ‘It’s for you.’

But then she peered up and saw Remus watching their interaction. He seemed to be deep in thought and took a large inhale. She swore his eyes flashed a golden glow. Worried he was catching on, she initiated a conversation. “Moony?” She teased.

When he wore a judicious look during times like these, Y/N is reminded just how smart and intimidating he could be. It was like he knew everything before anyone else did.

“Sorry — thinking ‘bout something. Anyway —”

While occupied with Remus, Sirius glanced shyly over to Y/N and bent over to take a treacle tart, biting into it. The gesture was so heartbreakingly touching to him; so unexpected coming from her.

Sirius was left in a transitional phase. A lot of the inner turmoil he held — or thought he had — was released today and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Whatever irritation he held towards Y/N vanished. He looked forward to their bickering, shy forehead kisses and the feeling he got that was the opposite of dread or disgust after being with someone.

It felt nice, doing something he truly wanted for once — not engaging in intimacy out of coping rather than genuine interest.

But then, it unleashed everything else he wasn’t ready to deal with yet. His reaction to touch earlier had set off a bomb buried so deep within him but Merlin — he hadn’t realized it would’ve affected him that much.

Truth be told, now all he wanted to do was ruin her to bits and pieces but he was getting too ahead of himself — becoming attached too quickly and he already felt himself disconnecting. The only thought that lapsed in his mind was: run, boy, run.

It echoed through his head again, love wasn’t — isn’t a magic potion, far from it. So what was he doing? He needed to make a decision; continue doing whatever they were doing, work on himself or run.

Running away is easy. It’s always been easy. But he was tired of it.

And after the intense fear that paralyzed him, that made his mouth go dry and heart pound in his chest when nobody could find her when she left — after knowing what happened to Mary; it almost caused Sirius to spike and go into a panic attack.

Sirius wasn’t afraid of many things. After all, he’d already gone through so much that there wasn’t much to be afraid of anymore. But if he had to choose, and it was at the forefront of his mind, it would’ve been her.

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Y/N headed to bed early as Dorcas waited for Marlene to return to the common room. It left her alone with Lily.

It was already dark, aside from a small lit candle that seeped through the cracks of Lily’s bed drapes. She did her evening routine before slipping into bed, listening to Lily faintly scribble in her diary. Only when Y/N felt herself relax, she heard Lily get out of bed and drew closer to her.

“Y/N?” Her voice was apprehensive. Y/N’s back faced her. She pretended to be asleep. “Psst… hey?”

Lily sighed before she sat down on the edge of the bed and didn't move for a long time. When they heard footsteps coming to their dorm was when she rose and uttered, “I’m glad you’re alright…Gave me a bit of a fright there… I’m sorry.”

Lily rushed back to her bed, drawing her curtains together when Marlene and Dorcas entered.

Y/N finally exhaled heavily, balling her blankets tightly. A thousand words, questions and thoughts were left unsaid. But, when she knew everyone finally was asleep, she uttered out an inaudible, I’m sorry too, and shut her eyes.

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Translations

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?

Do you want to sleep with me?

Nessuno dei miei amanti mi ha toccato così senza volere qualcosa in cambio. Non mi fai sentire usato e ne ho he terrorizza.

None of my lovers have touched me like this without wanting something in return. You don't make me feel used and I'm terrified (of it).

Il modo in cui mi fai sentire mi spaventa e non riesco a gestirlo. / Non sono ancora pronto.

The way you make me feel scares me and I can't handle it. / I'm not ready yet.

Mi sbagliavo su di te.

I was wrong about you.

108 notes · View notes

angelguk · 4 years

Text

→ bad behaviour 03 — a namjoon scenario

member: kim namjoon

word count: 7.5k

rating: 18+

genre: established relationship + smut + college!au

warnings: we’re ovulating!!! / introduction to the breeding kink that will plague this couple forever / was meant 2 be a drabble?? im incapable we know that / eh big joon!!!! / manhandling kink / pet names used a lot / joon thinks he’s gf is dumb and wants to breed her idk man / size kink / crying when cumming / oc shy for once / discussion of twitter porn / creampie / oc is on birth control (obvs dont do this if u dont want a kid but this is a fanfic u know) / mentions of fisting porn / cock warming!! / if u see a typo no u dont

soundtracks: more than enough + morroco, alina baraz

prompt: “don’t you think there is always something unspoken between two people?” (Something Unspoken, Tennessee Williams).

It’s a rather serene Thursday afternoon, the late autumn breeze sweeping through the campus air. The stillness was ideal for studying, alluding to assignment deadlines creeping round the corner. Which was why your butt is firmly parked in the mess of Kim Namjoon's sheets.

The man in question is hunched in the corner of his dorm room, one large hand idly tugging at the chestnut mane on his head and his neck curved with attentiveness. You wish you possessed the determinate focus that he had, but your thoughts have a mind of their own, spiralling further into the darkest depths of your mind as they gingerly coax forth memories that spark a searing heat deep inside of you. You feel tight, drawn like the bow of an arrow, a stark contrast to the tranquillity spilling around you. The fact that Namjoon is practically naked isn’t helping your consciousness. Your gaze lingers on the rows of muscles lining his broad back, the tension running through them emphasising the dips and curves in his golden skin. His eyes, however, are glued to the myriad of words before him, the pen grasped in his grip swift as he scribbles down notes you know you’ll never be able to decipher. Not that you needed too, it was intriguing that such a put-together man like Namjoon had handwriting that essentially resembled chicken scratch. It was atrocious — but still elegant, very much embodying the person to whom the writing belonged to. You can’t recall what assignment he intended to complete today — something about the presentation of nihilism in Russian literature or whatever — but he’s devoted all his attention to it, meticulous in the numerous sticky notes and page markers that line the novel perched on his desk. It’s bent with the remembrance of his fingers, sepia-toned dogged-ear pages staring at the ceiling of his dorm room. Something blooms within you the longer you look at him, faint but strong like a tide shifting towards the shores. You don’t even register the slip of your laptop from your lap, legs sprawling open unconsciously. It spurs so quick you can’t even clamp down on it, the desire you have for the burly man bent over his world of words just a few steps away. But you know how much Namjoon values his academics. It’s with a muffled groan that you roll over, burrowing your face into his pillows in hopes that the wave will subside. It doesn't — crawling beneath your skin begging you to give in.

It’s the click of Namjoon’s pen that gets you, a sharp note that cuts through the burning of your body. Your thighs seal together, the slick that collects between your legs sticking to your core. With a sigh that you shift again, reaching out for your laptop. It’s best to look for a distraction, give him the space he needs to concentrate. At yet, your gaze can’t help but drift. He’s not covering an inch of skin, burly arms and thick thighs on display like he wants to tempt you. There are no words to describe how much you hate him — nor how much you long to have him inside of you too.

You recall it with a jolt — the lave of his wide tongue against your folds, licking you apart with deft swift swipes that leave you weeping into his sheets more nights than you’d like to admit. You shuffle again, helpless to the yearnings of your mind. The heat on your inner thighs is a phantom. Namjoon likes to hold you down, press your hips into his sheets against the whims of your squirming. It’s the way he looks at you when you’re on the verge of tears, a wanton hunger in his eyes that unravels you fast. You can almost see it, thighs subconsciously nudging against each other. Then there’s the stretch of his fingers, larger than you own. He’s pushed you to the edge with just two of them before, persistent against that spot inside of you until he’s satisfied with the blissed slackness that descends upon your features. Then he’d add another, and another. There’s an undeclared thought between the two of you. You’ve noted the fisting porn in his Twitter bookmarks. Maybe one day you’ll have the guts to let him try.

For now, you swallow it down. Suffocate that longing until the embers burning within you smother to ashes. Your laptop returns to resting at an angle at your hip, gaze idling running through your readings. The words don’t sink in though, sitting on your skull before hastily floating away. There’s not much space for anything else but Namjoon at the moment, no matter how hard you try to reread the paragraphs or stare at your screen. You don’t even have to open the app on your phone to know what’s going on with your body. This is your first full ovulation with him. Usually, he’s preoccupied with assignments or TA responsibilities that cut your time together short, interrupting this part of your cycle and leaving you to your own devices. You hadn’t fully wormed your way into Namjoon’s life to demand all his attention just yet. This was still new, untested. Namjoon was independent and so sure of himself that telling your boyfriend that you needed him to stop focusing on his future to raw the crap out of you (multiple times) felt incredibly selfish.

You stare at the words in front of you until they swim, wishing you didn’t feel like this. Like you needed Namjoon to breathe. You can wait it out, maybe get what you’re dying for after post-studying cuddles and take-out. Even if it takes every ounce of your willpower to clasp your legs together and not jump the wonderfully large man that is your boyfriend.

Unbeknown to you, the same yearning that plagues you chips away at his resolve. A persistent want that wavers in the back of his mind, clamouring for attention, because even with his eyes stuck on the pages beneath him, he can sense your fidgeting.

Your attention span is incredibly short — Namjoon knows this. It ricochets off the walls even when you’re sitting still. It’s taken time, but Namjoon has gradually adjusted to it, muting the powerful waves of energy that radiate off of you when necessary. Today, however, is different. That energy he’s learnt to ignore eats him alive, sinking below his skin and leaving him buzzed as he scours his brain for any meaningful essay points. He keeps flipping through the pages of the novel, mind attempting and miserably failing to piece together a cohesive argument that correlates with the evidence he’s got highlighted in a loud neon yellow.

All because he can’t stop thinking about you.

He wants to blame it on the fact that he hasn’t seen you in a while (which is a blatant lie). Namjoon saw you two days ago. You were wearing that floral skirt that he loves, the fabric hiking up your thighs whenever you lined yourself against his side, snuggling deep into him like you never wanted to leave. He hates that skirt — hates it — because now he can’t think of anything but it, thoughts blurring at the memory of your bare skin. Skin that he loves to mark, latch onto until violets and blues blossom. His mind is running before he can catch it, falling into a dangerous reminiscence of images that sit heavy in his gut. That stupid skirt flipped up your waist and his head between your thighs. Nothing feels as good as you do on his tongue. He loves the way you taste, the sounds that drift from your lips, the way your thighs twitch and tremor as you unravel underneath him. You get so loud when your high hits you. He knows his roommates have heard you before, but he truly doesn’t care. He loves hearing you scream his name, drives him to the brink of insanity if he’s being honest. Yet, it’s the way you look at him afterwards, a deliriousness swimming in your eyes that makes Namjoon want to keep you in his bed forever. Fuck you until you can’t walk without feeling him deep inside of you. Paint your skin so that everyone knows who you belong to.

His head hits the table with a muted thud, a low sighing escaping into the air. The tent in his loose shorts hurts. There’s a part of him that’s mortified — how could he get hard just from the thought of you when you're sitting right there on his bed? Perhaps it’s proof that you’ve invaded everything he is. His space, his heart, his mind.

“Namjoon?” You question, tone tentative in the silence that consumes him whole. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he grunts. And then his brain settles, a tightness in his stomach that he can’t deny. “Actually, no I’m not.”

You don’t even have time to register it before he's moving towards you. It's as if he's flown from his desk, gliding through the space between you to firmly plant himself on top of you. Your laptop is knocked to the side, lost in the muss of his bed sheets as Namjoon moulds himself into you. You can't help the breathless giggle that hits the air. It's cut by the weight of Namjoon on you. He's heavy, all hard muscles and broad shoulders. Your fingertips slip against the fabric of his shirt — 100% pure cotton because he's fastidious like that — a lightness forming in your chest just from the feel of him in your hands. He sighs and you melt, losing yourself in him as he burrows his head into the hollow of your neck. The kiss he places there is soft, but it hits like a torrent of rain, drowning you harshly. Your body ignites like the flame you wanted to smother was never extinguished. You cling to him, the only thing keeping you afloat in the wave of adoration that crashes into you.

"What are you doing? What's wrong?" You murmur, vibrating when he kisses you again. Namjoon hums in response, his wide hands shifting to settle on the back of your thighs, gently spreading your legs apart to nestle himself there. Your back jolts when you feel it — feel him. Hard and needy against your core, a heat radiating where you meet. The flutter in your eyes is automatic, brain shutting down when he rolls his hips. He nips your neck then, a light press of his teeth into the delicate skin. You stop breathing when he smothers the pain with a kiss, thoughts dissolving into the air as you stare at the ceiling of his dorm, thinking you're never going to let this man go.

"Namjoo—" His mouth is on you before you can even finish your sentence, swallowing the words with a gentle press of his lips until yours fall apart. Kissing him might be one of your favourite activities ever. He feels good against your lips, ginger but sure in how he works you open, drawing sighs from your throat like he was born to do so. It’s easy to give in, your hips moving against his and your fingers dragging through his hair. It’s with a soft gasp that you part, the air around you electric. His brown eyes are dark but they gaze at you with an adoration that makes your heart swell. There are moments where you feel it on the tip of your tongue, a proclamation that yearns to spill out. But it’s too early to say anything like that yet. So you draw him closer instead, the content laugh that floats from his throat caught in your mouth. This kiss is different, more desperate, a hope that he understands what you mean heavy in your chest. You think he does because he kisses you back with an intent that leaves you breathless, a heady thing that has you arching into him before it peters out into tender little pecks. Your heart is so full it could explode.

And it does a second later when he drops a light kiss on your forehead, his wide hands settling on the backs of your thighs as he presses himself further into you. You know he feels the slick drenching your underwear by the hitch in his breath.

“Study break?” He offers, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that ensnares you. A danger that glows like stars adorning a velvet sky.

“Namjoon,” you groan in response, legs wrapping around his waist. You can feel the length of him, hard and twitching against you. “You can’t just do that! It’s not fair.”

“Why? You don’t want me to fuck you?” There’s a nudge that coaxes another slip from your core. The whine that leaves your lips is instinctual.

“I do! It’s just that — um — just that I’m ovulating right now.”

The second the word leaves your mouth he freezes, broad body suspended over you and a distant look sweeping over his honey eyes. And then something clicks, his cock settling further into you, a twitch along his length that echoes in your nerves.

“Right now?” The words that leave his mouth are measured, his gaze locking on your own as if he’s weighing the consequences of his desires.

“Yes, right now. I don’t know if we—”

“Can I be honest with you? I haven’t been able to focus since you came over and the idea of you ovulating is doing nothing but making me extremely hard right now.”

“I — what? Really? Are you serious?”

He nods, unabashed as the blush rising beneath his golden skin. Your fingers dig further into his back, the want that sweeps through your system feral. It's so swift that you can’t control the rise of your hips nor the warmth that pools in your gut. Namjoon dissolves right back into you, the groan that slips from his mouth meeting the heat of your skin as he burrows himself back into the crook of your neck. You’re no longer thinking, your brain stuck on the feeling of his cock against you, direct with every drag of his hips. He wants this as much as you do, a realisation that you’re still trying to comprehend. You have to ask again, terrified of the teetering edge you’re on.

“You sure? Like really?”

He scoffs, shifting back to give you a look. “You’ve seen my NSFW twitter, baby. You know what’s there.”

“Yeah, a lot more fisting porn than I ever expected.” There’s a beat of silence, Namjoon’s gaze shifting into something you can’t decipher. “Not that I’m against fisting,” you quickly amend, “It was just surprising.”

“Fair enough, but that wasn’t the only thing there.”

You know what he's referring to but seeing other people commit the act and then doing it yourself were too completely different things. There are still some things you’re too ashamed to say out loud and that particular kink of one of them. While your ovulation had a rather stronghold over you, so did your inner mortification.

Namjoon, on the other hand, cannot be bothered to beat around the bush. “You’ve seen what’s there right?" He repeats. "Creampies? Cum play? Breeding—”

“Don’t say that!”

He pauses, a playful grin tugging at his lips.”Is that what you want? Because you’re ovulating? What me to stuff—”

“Namjoon, stop it!”

He laughs then, a low sound dangerous that fills the room and swallows the embarrassment that eats away at you alive. “How can I? My pretty girl wants me to breed her, stuff her full of cum until it’s leaking from her cunt. You want that right? Want my cock so deep you feel it tomorrow? Am I right, baby? Hmm?”

You’re not looking at him, cheeks burning with every word parting his lips, but your cunt agrees wholeheartedly, leaking against your panties at the thought of Namjoon fucking you full. He doesn’t take your silence well though, a firm hand clasping around your jaw and tugging your focus right back into him. There's a glint in his eyes, a sharp dark wild thing.

“Baby.” He says it slowly, the word tumbling from his lips and right into the heat forming in your core. “Is that what you want?”

“Maybe,” you retort, feeling the twitch that tremors through his jaw deep inside of you. Namjoon scoffs, hand dropping from your chin. The absence of his touch has you scrambling after it, the movement occurring before you can bite back your desperation.

“Maybe? Then you don’t want it enough do you? I should leave you to study, don’t you think?”

“Namjoon.” Your fingers grip into his shirt before he can shift away, a pounding in your chest that terrifies you. “Maybe I do want it — a lot — I just can't say it.”

“You can’t say it?” He cocks an eyebrow. “But you know how to use your words when you’re arguing with me.”

He’s infuriating and he’s doing it on purpose from the telltale gleam in his eyes. You don’t know what to despise more; Namjoon and his provocations or your inability to vocalise your desires. But that anger withers into wanting the second he settles back between your thighs, cock hard and heavy where you need him most. Yet, still, saying it out loud isn’t possible for you just yet. But you do want it, a great deal more than you’d ever admit.

“That’s different,” you say instead. “That’s when you’re being stupid.”

The eye-roll you're granted is brimming with exasperation. “Of course, you would say that.”

“And I’m correct.”

“Sure, you are,” Namjoon returns, nuzzling into your chest. He’s saying it to complacent you and it ticks you off

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, a warning in your voice.

Namjoon sighs, perfect face burrowed between your boobs. “I’m not arguing with you right now. You look cute when you get mad and I’m hard enough as it. Besides, that’s not the point.”

That should not have you buzzing, the word cute sticking out from the rest of his horrid statement like a neon light in the dark. But you let it rest, preoccupied with the fact that:

a. Namjoon is horny

b. So are you

“So,” you say. “What was the point?”

“The point is that you’re too shy to say you want me to stuff you—”

Point B no longer exists. You are no longer horny even when he’s looking at you like that with that stupid lopsided grin of his.

“I get it,” you retort, “I get the point. And I’m not saying that. Not today, not ever.”

“Oh? Are you sure about that?” There’s a challenge there, and like an idiot you fall for it, raising an indignant eyebrow in response.

“Yes, I will not—”

He’s got the band of your sweatpants down in a second, wiggling the fabric down your hips and past your butt faster than you can blink. You don’t object, a muffled giggle drifting from your throat when he finally gets them off, tossing the pants somewhere in the corner of his room, something to be searched for later, not now. That giggle shifts to a moan the second his face dives between your thighs, the deep breath he takes in kindling a flame in your gut. There’s the faint press of his tongue through the cotton of your underwear, the low groan he lets out when he feels the wetness seeping through your panties setting something off within you.

“Oh — oh — N-Namjoon!”

“Yes, baby?” Another lick, tongue quick and firm against your drenched core.

“Don’t play with me. I can’t handle that right now.”

“I’m not playing,” he remarks. “Just giving you a reason to say you want me to stuff you full of my cum. I know you want to say it anyway.”

You huff. “You think I’ll give in that easi — hgnh.” He’s tearing your underwear off, tongue landing back onto your wet folds before you can register the fact that the fabric is gone. A few firm wet laves of that muscle against your cunt and you can see your resolve crumbling. He knows exactly where to lick and drag his tongue, nose buried into the apex of your cunt as if he wants to breathe you in. You can’t help the buck of your hips, a tremor running down your thighs when his tongue slips into your hole, pressing in with purpose and leaving you breathless in his sheets. But then he’s drawing away and you glance down to find him staring at your cunt in wonder, his rouge mouth glistening with your slick.

“How can I not,” Namjoon says, offering a kitten lick that spikes a shock in your spine, “Play with you when you’re so fun to play with, angel.” The smile on his lips is dangerous.

Your hand settles on his head and Namjoon curls into it. But instead of dragging your fingernails against his skull and pulling him closer like you know he loves, you shove him away, swiftly squeezing your thighs shut. If you’re going to play this game, you’re doing it on your terms.

“You’re not being fair,” you say. Namjoon blinks at you like you’re insane, obviously thinking with the dick in his pants rather than his head. “Go back to your Isaac Turganife or whatever.”

“It’s Ivan Turgenev, baby,” he replies, sighing slow. “And I don’t want to go? Do you really want me to?” He plants a tender kiss on your bare thigh and you burst with want, slick leaking out even though you didn’t intend it to.

“Not fair,” you say again. But you don’t want him to leave you like this, at the mercy of your hormones and the sudden remembrance of Namjoon’s thick cock stretching you open. “But no, I don’t want you to go. Just don’t play with me please.”

“Okay, that’s fine. But if we’re being honest here all I can think about is seeing my cum leak out of you. I just want you to want that as much as I do.” He says it in a rush like he’s afraid he won’t have the nerve to admit it if he doesn’t do it right now.

But I do, you think, walls fluttering just from the flash of that image in your mind. I do, Namjoon. And yet, you can’t say it.

“I’m ovulating, Namjoon,” you retort instead.

“And you’re also on birth control,” he rebuttals. “PEMDAS or whatever. It cancels out the baby option, right?”

“You are so dumb it hurts, Kim Namjoon,” you murmur, fighting the urge to kiss your stupid boyfriend. It’s a very odd conversation to be having when your cunt is on display and his dick is hard in his pants but you’re having it anyway.

“We’ve fucked raw before though?” He continues, still not piecing it together. “And so far, no baby. So no problem right?”

“When I’m not ovulating. Less risk, at least that’s what I like to believe.”

“Well I suggest you start believing that right now because I would very much like to see you stu—”

“Stop saying that you’re making me want to turn celibate!”

“Oh?” Namjoon remarks. “And yet you’re leaking all over my sheets every time I mention it.”

“I will cut you off from sex for a week if you say something like that again,” you retort.

Namjoon grins like he knows this is affecting you on a deeper level than your cunt being wet. “Fair enough, but I have to ask. Do you want that?”

“Want what?” Feigning ignorance is the safest bet until that shift in his eyes appears.

“Want my cum?” he says it so easily, unaffected while your face rushes with heat.“Inside of you, leaking out of you… All of it?”

And maybe you stop breathing at the thought of feeling full of everything Namjoon had to offer you, your walls clenching tight.

“Maybe. Maybe I do, I don’t know.” You do know and Namjoon knows that you do too. It’s with a defeated murmur that you admit it, voice soft in his room. “Okay, fine. I do. I want that.”

“You do?” There’s an edge in his voice. “You want me to bre—”

“Stop it before I change my mind.”

He laughs, a light warm thing that digs into your chest. “Okay, okay! Sorry, babe. Do you want me to prep you? My mouth? My fingers? You can decide.”

It’s settled so quick in your brain you realise it was never up for debate. “Neither. Just you. I just want you.”

He halts, honey eyes locked on yours for a moment, before springing to his feet and tugging his shirt over his head with speed. “We can do that,” he mumbles, his knees bumping against the foot of his bed. His pants come off next, plummeting to the ground where he kicks them off a moment later. It’s only then that you see the consequence of actions, straining painfully against his boxer briefs. He shifts to tug those off too but you cut the movement before it happens, shuffling forward until your hand is cupped around his length. Namjoon doesn’t protest, rolling into the tiny palm of your hand. You love the way he feels underneath your palm, thick and hard and heavy, a weight you long to feel inside of you. He sighs low when you grip him, watching your fingers wrap around the outline of his dick through the fabric. It’s only then that you realise, your gaze slipping down his body, subtly noting the sharp intake of breath when your lips mimic what he did to your underwear before he ripped it off, that Namjoon has been holding himself back.

He wants this, badly. It’s evident from the tightness in his voice when he speaks a moment later.

“Angel,” It’s said low, a warning. “I thought we said we wouldn’t play with each other.”

He’s right. With a small pout, you lean away and Namjoon wastes no time moving into your space, strong arms swapping your arm just to land you back at the head of his bed. You suddenly remember your laptop, lost in the mess of his sheets. Namjoon is kind enough to relocate it before climbing right back into your space, cock digging into your stomach when he kisses you again. It doesn’t take long before your top is gone, joining Namjoon’s pants on the floor, and then you’re digging the band of his underwear down, your lips still slotted together and a wetness rapidly forming between your thighs at the feel of his bare cock against you.

But he’s impatient, shuffling you around the second his length is freed. Your back is hard against his mattress, fingers grasping at the sheets when Namjoon knocks your knees apart. There’s a moment of bated breath, his large hands lingering against the bare skin of your exposed thigh, brown eyes locked on your wet folds. His gaze is so intense you instinctively want to clamp your legs shut, shy away from how seen you feel under his eyes. Yes, technically you were naked in his bed but there’s something else that he draws out just from looking at you. Something that makes you nervous because you like it so much.

“Don’t hide from me.” It’s whispered in the heat of the air, Namjoon picking up on how your legs drift together. He’s got them pressed apart a second later, grip firm but gentle, and your stomach does a swoop so dangerous you’re left violently reeling, the ceiling above you spinning. “Don’t do that, angel. Too pretty to hide from me. I want to see all of you.”

You can only hum in response, throat clogged with words that won’t form into coherent sounds. But Namjoon understands you regardless, kissing you senseless as his massive body descends on yours. His hands are on your ass a second later, gripping tight as his length nudges against your core. You just might cry, desperation bubbling in your chest. He draws away gently but you don’t want to let him leave, fingers taut on his broad back, gripping onto the very muscles that had you heady just earlier today. There’s a whine on your tongue that he swallows before you part once more. The laugh that slips from his lips at the sight of your pouted mouth is fond. He grants you another peck, soft and tender, before Namjoon rips himself away, determined this time.

His hips are lined against yours a moment later, cock stiff and dripping with precum. And yet your gaze doesn’t tear from the arms trapping you in his sheets. His biceps look huge, massive actually, all hard muscle and pure strength. It’s doing something to the base part of your brain because you can’t stop thinking about how large Namjoon is. Caving you in, your personal shelter from the world. Is it weird that you feel protected? Safe in the bed of this boy. You wouldn’t mind hiding here forever. A part of you wants to kiss him again, but Namjoon’s focused on other things, oblivious to the cave-woman looking for a mate thoughts running amok in your brain.

They dissipate the moment the head of his cock nudges at your entrance. Just a light tease, but he splits you open quick enough.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, angel. Didn’t need me to prep you at all.”

You mumble a noise that you’re not sure leaves your throat. He’s taking it slow on purpose, pushing in inch by inch so that you feel every part of him filling you up. It’s intoxicating, how the feeling of the slow drag of his cock overtakes everything in your brain. You’ll never get over how big Namjoon is, no matter how many times he fucks you. Each shift of his hips forward coaxing slick from your cunt. It pools at your entrance, dripping over his length until he’s glistening with your wetness.

“F-fuck,” He head drops down to the hollow of your neck the moment he’s sheathed inside, the velvet walls of your pussy gripping him hard. It’s too much for the both of you, bodies strung high on the want that threatened to consume you both. But he feels good like this, lodged in your cunt, stretching you wide and making a place for himself right between your legs. He gives you a moment to adjust and then the coiled spring in him snaps.

“So fucking tight around me, angel. Taking my cock so well.” There’s an edge in his voice, a warning for what’s to come.

You groan when he draws up, a tiny squeal erupting from your throat when he slams back down, hips angled to piston you into his sheets. The pounding is hard and unforgiving, a contradiction to the gentle look in his gaze. He holds you tight, giving you no room to shuffle under the bruise of his thrusts.

You can’t do anything but mumble his name, tongue numb in your mouth as he fucks you senseless.

“You’re dripping so much, baby. Making a mess on the sheets. You wanted my dick that bad, huh? Wanted me to fuck you full? Stuff this dirty cunt of yours?”

“J-Joon!” There’s an arch in your back, a dangerous tingle fluxing through your nerves when his mouth latches on your neck, your chests pressed against each other. Each drive into you pushes out a haggard breath, the heat into the room wrapping around your joint bodies, your arms slung over his shoulders, gripping him tight as he unravels you with his cock. Time stops, nothing punctuating the moment apart from the lewd sound of your meeting, your slick slipping from your cunt each time he hits deep. And he keeps at it, fucking you with a vigour that feels new and vicious.

You can feel him tensing beneath your fingertips, a soreness spreading through your muscles with every hard thrust of his hips into you. But you don’t care, delirious with the feeling of his cock deep within you, slamming right into that spot that has you dangling off the edge. The tight grip on your thighs adds to it, Namjoon pressing you down as he fucks you open like you’re nothing but a toy for his pleasure. He slams into you with abandon, his lips on your neck. Every drag is loud in the room, the slick pooling around your entrance orchestrating the sound of your meeting. You love how he feels over you, broad and big and pinning you down with an ease that shouldn't have you stomach twisting but it does. And he knows that, reading the whimpers that leave your throat well. You can feel it, the knot that tightens with every hard drive of him into you. So close, a blink of your eyes and you could be there. But then he slows, cock squelching against your entrance with a half-hearted thrust.

“Namjoon—" You’re burning, fingers scrambling to push his hips down, shove your hips up. Anything. Anything because if he gives you nothing you’ll implode.

“My baby is so quiet today. Hmm? Why are you so quiet? You don’t want my cum? Don’t want me to breed this tight little cunt of yours?” There’s a in his tension colouring his deep voice, like he’s holding back from saying something. You want to ask but your needs are forefront in your mind clamouring for attention.

“Joon!” He nips your neck at that whine and you dissolve into his sheets, nothing but pleasure running through your limbs. “Namjoon please, please, please. I want it, Joon, need it.”

He cocks his head, a languid roll into your core that has you squirming underneath his hold. “Need what? Words baby, words.”

“Need your cum.” It’s shameful to say and the heat in your cheeks makes it obvious, Namjoon doesn’t care, shifting his hips so that his cock slowly slips out. Your legs clamp around him so quick that his chest smacks into yours, a muffled sigh escaping into the air.

“Need it where?” He says, hips rigid with how he holds himself back. It takes tenacity to make you work for it. You feel perfect around him, tight pussy stretched around his length and your slick dripping all over. So needy, so wet, velvet walls clinging to his cock leaving him weak even though he tries to hide it. You’re intoxicating, your heat, the feeling of your body moulded into his, the way you moan his name. He wants to hear you scream it though, hear your throat go hoarse with each cry until you're a blubbering mess in his bed. There are other things he wants too, but he needs to hear you say this first.

“Inside,” you reply, a perfect whimper drifting from your bruised lips. “Inside me, Namjoon, please.”

He gives in then and there, resolve shattering when his gaze drifts to the minuscule grind of your hips against his own, his cock sinking deep with every shift of your waist upward. It’s not long until he’s sheathed back inside of you, length twitching against the heat of your walls. He wants to take it slow, make you beg for him a little more, but there’s a weight in his gut that threatens to drop. And then his focus shifts to the span of your stomach and it slams into him so quick he nearly chokes. He may joke about it as a kink, the idea of fucking you until you were bearing his child, but the actual vision of your stomach swelling hadn’t occurred in his thoughts until right then. You would look ethereal, round with evidence of his love for you. He can’t help the palm that settles there as his hips slowly rut forward, forcing himself deeper, needing to see you stretch out for him.

“Joon,” you sigh, shuddering at the press of his balls against your ass.

He hums, thoughtful, dark eyes lingering on the sway of your chest. “Yes, baby?”

“Harder, please, harder.”

“Anything my baby wants, she gets. Isn’t that right, princess.” And then he’s falling out of you, quick when he slams back down. Your voice sounds foreign to your eyes, brain roughly registering the harsh feeling of his hands as he swiftly rearranges you, cock still buried deep, until your knees are folded over his broad shoulders. The quake in your thighs is violent. But you don’t protest, mind unable to shift from the hard pistons he delivers into your cunt, thrusts demanding your release. There’s the sway of the bed beneath you, soft sheets bundling underneath the weight of your joint bodies, a heaviness in the air you breathe. He fucks you with a purpose that wasn’t there before, as if he needs to see you stuffed with his cum, unravelling around his length, a mess beneath him.

And you give it to him, shuddering when his fingertips sneak to your clit, the flickers he lands there unfaltering. That combined with the steady drag of his cock has your vision blanking, contentment spilling through your nerves as your high hits. It’s quick; a hard fast thing and spreads right from your core and through your system. Namjoon fucks you through it, swallowing your incoherent mumbling with a deft press of his lips against yours. You don’t realise you’re crying until he swipes a thumb along your cheeks, dropping a kiss on the damp skin of your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs. You don’t miss how his hips speed up, muscles tense underneath your trembling fingertips. “So pretty. My pretty girl.”

“Cum in me,” you reply, breaking away to catch his gaze. Namjoon chokes, hips faltering. You don’t let him process it, still riding high on the look colouring his features. This is what he wanted from you, and you’re drunk enough on the feeling of him deep inside of you to say it. There’s still a tremor in your walls that grips him tight and you aid it by raising your hips upwards, the bend uncomfortable but worth the darkness that consumes the brown of his eyes. A part of you wants to say it again and you do, voice low in the room. “Joon, I need you. Need to feel full.”

“Fuck me.” It’s said under his breath but you don’t miss it, stomach twisting when his cock slams into you. It’s hard and mean. Namjoon takes everything you’re giving him, folding you into his mattress and driving his hips hard enough for the bed-frame to shift, a low thud against his bedroom wall. You let him have his way, groaning into his ear, the sheen of sweat that builds on both your bare bodies glimmering under the dwindling glow of the sunlight. There’s a faint tepid heat flickering in your core and it sparks up when Namjoon lands a hard kiss on the span of your neck, moaning low as he splits you open on his cock.

“So fucking tight.” There’s a hitch in your rugged breathing, your grip on his ruined sheets fierce. “So wet. All for me. All mine. Right, baby? This is mine, isn’t it?”

“Yours,” you whisper in return, lost in the feeling of him enclosing you in. “All yours.”

His lips are soft against your own, a delicate press of his mouth that doesn’t match how hard he’s fucking you. But you revel in it, rupturing into something bright and wild and full of love underneath the piston of his hips. It’s good now, the sensitivity you felt a moment ago ebbing into nothing but heat and want. You don’t miss how he twitches against your walls, thrusts growing erratic with every lewd slam of his length inside of you. And you want it, reminding Namjoon of that fact with wicked whispers in his ear. He caves fast, a few last hard rolls before he paints your walls in his release, the moan he lets out bleeding into your skin. You’re on edge now, the feeling of Namjoon’s cum coating your cunt when you’re at peak fertility doing something stupid to your brain. It shouldn’t turn you on — in fact you should be terrified. You weren’t ready to be a parent, yet the weight of him on you, the spurt of cum that slips from your cunt when he draws again, sends your spiralling. It’s swift, the swing of your legs back around his waist.

“No — don’t, don’t move. Not yet.”

Namjoon pauses, checks still warm and his skin a pretty golden rouge. You don’t enjoy the way he reads you.

“We can’t cuddle like this. Remember what we did last time? The cockwarming?” He suggests it easily. He gets what this is doing to you even when you don’t understand it at all. You nod because the idea of Namjoon not lodged inside you sounds abhorrent. He shifts the both of you quick enough, his softening dick back to half-mast the moment your protest emerged. It’s easier like this, with you sprawled on his broad chest. You don’t want to acknowledge it but you’re still somewhat wound up and the feeling of him holding you close, your cunt stuffed full of his cum, is doing unimaginable things to your brain. You pretend it isn’t, snuggling into the valley of his massive chest, feeling safe and secure. And then Namjoon opens his mouth.

“We’re going to have to talk about this. You know that right?”

“No, we don’t have to talk about it. Ever. Pretend this never happened.”

His laughs echoes in your heart. “Baby, I just came in you and you’re ovulating. That’s fairly risky, don’t you think?”

“I told you!” You whack his arm for good measure. “I told you it was dumb.”

“But I liked it,” Namjoon continues, staring intently at the ceiling. “A lot.” You flutter, cheeks hot at his admission, a bubbling in your chest that shouldn’t be there. “And judging from how you’re using my dick to keep my cum inside of you, I’m guessing you liked it too.”

“...Maybe.” You hate it but he’s right. You liked having him use you like that, the prospect of his cum doing more than leaving you euphoric with satisfaction lingering in the depths of your mind.

“Maybe?” He scoffs, wide hand gently pushing you off his chest despite the whine you release. “Get off then, I need to check if my dick is intact. I think I saw the fifth dimension when I came.”

“Shut up, please!” You cling to your boyfriend, viciously wiggling around until you feel him twitch inside of you. It’s too nice of a feeling to lose just yet. “Why are you ruining it?”

“Why can’t you admit what you’re into? Speaking of that subject, I don’t know what your kinks really are. So far there’s been a bit more exhibitionism than I expected from you but the breeding one… is different. Not bad. Just different,” he suddenly rambles.

“Because it’s embarrassing.” Your voice is small, landing on his naked chest in the silence of his room. His hand shifts from shoving you off to gingerly resting on you back, rough fingertips languidly tracing patterns on your skin. The motion is reassuring, yet you can still hear the eye roll in his voice when he speaks.

“You’ve seen the fisting porn on my NSFW twitter, what the hell do you mean embarrassing?”

“It just is!” You protest. “I’m not sure what I’m into.”

“I think you are, you’re just not comfortable admitting it to yourself. Don’t you watch porn? Or have any particular fantasies?” Namjoon’s persistent despite your deflection and while some part of you hates it, you know he’s right. He always is — well most of the time.

“I do,” you retort instead, refusing to give him an ounce of triumph. “You know that don’t be dumb.”

“Well then,” Namjoon returns, curiosity colouring his voice, “What’s your NSFW twitter? I’ve shown you mine, let me see yours.”

“I don’t have one…”

There’s a pause, the hand on your back drawing to a halt. You can hear the cogs in his head turning.

“You don’t? What do you use then?”

“...Yours,” you whisper. The breath that falls from his lips is horrified. “I like most of the stuff you like,” you quickly tack on. Somehow this is more shameful than admitting that you like being stuffed with Namjoon’s cum. The silence carries on and you're left stewing in your thoughts, looking for a way out of this awkward mess when Namjoon starts up again, a tentativeness in his tone that concerns you.

“Most of what I like,” he says. Another pause. “... Including the fisting porn?”

“Namjoon,” you snap, “Shut up.” You can’t believe you’re allowing this man to plug his dick in you after sex, can’t believe it at all. It’s a horrible realisation to come too especially when he breaks out into a loud laugh, his chest shuffling you around with every quick intake of air and the sound of his glee resounding in your heart.

“Sorry, angel,” he offers between muffled laughs. You hate him. You do even if you love him ten times more than you hate him. “We should make you one after this,” Namjoon says. “And then get food. Sounds good with you?”

“Food first,” you retort, mellow in the arms of your lover. “And then the Twitter porn.”

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon imagine #smutcentralnet #bts x reader #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #*posts then runs away*

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girlmeetsliv3 · 3 years

Text

Prince of Nothing IV

~ Part Four of Five ~

Release Date: December 19,2020 @ 12 p.m. (GMT-4)

Word Count: 18K

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything except for you…

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything: heaven, hell, and everything in between. His family was an enigma who came to power under mysterious circumstances and had managed to retain hold over the kingdom for centuries - even if no one knew how. There was one thing that Jungkook wanted though, something that could never be his: you. A nobody. A girl with no title. No land. Just money and a pure soul to your name. Jeon Jungkook would’ve never spared a look your way, had that incident not occurred. Now you find yourself the target of his affection and the most hated woman in all the land. Which will kill you first?

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation, abuse, and vivid, as well as implied, descriptions of abusive acts. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

“No.”

YN’s eyes widen in shock before she tries to cover it up. “No?” What do you mean no? YN was so certain that Jungkook wouldn’t hesitate to jump at the chance - proving her point.

Jungkook’s hands trailed up the side of her body, fingers gently dancing across her torso until they reached her neck where they settled on either side of her neck. The tense skin was massaged with such efficacy that YN couldn’t help the way her eyes rolled back. He observed this reaction with a smile on his face, then tentatively his lips brushed hers. From where his hands were placed, he could feel the racing of her heart. He could feel how the blood rushed through the veins - his blood, what little of it she had swallowed making its way home. Their kiss, if it could count as that, lasted only a few moments. Yet it was enough for Jungkook.

“No, I won’t sleep with you.”

In a second all hope leaves YN, if she couldn’t distract Jungkook with sex if it wasn’t truly all he wanted then what? Seeing her downtrodden expression Jungkook chuckled then he pulled YN in closer, hands sliding down towards the back of her dress. “I won’t sleep with you darling, but I will make love to you and fuck you if that’s what you want.” Before his words could even sink in, Jungkook used his strength to rip her dress open. Exposing all but her chest which lay pressed against the prince’s.

“Your wager?” YN asked again, unwilling to let him have the upper hand. Not when so much was on the line.

Jungkook chuckled, “Oh darling, how you never fail to amaze me.” Seeing her stone cold expression he acquiesced. “If I win you’ll be the mother of my child.” Aware of what would follow, Jungkook crashed his lips onto YN’s soft plump ones, not giving her a chance to change her opinion. What followed suit would cement their unspoken future and cause great suffering to many.

“The prince?” Soojin’s lips were puckered, chin wrinkling in the way a child’s might when tasting something sour. The maids around her stood perfectly still barely breathing, they were too familiar with the expression on the princess’ face. Having been by her side for longer than she could remember they could recognize the pouty lips, furrowed brows, hooded eyes, and the pulsing vein in her temple. It signified a tantrum was incoming - surely to be the worst they had suffered as of yet. “Well?!” Soojin’s voice raised almost into a shrill. The typically refined Soojin had lost all of her demeanor in the past couple of days. Though the bruising around her neck had faded, the one around her heart had not and the ugly scarring it would leave was sure to affect not only her but everyone around her.

Finally one of the maids stepped forward, bowing deeply demonstrating her submissiveness to the lioness in front of her. As if that ever spared prey from being eaten. “My apologies, my lady. The prince is still not out.”

The scream that tore out of Soojin was guttural in nature, More like a growl than anything else. Though the tantrum lasted quite a while very few of the staff were harmed, and at that very minimally, the same could not be said for the princess’ chambers which were left in such shambles the entirety of the furniture had to be discarded. Yet it was not the thousands of dollars lost, nor the raging Seo striding down the hall that was to be a concern but rather her destination: the prince’s chambers - YN YLN inside them.

Nothing spreads quicker than gossip in the palace and no one moves faster than the help, so Soojin wasn’t surprised to arrive at Jungkook’s door and see the usually present guards absent. They too would’ve been informed she was heading there and likely wanted to avoid facing the lionesses wrath. The heavy african blackwood doors had the Jeon sigils engrained in it - making it obvious who resided inside. Normally it would’ve taken a lot of effort to even open the door, it took two extremely muscular men to open it. Though in her rage, it only took a slight push from Soojin for them to slam open.

Soojin expected a lot upon entering: to find her lover and his mistress entangled in the sheets putting on a show for anyone. Clothes scattered all around, champagne bottles, and wicked smiles placed on both their faces to taunt her. Instead the room was pristinely clean, bed made, and Jungkook was buttoning his shirt. “Can I help you with anything?” He asked, voice with a hint of roughness to it. They way it typically did after he had sex. The only thing that gave away his infidelity was the unkemptness of his hair and the slightest hint of a bruise around his neck. Soojin scoffs, incredulously that he would do this to her after everything - after all his promises.

“Four days...I haven’t seen you in four fucking days!” Soojin no longer cared for maintaining appearances in front of Jungkook. Clearly he held no care for them.

Jungkook sighed, leaning on the bed to put on his boots and tie them. “Frankly I don’t see what you’re so upset about. What I do with my lover has nothing to do with you.”

“Your lover,” Soojin couldn’t help the sardonic smile that broke out on her face. “Have you no shame?! Parading your whore around in front of everyone while I look like a fool.”

“You looking like a fool has nothing to do with me.” He chuckled, the vase Soojin threw his way was easily caught by Jungkook. The prince gently placed it beside him on the soft bed.

Soojin’s chest began to rise and fall rapidly, she could feel the rage growing inside her. If Jungkook was ice then she was fire. It was just like when she was younger - the fire would grow and spread consuming everything that stood in its path. In this instance, an insolent little girl who sought herself better than a princess queen. “I won’t be held responsible for the consequences that befall YN due to your reckless actions.” At that the prince stilled, the air in the room suddenly becoming frigid as goosebumps rose on Soojin’s skin.

“And I won’t be held responsible for the consequences that befall you if anything were to happen to YN.”

“So you see your majesty, it would be reckless to allow this liaison to continue. Though I understand the prince has needs and would never dare interfere in his private affairs, this isn’t just about him. It’s about the needs of the crown.” Soojin despised king Jeon the II, she found the old man unnerving. Everytime his coal black eyes met hers, she felt the king saw through every facade and deep inside her soul. She assumed that is what had allowed him to maintain power even when his commanders, alliances, and sanity slipped his hands. Jeon exuded power, but his was strong and sturdy like a stone. His son’s power though was like water: constant, changing, tranquil, and tempestuous. Even hard stone was no match for the power of the sea. Everyone was aware of it, even the king in his fleeting reason, knew the time for a shift was rapidly approaching. Soojin couldn’t wait to get rid of the old haggard. To get rid of his lingering glances. Still she knew when to play her cards right, the only person to force Jungkook to submit would be his dear old dad.

“You are right my child. Jungkook is far too reckless to take a Kim for a whore. It's enough that I allow one Kim to remain in my court - but two and the people may believe I am beginning to slip.” His voice was harsh, the laugh sounding more like a croak. The kind an old toad might make.

Soojin had to resist the urge to grimace, “Nonsense your majesty. No one would ever believe that. Everyone is aware that your reign is far from its end.” Which is exactly why once YN was out of her way, Soojin would make sure to get rid of him. She could hardly be queen if her husband wasn’t on the throne. The king may be the head, but everyone knows the queen is the neck.

“Oh my darling, I am well aware that you have always been on the side of the crown unlike many others that would use it for their own interests. Not to worry, I will make my son see reason. If he doesn’t well -”

“I am sure he will sire. Jungkook cares for you very much and he would never disobey his father.” Soojin wondered how much venom she could spill into the world before she eventually poisoned herself. She consoled herself by remembering that she was surrounded by vipers ready to strike. No mamba can compare to the jaw of a lion. Unbeknownst to Seo Soojin, the Jeon’s were no ordinary snakes and unlike lions who massacred their preys before eating them snakes consumed their prey alive.

“Very well.” King Jeon turned around waving over a guard, “Call my son, it is time we have a talk.” Before turning back to Soojin before him, “You are excused my child, take care of yourself.”

“Of course your majesty, take care of yourself.”

“Have you heard?”

“It is the talk of the whole castle.”

“Well do you think he’ll actually do it?”

“He would be a fool not to, plus it isn’t like he has a choice.”

“He’s the prince of the nation. Of course he has a choice.”

“Not against the king he doesn’t.”

Sana turned around, wet rag in her hand as she whipped it towards the two gossiping maids who screeched at the possibility of their garments being ruined by the dirty water. “What are the two of you yapping about?!” Sana had simply been trying to salvage what was left of YN’s garments that had been ripped to shreds by the prince. Not that it mattered, Jungkook would probably buy her even nicer dresses and it wasn’t like YN had asked her to. She had seemed so disgusted when she walked back into her rooms. Heading straight for the shower and barely even sparing Sana a glance. Not that she cared, the less she had to interact with the mistress, the better in Sana’s head. Still, appearances must be kept up for the sake of the prince. So she gritted her teeth and cheerfully declared that she would wash her clothes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know Sana? Probably run back to your lady and tell her everything.” Irene sneered, smoothing down the front of her dress and fixing her strawberry blonde hair.

“Please what good would that do me?” The bitch deserves everything that’s coming to her. YN had explained her side of the story to Sana long ago, but she saw through the innocent facade she played. Why would the prince ever be interested in a stupid commoner like her when he had every woman at his fingertips? No. She had seduced him, even if YN may never admit it. Sana knew she was a wolf in sheep's clothing - just like her.

“Because without someone to report on, you’ll lose the prince’s favoritism. Or do you actually believe he cares for you?!” Irene laughed and the other maids around her began to laugh too. Sana rolled her eyes, returning to the soapy water in front of her.

“I’m no fool. I use him just as he uses me.” But her tone wavered towards the end, which only caused others to chuckle beside her. It wasn’t until one of the girls beside her took pity and told her what was happening.

“The prince and princess Soojin are to be wed in seven days' time.”

YN had been pretty much left to her own devices after spending several days and nights locked up in Jungkook’s bedroom. YN wished she could say the whole experience had been unpleasant, but the disgust she felt was more towards herself than the prince. She had enjoyed it deeply - every single part of it - though she would never admit it to anyone. Not even herself. So YN bathed herself multiple times that day, scrubbing her skin until parts of it bled, then she nearly tore off her hair for every time she saw it all she could imagine was Jungkook’s hands tangled in it. Every time she viewed her hands, all she could remember was how they would entangle together. Her lips were dry and swollen from all the kissing and sucking the prince had imparted on them. YN had never felt more like a whore - never felt more like a toy. In a move that was meant to give her power over the prince, all she had done during their trysts was find herself thinking what if? What if we had met in another time? Different circumstances? Could I love him? Could he be different? What if he changed? Is he capable of change? Would I love him if he did?

It was those thoughts that plagued YN deeply hours after she returned and she sat still in her bed. Vito curled resting on her decolletage as she envisioned a different world where Jungkook was kinder, where he hadn’t caused her so much pain. Where they had met the way one should. He would have met her brother, introduced himself and promised to care for her, Jungkook could have been perfect. YN found herself getting lost in that what if, until reality came tumbling through her door.

“I’ll fucking kill her!” The door to the bedroom had been slammed open so harshly, the entire room had shaken slightly. It had frightened Vito so much he raised defensively and even YN had been ripped away from her daydreams. Jungkook was livid pacing back and forth as Morte was coiled around his arm, perfectly still despite her master shaking violently. YN had only ever seen him like this once and even then, there hadn’t been a murderous gleam in his eyes. YN cautiously slipped down the bed, her bare feet landing on the carpet. The second she was on the ground, Jungkook swept her into his arms leaving barely any space among them. YN had no choice, but to push her palms against his chest trying to leave some space between them.

Jungkook’s arms tightened around her torso, as YN resisted, eventually Morte unwrapped herself from his arms and formed a link with Vito around both their necks. Tying them together in more ways then one. “Who are you going to kill?” YN knew, Sana had mentioned it when she had brought her clothes back up. YN hadn’t paid much attention, even in her dally she was aware the Jungkook of her dreams and the one in front of her were two distinct beings. Though a part of her longed for the other Jungkook - she wanted this one gone from her life. Jungkook leaned his head close to hers, their lips brushing and it took all of YN’s willpower not to grimace.

“My wife.”

“You can’t. You promised me you would marry her, you promised the king there’s no going back on your word.”

Jungkook chuckled, “I can’t very well marry a corpse can I? Plus, I already have a queen.”

YN shook her head, “You can’t get out of this. I only promised I’d carry your child, not that I would be your queen.”

“You don’t have a choice in this, my darling.” Jungkook smiled, his teeth snagging and softly pulling YN’s bottom one. In his eyes, YN could see the lust pooling and she found herself amazed at how quick his mood could shift.

“I would rather join my brother than wear the crown on my head.” YN whispered harshly, as her palms kept pushing against Jungkook’s torso.

“That’s funny considering your brother doesn’t have a head.” The prince’s cruel words cut straight through YN’s soul. Instantly she was brought back to the rain, her brother’s beaten body, the lifeless eyes that peered at her as his body hung from the gallows. “Oh didn’t you know. I had his head removed and stored in a box, it is my most prized possession. If it wasn’t for him, you and I would’ve never met.” All the fight left YN’s body instantly, if not for Jungkook’s arms around her, she would’ve crumbled to the ground. “I really should give him a proper burial as a thanks. Oh well, there isn’t really much left to bury anyway.” The king Jungkook faded from her memory, until all that remained was the cruel beast in front of her. He seemed to take glee in her soulless eyes for he kissed her with such frenzy that could only be imparted by the happiest of people. Meanwhile YN could feel herself fading, her last remnant of hope being extinguished.

After a while of no response the prince finally seemed to notice that state of his beloved. “YN?” His hands grabbed a hold of her cheeks and forced her to look at him, only she didn’t. Though their eyes met Jungkook knew that she wasn’t viewing him, her mind in a far away place. “YN.” His grip tightened on her, as he hoped the pain would cause any sort of reaction from her. Even if it meant she would recoil, scream, hit him, it was better than having her empty gaze pierce into him. “Answer me YN!” His fingers were digging deeply into her cheekbones, his nails leaving indents into her face. Jungkook knew he was hurting her, but he didn’t care. React damn it! Do something! Finally someone did. Vito uncoiled himself and struck Jungkook’s hand, digging his fangs deeply into the prince’s palm. It shocked him so much, he jumped away letting go of YN completely. YN fell to her feet and fell back onto the bed, she had yet to react but Vito had placed himself on his owner’s neck, hissing and ready to strike once more.

Jungkook was in such shock, he didn’t even consider the fact that the snake had attacked him. Didn’t even think about commanding Morte to reproach. Instead he cradled his hand and looked at YN in a mixture of shock and fear. The way a child would when they had just broken their favorite toy. “I-I’m -” but he couldn’t even bring himself to say the words. He wouldn’t mean them because he truly wasn’t sorry. Jungkook only regretted having gone too far and hurting YN in a way which might be irreparable. Instead of attempting to make amends, Jungkook took a deep breath and turned around leaving YN truly alone for the first time since they’d crossed paths. As he closed the bedroom doors, he waved the guards away stating the “lady needed some time alone to herself.” Certain that when he returned in the morning, YN would be back to her usual self. She had to be.

The sun would set and rise three times before YN spoke again.

On the dawn of Wednesday morning, Sana knocked on the bedroom door bringing with her a plate of food which would be left uneaten like the others before. She didn’t know what exactly had caused her mistress to regress to such a state, but figured the news of the wedding must have done so. Her heart filled with bitter jealousy at the thought, but she coaxed another perfect smile on her face. “My lady, pardon the intrusion but I have brought you food and news from the crown.” YN didn’t really acknowledge Sana’s presence, only Vito seemed to be aware of her. His red beady eyes glaring at her as his tongue sniffed the air, as if entirely sentient the snake moved its head towards the bedside table. Tentatively Sana placed the platter there before, smoothing over the front of her dress.

“The King has requested an audience in private with you, my lady.” Sana glanced over, YN had been bathed and dressed every day at the prince’s insistence much to the maid’s annoyance. Particularly because YN didn’t seem to react no matter what she was subjected to: on various occasions Sana had ‘accidentally’ placed the water too hot only to make it too cold in an attempt to find warmth. She had tugged her hair too harshly, pinched her skin whilst dressing her, and even stepped on her. Yet YN had not so much as flinched, the woman finding herself in a deep dissociative state. The only indication of reasoning Sana could see was Vito that in the past couple of days had become far more active. Hissing and bearing his fangs everytime Sana imposed any type of miniscule harm on his owner.

She must be a witch. Probably enchanted the prince as well. Sana casts a glance towards the book laying upon the vanity: the black and red book taunting her. Perhaps the book offered some insight into her, Sana had never seen such a book in her life but it looked too opulent to begin to someone as poor as YN. It could be a gift from the prince. That only infuriated her more, all Sana ever received was pats on the back and harsh love making only to be tossed aside the second he had satisfied himself.

“We must get you ready, my lady. The king must not be kept waiting.”

YN had only entered the throne room on two other instances, both signifying further entrapment, but they had been at the hands of Jungkook and Soojin. Perhaps this would go differently, though something deep inside warned her that this meeting with King Jeon wasn’t a cause for celebration. Not when he had been plotting on murdering his son and accusing her. Not when she was technically his son’s mistress and the cause of all the turmoil in court. When she entered, the King laid sitting on his throne. It stood out harshly compared to the rest of the room, being made from a rare gemstone that seemed to absorb all the light in the room. The crown perched upon his head was dark in nature too, making it all too obvious that he was the dominant one in this conversation.

“Welcome, I’ve heard a lot about you Kim YN.” King Jeon stared down at the girl before him, trying to assess who she was, what she wanted, and how he could best use her to his needs.

Bowing deeply YN spoke, her voice soft yet clear. “You summoned me, your majesty?” There was a slight tremble in her hands she tried to hide by gripping her skirt tightly.

“Ah I did. There is something I wished to speak to you about.” The King waved his hand, indicating she could rise and YN did, slowly, as to demonstrate she was no threat.

“Yes sire?” If speaking to the prince was like walking on eggshells, then speaking to Jeon was walking on the edge of an active volcano. One which could go off at any second.

“I want you to murder my son.” The King’s voice was clear, no stutter whatsoever as if he were commenting on the weather and not the assassination of his own kin.

YN struggled to speak, unsure of how to react. She was a cornered prey, with no possible way of escape. “I-I’m sorry your majesty. I d-don’t understand.” YN couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, all the stories she’d heard as a child coming back to her. How the King was cold and callous but his eyes were even colder. Dark black pools that would make the devil shiver, yet so clear they reflected whoever he was staring at - reflected their true intentions.

“Look at me Kim.”

YN obeyed, but he was too far away for her to make out the exact color of his eyes. Even then, it was quite difficult to see with the tears threatening to spill.

“You know what you must do, yes? Or what the consequences will be…”

As YN stared at him, all she could see was a cruel man that would do anything to remain in power, even spill the blood of his own son. The apple never falls far from the tree. The King’s hand tightened around the seat and YN was certain that in the next few moments he would force her to agree to something she could never envision herself doing. Even if he was the object of her loathing and tormentor - YN could never kill Jungkook. She had to cling to the last bit of her soul that still remained.

Please someone save me.

A harsh knock was heard and the doors opened to Kim Namjoon. “Pardon the intrusion, your highness. You asked me to inform you if anything happened in the outer lands.” YN almost cried tears of joy upon being interrupted, it could have even been Jungkook and she would’ve thanked him. “Ah yes, you’re dismissed.” The King waved her away as of nothing and YN couldn’t be more glad to have his eyes off her. She bowed deeply once more before hurrying out the door, managing not to break down until the doors behind her were entirely closed.

YN didn’t know how long she spent there sat on the floor as tears streamed down her face. It wasn’t until the door creaked open once more that she wiped her face and stood up rapidly. In her haste, she stumbled somewhat but was steadied by a hand grabbing hers. “Pardon my lady.” Namjoon’s smile was soft, reassuring and YN couldn’t help reciprocating it. “Nonsense, my lord.”

Namjoon’s other hand came to lay upon hers, encapsulating hers in a warmth YN hadn’t felt in a long time. “Have you had time to read the novel?” His brow raised inquisitively.

“I must admit I haven’t. Things have been busy as of late.”

His chestnut eyes were warm, “I can relate. The castle has been in such a hectic state the gardens have been left unattended.”

Now YN was left to be confused, “Pardon?”

Namjoon looked around as if to ensure no one was listening in, he looked so childlike at that moment YN couldn’t help but giggle. “Well, they’ve not taken care of their blossoming flower.”

YN rolled her eyes though the smile, and the rosey dust that spread across her cheeks revealed her true feelings, “Do you have a tendency to be so brazen, my lord?”

“Hm,” his fingers tapped gently on her hand. “Only when with an intriguing companion, my lady. Only then.”

“I don’t see anyone like that around here.” YN stated as she casted a glance around, in the corner of her eye she caught sight of a figure lingering behind a column but they quickly vanished.

“You must give yourself more credit my lady. Though you are right, you aren’t intriguing as of yet only queer.” It was the shift in his tone that brought YN’s attention back towards him.

“Oh? When shall I be intriguing then?” She tilted her head coyly.

“After you blossom of course.” Namjoon seemed so serious, all humour vanishing from his tone. “Though whether you will be a lily or an ivy has yet to be determined.”

“It is entirely possible I will be both.”

“Ah, that is true.”

The two of them simply stared at each other, before distant voices could be heard echoing through the halls. Namjoon raised her palm towards his lips, placing a tender kiss. “Excuse me, my lady. I must be going.” YN nodded before allowing Lord Kim to walk away as his words and warmth lingered with her far into the night.

“What’s this?” Jungkook looked at the large book in Sana’s chipped hands, he never understood why she manicured them considering they would only get ruined. Still it was better than the old weathered hands most maids had, hers were soft yet bony. They lacked the thinness yet sharpness of Soojin’s but didn’t possess the roundness and frailty of YN’s. “It is lady YN’s.” Sana hated attaching the prefix. It put YN above her, yet the last time she hadn’t the prince had severely punished her. It was as Jungkook’s hands traced the letters in the front cover that he identified what was written: The Golden Ones. A sinister smile spread across his lips, perhaps I should give YN more credit. “And how exactly did lady YN come to possess such a book?” His mouth twisted, full of mirth. It was the exact same as Jungkook’s copy. Ironic that he had spent his entire life searching for it only to have been right under his nose the whole time. Perhaps assigning Sana to be a double-agent hadn’t been such a waste of time after all.

“Lord Kim Namjoon gave it to her as a present.”

“Did he?!” Jungkook tried to hide his disdain, though the imprint of his fingerprints was left on the wood of his desk from gripping it too harshly. Placating his growing vexation, the prince smiled. “Very well Sana. You’ve done well.” The pat he placed on her head was patronizing - it was meant to be. People like Sana only obeyed if they thought it would prove how useful they were. So long as Jungkook fed her scraps of affection and not a full course meal, she would keep coming back. “Is that all?” She asked, before quickly following it up with. “Have I not satisfied you, your highness?”

Jungkook nodded, “Oh yes. But a story book is hardly evidence.” He let his fingers tap against the wood rhythmically as if in deep thought. “I need something concrete that proves your theory.”

Sana’s smile was forced, but she nodded and bowed nonetheless head touching the ground. “Of course, I shall deliver you concrete evidence of lady YN’s betrayal.”

“You’re being reckless Namjoon. There is no point in pursuing the girl.” Seokjin rested his head against the cherry desk. It was old yet prominent standing as the centerpiece in their strategy room. Namjoon casted a glance at the people beyond the manor walls, those rallying in clear protest against the Jeon’s and their rule. They remained both aware and unaware of his existence. Even if they were to peer at him directly, they wouldn’t be able to recognize him. Namjoon wasn’t entirely sure they could recognize Seokjin, and he was the entire face of their operation. “It would be reckless not to pursue the girl.” He refuted as he let the curtain fall back into its rightful place, walking towards Seokjin and massaging the back of his neck. Seokjin groaned, swatting Namjoon’s attempts to distract him away. This was not a matter Seokjin would simply be dissuaded on.

“There must be a reason why Jeon is so willing to risk everything for her.”

Seokjin laughed incredulously, “When has madness ever made sense?” Seokjin simply couldn’t see what the big deal was. “She is nothing but a poor child that got caught up with the Jeon’s. She’ll probably be made to bear an heir and be tossed aside like all the Jeon women are.”

Namjoon shook his head, “No, Jin. It isn’t like that. She isn’t a pawn, Jungkook is planning on making her his queen. A king is nothing without a powerful queen.” Everyone knew it. It was the reason why the Jeon empire was failing. It was the reason why Seokjin’s claim to the throne didn’t stand a chance. As Namjoon’s father had always said: men are trees but women are seeds. If Namjoon was correct about YN, then she was the final piece needed to guarantee them a checkmate. If not, win the whole game.

Namjoon had to be smart though, for if the prince caught wind of his plan it would all be over.

On the evening of Thursday, just three days until the wedding between Prince Jeon Jungkook and Princess Seo Soojin, YN laid sleeping peacefully in her bed. It was a calm evening, barely a breeze could be felt in the night sky. It was also unnaturally warm, so much so Sana had suggested to her mistress, cracking the balcony doors and windows open. But YN politely refused, afraid something would crawl in or she would grow cold. Her sleep was pleasant, it was the first time in a long time YN was not plagued by nightmares filled with her brother’s lifeless body or Jungkook’s mental games created just to torture her. She was resting comfortably, until a slight creak caused Vito beside her to rise from his slumber and hiss suddenly. When YN’s eyes shot open, she saw two masked figures staring at her.

Her screams were quickly muffled as a cloth was forced into her throat and her body was grabbed by the two men. YN struggled against them, limbs flailing in an attempt to land any sort of blow on them. Vito too sprang to her aid, but was grabbed and thrown against the head board. Unwillingly YN was lifted and dragged off the bed. She managed to wretch an arm free and attempted to grab onto the sheets - onto Vito - but the snake was too far away and the men were far too strong. Capturing her in their grip once again, they managed to pull her into the bathroom where YN saw that bathtub full of water, finally understanding what was happening. YN fought like never before: kicking, scratching, she even managed to get the gag out of her mouth and began biting them. If the grunts of the men were anything to go by - and the harsh way one of them yanked her hair - she had inflicted some pain on them.

“Please! Help! Someone! He -” As if she weighed nothing, YN was grabbed and dumped into the ceramic tub. Her head knocked harshly against the back and YN felt something warm trailing down her head, as she gazed up dizzily. “Please, y-you d-don’t have t-to d-do t-this.” YN begged and pleaded, tried to reason with them but they wouldn’t listen. After everything she had endured, it couldn’t end like this. After all her suffering as a child, the loss of her parents, her brother, everything she ever held true. It couldn’t possibly end like this. I don’t want to die.

Strong arms grabbed a hold on her head, pushing it under the water. YN tried to hold her breath for as long as she could, trying to get her body to calm down so as to not consume more oxygen than necessary. Even then the seconds ticked on, YN could feel her chest begin to tighten the pressure beginning to mount the second she was about to breathe in water. YN was wretched out of the water, allowed to breathe only to be shoved in once again. With little air now, YN began to panic. Eyes anxiously looking around for anything to grasp onto. Anything that would serve as a life jacket - there was nothing. Her captors moved the moonlight now reflecting their golden armor.

YN was retched upwards one final time before being plunged back in, held down there longer. YN’s vision began to become blurry, chest tightening and lungs burning as her body forced her to breathe, only instead of air water rushed in. She was burning. She could feel herself burning from the inside out. Her mouth opened as she choked on the pain, only for more water to rush in. YN felt the last pounds of her heart as her senses faded, all her memories flashed before her eyes. The last was unfamiliar to her: a lily entangled by a snake its color changing from black to white. Vito? Eventually that faded too, as YN felt herself slipping into nothingness...slipping into death.

Baekhyung’s hands disentangled from YN’s head as he lifted her hand from the water and checked her pulse. “She’s dead.” He stated, looking at the Seo guardsman. The man raised an eyebrow before checking for himself, seemingly content. “Thank you for your help. I’m sure your aunt will compensate you greatly.” Baekhyung rolled his eyes, “Didn’t do it for her. She’s simply an eyesore.” It wasn’t necessarily true, but with YN out of the way it would certainly facilitate things. The men walked out of the bathroom and then the door, not sparing a glance towards their surroundings. For if they had, they would have found the most peculiar sight, a bloated ball python struggling for its life, water droplets escaping its mouth. It took several minutes for the ball python to give up the fight. The second Vito took his last breath, YN took her first heaving, herself out of the water and breathing in air for the first time in twenty minutes.

YN cast a glance toward the bed where her pet snake now laid dead, before pulling herself out of the bathtub and running straight for Jeon Jungkook’s room.

YN’s knuckles rasped harshly on the blackwood of the prince’s bedroom door. When the prince didn’t answer the first time, her knocks became more incessant until YN was pounding so harshly the wood was beginning to bend under her force. She should have cared more about drawing attention to herself, but YN had just survived an assassination attempt and knew murderers didn’t linger long enough to be caught. Finally, the door creaked open, barely a sliver but enough that YN knew Jungkook was acknowledging her, inviting her in. A part of her hesitated, unsure whether this was all another elaborate scheme done by the sadistic prince in order to have her bend to him. No, this doesn’t seem like him. The Jeon’s weren’t fond of hiding in the shadows and hiring assassins. All of their ploys were done recklessly and with an audience. Since YN hadn’t stepped in, it seems Jungkook had decided to come out. He was still in his evening wear - his eyes took in YN’s disheveled appearance and a tear streamed face. He crossed his ankles together, leaning against the door frame.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of having you come banging on my door at this late hour?” His dark eyes met hers, “Have you finally decided to speak to me or are you going to continue this ridiculous charade?” It isn’t until he noticed the blood on her head that worry crosses over his features, raising his hand to caress her.

YN ignored him, instead choosing to answer a different question. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Seo Soojin’s room, when cleaned up, was actually quite beautiful. The reds and velvets mixed nicely with the fine gold accents. Normally guests would be a cause for celebration, as very few visited Soojin these days. Soojin would have been elated to have the prince himself in her chambers any night - but not tonight. Tonight Soojin sat seated on her bed, hair laid over her shoulders in nice neat waves. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She asked, voice hesitant as she looked around the room for anything that could serve as a weapon for Jungkook or herself. Jungkook stood in the center of the room, though he had never been in her room he held no interest in all the trinkets she had decided to adorn it with. That wasn’t why Jungkook had suddenly decided to visit, not after YN had barged into his own bedroom and clung onto him. Not after Jungkook had to persuade his beloved that she would be safe in his bed with Morte guarding her.

“Can’t a husband visit his wife in the middle of the night?”

“We are not yet wed.” Soojin was unsure of what game Jungkook was playing, her eyes sneakily stared at her door. She couldn’t see the shadow of her guard's feet.

“I would hardly think that matters when the ceremony is in a few days' time.”

Jungkook approached Soojin’s bed slowly, his footsteps careful and calculated each one of them measured to ensure the tamed lioness would see exactly where he was at any given time. As he reached the edge of her bed, Soojin leaned back to rest on the headboard allowing Jungkook to crawl onto the bed until the prince was mere inches from her. Soojin swallowed thickly, nerves eating her alive. “Plus you’ll get everything you have ever wanted…” His hand caressed Soojin’s cheek tenderly. “To be queen and bear my heir.” His soft touch turned harsh as he pulled her towards his lips. “I thought we’d get a head start.” With little hesitation their lips crashed against each other, full of hatred and passion.

In those moments of pure unadulterated lust, Soojin swore Jungkook had never looked more beautiful. His sweat caused his hair to curl towards the ends, framing his face perfectly. Despite how badly she clinged to him, his arms, his back, chest, legs, his every breath - Jungkook barely touches her. He kisses her, but it feels empty. Even when he finally does enter her, it lacked intimacy and felt robotic. The prince was harsh, demanding, and entirely selfish in his needs. Though Soojin did enjoy it thoroughly, it was clear to her that Jungkook was only searching for his own high rather than hers. Eventually the two reach their peaks, climaxing together as Jungkook fills Soojin to the brim.

Then as quickly and quietly as he arrived the prince untangled himself from Soojin. Redressing himself before leaving her room, not sparing the young princess a glance. Seo Soojin cried that night for the first time in years, memories of her youth plaguing her as she recalled the fateful day that set in motion the rest of her life.

Thirteen year old Soojin was already a beauty to behold, even at such a young age. Despite being born a woman, she was exceptionally bright and cunning. Under different circumstances, she would’ve surely become a great inventor or even a great ruler. Sadly she was born a woman to a noble family who had long ago set their eyes on the prize of the land - a prize their only daughter could help them get. While Soojin had never met prince Jungkook, they had been engaged since she could remember. Having been raised with tales of the great Jeons and how Jungkook was the kindest and fairest prince in the land. Soojin could hardly contain her excitement at what her future might hold. The following week, she would embark to court and finally meet her beloved. Still, even at such a young age Soojin possessed little patience and great ambition. Seven days was far too long a wait.

“Come on Soojin, it is this way.” Kim Yoona yelled from far ahead, Soojin jumped over the rocks that were littered across the ravine, careful to watch her steps so as to not slip. They were deep in the forest, far from the watchful eyes of maids and guards, Soojin wasn’t afraid though. She knew the fate that would befall anyone who attempted to cause harm to a Seo. Much less the soon to be princess. Yoona had told her of a fortune teller that had apparently predicted the Jeons rise to power and the birth of the prince. She was notable throughout all the land and since hearing her tenacity for telling the future of those destined to be great, Soojin wanted hers read.

After crossing the water they trudged through more forest ground before finding a small clearing. The two girls abruptly stopped as they came face to face with an old cottage resembling something out of the fairy tales they'd read. “This must be it.” Soojin stated, marching forward once the shock wore off. There was nothing to be afraid of; she was certain of what her future would entail, she just needed the confirmation. Before Soojin could knock on the door, it was opened by a middle aged woman dressed in rags.

“Are you the witch?” Was the first thing out of Soojin’s mouth. She lay unimpressed as Yoona soon joined her side, stunned into silence.

“Are you the Seo girl?” The fortune-teller reproached, causing both young girls' eyes to widen, before the fortune-teller allowed them in. “It’s two hundred to have your fortunes read - each.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Yoona protested, but Soojin fisted the money out of her wallet before throwing it on the nearest table she found. “There, now tell me my future.”

“How about I tell you a story instead?”

Soojin rolled her eyes dramatically, “I don’t want a story. I want my future, tell it now.”

The fortune teller smiled, taking long steps before reaching a chair. She took her time sitting and making herself comfortable before finally turning towards Soojin. “Tell me child, have you ever seen a lion and snake play together?”

Soojin frowned, “What?”

“They are opposite beings in nature. Warm-blooded and cold-blooded. A union between them would never work.” The witch grabbed the pile of money and began to count it, “A lion takes several mates but always stays within his pride. A snake lives a solitary life, its only companions the flowers it lives alongside.”

“You’re making no sense!” Soojin’s hands balled into fists, as she began to raise her voice in frustration. “You’re speaking in riddles, talk clearly.”

“She means that the match won’t last.” Yoona, who had remained quiet until then, finally spoke up.

“That isn’t true!” Soojin screamed, head whipping back and forth between her friend and the witch. “Who will marry the prince if not me?! I am to be a queen. I will bear a son and become a Jeon. Our marriage will unite the kingdom and ensure prosperity for the kingdom.” The words were not her own, but those she had been raised hearing.

“Ah, a queen you will be and a son you will bear. A Jeon though is not a name that is given but granted. Read up on your history child, this union will only breed destruction.”

Soojin didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. The witch was lying to her. She simply wanted to embarrass Soojin, that's why she was making up all those lies.

Yoona excitedly pounced on the opportunity, now that Soojin was out of the picture perhaps she had a shot. “If not her then who? Who will marry the prince?”

Soojin turns to glare at her supposed friend, furious at the hope that had filled the young Yoona now that she believed Soojin to be out of the picture.

The fortune-teller looked out the window at the trees that surrounded them, “This winter has been long, but spring will come again. When it does, the flowers are always the first to bloom.”

“Flowers?” Soojin asked, at the same time that her friend drew her conclusions.

“A Kim?! I’m a Kim. Does that mean I will marry the prince?” Yoona asked excitedly, unaware of the glare now being cast her way by Soojin. Poor Kim Yoona misunderstood, her family though they held the last name, held very little power and had only managed to amass their fortune through their loyalty to the Seo’s. Something the young child, unbeknownst to her, ruined that very afternoon. Still much like young Yoona, Soojin too did not know the difference between Kims - they were those who simply possessed the name while others who were blessed with it. When they were walking back towards their homes and Yoona accidentally slipped on the rocks and dove head first into the ravine, Soojin couldn’t bring herself to care much. If fate wants her to be with the prince, then she will surely not drown. The princess thought as she walked away and headed home preparing for her upcoming trip.

“This winter has been long but spring will come again. When it does, meet me where the flower’s bloom.” YN had awoken alone in her bed in the morning, surprised that neither Sana nor Jungkook were around. She supposed it was a blessing in disguise for the note left on her pillow would have surely been the subject of questioning. It had taken her a while to decipher what exactly Namjoon had meant by the note, but figured that overthinking would be exactly what would be expected of her to do. So, YN headed towards her vanity but stopped cold when she realized the book was not there. I could’ve sworn… YN searched high and low through her bedroom in a manner that was discrete yet thorough. She felt eyes on her and didn’t know if they were guarding or threatening.

Sana must’ve placed it elsewhere. It would be strange considering the maid never moved any of her stuff without explicit permission, but it certainly was a possibility. YN sighed, looking at the note once again tracing it with her finger as she pondered on what the lord’s intentions might have been in sending her that message. If it had been something unimportant, he surely would have communicated through his staff. It was the way of the palace. If it was urgent, Kim Namjoon would have come himself. No, this was something different. YN’s eyes danced once more on the small piece of paper, observing carefully as if the paper would suddenly reveal a secret to her, that was for her eyes only.

“Where the flowers bloom…” What flowers? YN’s eyes widened as she recalled something her late mother had taught her. YN had been too young to remember much of her parents, even the few memories she did have were obscured. She did remember her mother always plotting lilies though, it was the only thing that she had been able to cultivate while they lived in the harsh areas of the city. Their garden, if it could be called that, had been barely a meter long. Though their father insisted that she try to grow vegetables, because they were always so expensive at the market, she only grew lilies. Even if they always died. Lilies were delicate beings and required extreme care and stable environments - something YN hadn’t known much of growing up. There was another thing about YN’s mother’s garden: she always complained about the ivy weed that threatened to consume it.

Where flower’s bloom? Lilies required care, attention, and warmth. It needed round the clock observation. An ivy, on the contrary, could potentially grow in any type of environment even the most inhospitable ones. The passage ways!

It seems Jungkook had kept his promise of locking up the passageway, but YN had figured it couldn’t be the only one. Certainly a castle this old and large must have various entries and exits privy only to those who reside in them. So YN looked in the most obvious place she could think of. It wasn’t difficult to gain access to Jungkook’s bedroom, and the palace had been fairly empty as of late so there weren’t many lingering around. It was rather difficult though to escape the eyes she felt. Jungkook had promised her a brand new security detail, though she had assumed he meant guards. Now she was uncertain. Everywhere YN went she felt eyes and as she peered around the prince’s room, it was no different. Morte was nowhere to be seen but YN couldn’t be sure the snake was hiding or if she was accompanying her master.

“Psst.”

It came from behind her. YN spun around only to face the wall behind the bed. Then she heard it again, “Psst.” This time louder, as she drew nearer her eyes focused on the pattern of the dark brick wall. It was perfectly layered and symmetrical, likely thousands of years old, as the stone had long faded yet somehow kept its state. One last time the “psst” rang out and YN finally noticed that one of the bricks was slightly more pushed in than the others. It was something only noticeable since she was barely a breath away from the wall. Hesitantly, YN reached out and pressed at a large section of the wall sliding back by a few feet. Then she walked forward into the corridors making sure to close it behind, her unaware of the viper observing.

“I was afraid you might not join me.” Kim Namjoon was not dressed in his usual attire of extravagant clothes. In fact, the old wash of his bottoms and creases on his shirt made it seem like another person when YN had first laid eyes on him, after discovering him deep in the corridors. “I have walked long and have yet to see any Ivies growing. Your clue wasn’t easy to decipher. Had I misinterpreted it, I would have headed to the gardens.” YN answered, there was something off about the lord today but she couldn’t put her finger on it. He seemed desperate to YN. “Ah, but we are at the gardens.” Namjoon replied, finger taping the wall to his left. The passageway they found themselves did in fact run alongside the palace gardens. To his left grew lilies, once planted by the great Kim when the palace was first constructed. To his right, inside the castle, ivies: tall, wild, and lethal. All planted by Jeon the I without intent.

“What is it you want my lord?” Though YN normally enjoyed conversing with Namjoon, something inside her stomach warned her that being hidden away with him would have consequences.

“Have you read the book, my lady?”

“Ah,” YN didn’t exactly know how to break it to him without possibly upsetting him. “I seem to have misplaced it.”

“Someone took it you mean.”

“Why would someone steal a book?” It was a genuine question, as Namjoon had come to that conclusion far too quickly.

“Why would someone steal you?”

So that is what he was trying to get at. YN had long grown tired of having to explain her situation and felt a bit disappointed that Namjoon would even ask. He seemed different. She should have known better. “That is the question I’ve been asking myself since I arrived.” Her tone was apathetic, as she glanced around trying to figure out how to end the conversation.

“Surely you are not that oblivious my lady. You hold value - a true value that is rare to come by these days.”

Now she was confused, “You make no sense.”

Namjoon stepped closer. Even though it was just two steps, YN felt he was trying to bridge the space between them. Either to get her attention or establish dominance, she wasn’t too sure. YN held her ground. “I’m afraid I never do.” Namjoon caresses her cheek, leaning in to whisper. “You smell divine, like flowers...a Sharon rose, perhaps?” YN eyes widened. Her mind traveled to Soojin’s confrontation. “It is simply a name my lord.” Namjoon chuckled, “Yes, I suppose so. That is why there are only two true Kim’s in court.” He turned sharply on his feet and walked away, but not before spinning back just as quickly. “The help is sorted into two fields - Seo’s and Jeon’s - Sana is a Jeon, not by name but it is where her alliances lie - besides the crown.”

The phone rang inside Min Yoongi’s study and he ignored it. Fully aware of who it was and the consequences it may bring, but the Duke couldn’t bring himself to care. Jimin was in a good mood today, splendid even, and Yoongi didn’t want to do anything that would risk that. So the phone rang for hours upon hours, jiggling harshly upon his desk much to his annoyance. He had instructed the staff to ignore it - let the man think he was out of town. Though it was a dangerous game, now far from the castle Min Yoongi found the courage he so often lacked. He was prepared to play the long game and ignore the brat, demonstrating that Yoongi was not a puppet or a butler he could have at his beck and call. When the phone finally stopped, Yoongi assumed he had won. Until the phone started ringing elsewhere: the master bedroom - Jimin’s room. Yoongi bolted out the door leaving his chair turned over and a few papers scattered. The duke ran through the hallway and burst past the doors just as Jimin put the phone to his ear. Yoongi ripped it out of his hand as gently as he could, not missing the questioning gaze of his beloved. “Hello,” his gruff voice sounding slightly out of breath from the run.

“Hello Yoongi, I’ve been trying to reach you but it seems you’ve been too busy to pick up the phone. So I figured I would ask your darling for a favor, it’s been so long since I’ve heard from him.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened and his hands balled into a fist. “There’s been some problems with the phone lines lately, it looks like there’s a storm coming.”

“Oh a storm is coming all right, but that is not why I contacted you Yoongi. I’m sure you’ve received the invitation by now.” He meant the wedding invitation. Yoongi had in fact received the invitation earlier that morning, to say he was surprised when he saw ‘Jeon Jungkook and Seo Soojin’ on the piece of paper would be an understatement. What of the girl? “You see there is the matter of my bachelor party.” Oh no. “While my soon to be wife is busy readying herself, I see no point in not enjoying my last night of an unwed life. So my beloved and I are headed towards your estate as we speak. I hope it isn’t too late for a party.”

Jungkook had yet to tell her where they were headed, but he seemed in a pleasant mood something which caused YN quite a lot of concern. She was aware that the wedding was tomorrow and hadn’t found it to be a good sign that the groom was effectively leaving a day before. Though Jungkook had sworn he would marry Soojin, there had to be something else at play. A hidden pawn or move that he hadn’t yet exposed - it wouldn’t be out of character for him to somehow weasel his way out of a promise. Then again… The King was involved in this affair and Jungkook had yet to disobey his father. At least in front of her.

“What has you so entertained?” Jungkook reached over and delicately massaged the frown between her brows. His other hand entwined in hers, fingers gently tracing over her knuckles. “Penny for your thoughts.”

YN forced a polite smile on her face, “Simply wondering where we are going.” There was nothing to gain from speaking the truth. If her time in the castle had taught her anything it was that.

“Hm,” the prince nodded, clearly not entirely believing her but choosing not to press the matter. “We are headed to an old friend’s place. Duke Min has agreed to host us for the evening as a farewell gift to my bachelor status.”

The name rang a bell and the longer she dwelled on it, the clearer the person he was speaking about became. “Duke Min? As in Lady Eun’s lover?” As in the man she had begged to spare her brother’s life? To be fair, all the charges against her brother had been dropped. It wasn't the Duke’s fault that Jungkook had manipulated everything to kill her brother regardless. You killed his lover.

Sensing the clear discomfort in her tone, Jungkook smiled. “Don’t worry my love.” He leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning her ear. “Yoongi engages in various liaisons, but only one truly holds his heart. He and I are a lot alike in that sense.”

The Min estate was a sight to behold, though it did not compare to the grandiose nature of the palace, YN found herself enjoying it more. It was brighter, a light sky color that matched the lush greenery that surrounded it. It was much smaller than a duke’s home should be, but that was to be expected of a secondary residence - even if it was where Min mainly stayed. In front stood Min Yoongi, as well as multiple staff, all different levels of anxiousness. Most thoughts revolved around the prince and what a pleasure it would be to serve his royal highness when they were so used to serving the duke and his lover. All of Yoongi’s thoughts, though, were on the girl. He longed to see her, only if to ease his curiosity. It had been so long since they had last met and Yoongi wanted to know if she had changed, what she had become. if she remained the same desperate child begging to be saved - or had transformed herself into a vicious snake.

As the carrier arrived, the driver quickly exited to open the door. Jungkook exited first with a sly smile on his face that caused most of the staff to swoon, and right behind him, wearing a simple satin high collared blue dress with a grey coat, exited YN. Her eyes cast around before they immediately dropped down. It wasn’t until Jungkook took her hand in his that she looked up, sending a blank look to the prince - which upon further inspection by the duke was filled with a mixture of contempt yet reluctance. Jungkook whispered something to her that caused her eyes to widen and she quickly looked up at Yoongi with fear in her eyes. The look mirroring one Jimin had given him the first time they had met.

It was gone rather quickly, replaced with a gentle smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Yoongi wondered if that sort of training had been cemented by Jungkook or if much like his songbird YN had learned that adapting meant surviving.

After a brief tour of the home, the three of them had lunch though YN did not miss the fourth table set that went unused, much to the Duke’s apartments annoyance, the three then spoke in the patio for hours about politics, music, art, philosophy. Though it was more like YN was an observer than an active participant, Jungkook seemed fine about her lack of enthusiasm so long as she was draped on his lap or holding his hand. It was like she was a prize to be admired, but not engaged with. Any time she did wish to join the conversation, she would look up and meet Min Yoongi’s dark feline eyes and immediately sink back into silence. There was something about the duke that holy unnerved her, he seemed fine enough at first glance but the prince’s words kept bouncing around her head. Dinner then came and went, followed by drinks and finally it was time to retire.

“We have prepared two rooms like you asked.” Yoongi states, after waving away an approaching maid. “We hope they are to your enjoyment.” YN can’t help but feel a sense of relief at not having to share a room with Jungkook. They both excuse themselves and are guided up the stairs. Once the maid leaves, YN goes to enter the room but a hold on her wrist stops her. She turns back to look at Jungkook quizzically.

“Oh come on now darling, the rooms are for show.” He says amused. “It’s best not to cause an uproar the night before the wedding.” Jungkook doesn’t even give her time to respond, before he pulls her into his room and shuts the door. It is when he goes in for the kiss that YN rushes out a question that has been plaguing her all day. “Are you actually going to marry Soojin?” Jungkook stops, tilting his head to the side as if thinking over what she says. “Why? Are you jealous?” His tone is teasing, as he goes in for another kiss only to be stopped by YN once more. “You promised her you would. Promised me as well. Do you intend to keep it?”

Jungkook sighed, walking towards the bed and stripping off his clothes layer by layer. “Soojin has been my fiancé since we were children. I was always meant to wed her.” This causes YN’s chest to swell with excitement, only for it to be shattered seconds afterwards. “Still it is you who will be my queen. You did promise to wed me too recall? In exchange for protection from any more assassination attempts. Everyone always knows that first marriages are for gains and the second is for love.” He beckoned her closer, for some reason YN obeyed. Standing nearly nude in the moonlight YN once again was blinded by his beauty. He looked so much like an angel, but she knew devils could shapeshift to enticing forms.

Once again she wondered if things had been different would Jungkook have wooed her too. In another life, would she have come to love him? Would he even be interested in her? No use in thinking of what ifs. Nothing would change who Jungkook was now, just like it appeared nothing would save YN. Not as long as the prince was alive.

When YN awoke the next morning the prince was gone, the spot beside her in bed now cold. Though she couldn’t be certain it had ever been warm. She dressed and headed down stairs, surprised to find barely any staff and the duke gone as well. It’s a royal wedding of course they would all be gone. YN eyed the door and approached it, seeking an opportunity for escape. The place couldn’t possibly be as heavily guarded as the castle. YN hadn’t seen any guards or anything of the sort the day before. Just as her hand was about to grip the handle, a butler appeared startling her.

“Pardon the interruption my lady, but breakfast has been served outside in the garden.” YN smiles politely nodding before heading out towards the gardens. The gardens aren’t likely to be guarded. She could always escape into the forestry surrounding the house. As she exited the house, she caught sight of a man sitting at the table where breakfast was served. He was stunning, that was the first thing she noticed. With soft yet angled features, large lips, and delicate eyes. She must’ve been staring a long time because the man finally turned to look at her and in his eyes, YN could see a deep melancholy not dissimilar to her own.

“So you’re the prince’s whore?”

YN was taken aback by his bluntness, but squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She wouldn’t be disrespected by someone who seemed to be in the same boat as her. So that’s what Jungkook meant. “Are you the Duke’s?”

He smiled, she could tell it wasn’t fake as humor filled his eyes. Only to quickly be replaced with sadness yet again. “I am his lover, his songbird, his whore.” The man looked forward towards the violets, “It all depends on his mood.” Then filled with mirth, “It all depends on the sex.” It was once he turned back towards her, his smile a mix of innocence and seduction that he finally stated his name. “You can call me Jimin though.” YN couldn’t help the slight smile that spread across her face, for even though she did not know what Jimin had gone through he was still surviving and that inspired her a bit.

The two of them ate in silence and merely observed the garden, breathing in the fresh air and taking in nature. YN thought this might be the first time she has ever been at peace after meeting Jungkook. It isn’t until the sun is higher in the sky, past midday or a bit before, that Jimin speaks again.

“They’re both gone. Off to the wedding it seems.” He says it with such resentment, YN can’t help but wonder if it's because he isn’t with them or Jimin dislikes weddings in general. When YN questions him, he chuckles. “No, I’m not mad. A whore isn’t welcome in a church after all.” The sly wink he sends her lets her know that she too is included in the joke. Even then, she wonders if Jimin even gets to leave at all. Suddenly Jungkook’s words when they were approaching the house pop into her head, “The Duke is fond of keeping treasures too so be sure not to catch his attention.”

“Perhaps we should have our own fun.” She says suddenly, little thought given to the consequences said action may hold for both of them.

Jimin turns to YN, eyes widened before his lips pucker into a pout. “I’m not allowed to leave and no one can go against the Duke’s wishes.”

“I outrank the Duke.” A bit of silence followed before the two of them broke out into wicked grins.

YN had never really been in the city, the area she used to reside in where the slums were, and even then she went out so little that her memories of it were vague. Jimin seemed to have a better idea of where they were going, dragging her from fashion boutique to cafes to bars and anywhere else he could think of. He seemed so jovial as if he were a bird able to fly after so long, when he looked it at YN it was with a mixture of glee and gratitude. Even if she didn’t enjoy all the attention garnered every time Jimin pulled out Yoongi’s money, she didn’t want to break what little happiness had returned to Jimin. Especially when he had seemed so starved of it.

“Here this is for you. If you’re forced and resigned to being the prince’s whore might as well dress the part.” Jimin often called her that instead of her name, but given the lack of malice in his voice whenever he did YN couldn’t bring herself to care. He handed her a velvet box, which upon opening it possessed a silver necklace with a black gemstone and matching ring. “Jimin I can’t take this.” It was certainly expensive judging by the look of it and she felt this was his way of saying thanks. “I appreciate it but -”

Jimin rolled his eyes and took the ring out of the box and forced it onto her finger. “Don’t make this a big deal. If you look like a victim people will treat you like one, but if you look like a queen...well no one goes against a queen.” He had maneuvered his way around her and placed the necklace on her neck tying it delicately on the back. “There now you look like a queen.” His fingers brushed comfortingly on the side of her neck. YN smiled and thanked him silently. They were towards the back of a store, it was a smaller boutique, likely only being able to contain no more than twenty people inside yet it was relatively empty. The stylist had stepped into the back after offering them beverages and hadn’t returned since.

As the two new friends continued their conversation, a car pulled up to the front of the store. It was a large suburban with thick windows that were blacked out. Since Jimin had his back to the front it was YN who first noticed it, finding it peculiar. It wasn’t until the car doors opened and she saw the sigil on the driver’s side that she recognized who it belonged to. Resistance. It didn’t take her too long to grasp at why they were there. Rather quickly she gripped Jimin’s arms, “Go to the back of the store and don’t come back out until it's safe.” Rather forcefully she shoved him towards the back and Jimin spared her a glance before running to the back of the store.

Please please please. YN didn’t know exactly what she was asking for, but it was the only thing that occurred to her. Five burly men entered the store all setting their sights on her immediately. “Hello, Kim YN. Our leader would like to speak with you.”

“I’m Kim Seokjin, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The words couldn’t be any more of a farce, but Seokjin was nothing if not civil and polite. The smile forced onto his face was entirely charismatic and swayed anyone that looked it at. While being a good leader was important, good looks also aided Seokjin in staking his claim on the throne. Though people swore loyalty to the Kim’s and claimed to despise the Jeon’s, no one would rally behind an ugly person not when their prince looked like a fallen angel. “I’ve been told quite a lot about you. I am sorry that we have had to meet under these circumstances, but it isn’t very often the prince lets his most prized possession out of his sights.”

Truth was he could have waited, but Seokjin wanted to see her. Wanted to know what had captured not just the prince’s attention, but Namjoon’s as well. Now that YN was in front of him he saw nothing that could explain it. She’s rather plain looking. Not only that but she sat perfectly straight in her chair refusing to engage in any conversation at all. Her lips were pursed, face stoic, and eyes observed everything at a clinical distance. She acts like a Jeon that’s for sure. Well if she wasn’t going to reply might as well continue, “I am sure you have first hand experience of how cruel the Jeon’s can be. They are cold, cunning, and utilize dark arts to keep their power. They took what was once a great country, with wealth and happiness to go around and have hogged it all to the point were most of the population lives in extreme hunger and despair.”

“Have you ever gone hungry?” YN’s soft voice spoke out, barely above a whisper yet it captured all of Seokjin’s attention. “It seems strange to me to hear about hunger and despair from a man who has never experienced it in his life.”

Seokjin was taken aback, but kept his calm. “I have faced much despair in my life, but it would take too long to go into detail about it. Plus I am not fond of comparing traumas.”

“What dark arts do you speak of? I’ve never heard of the Jeon’s performing dark arts.” That was a lie, but YN was baiting him. Plus if Seokjin had useful information that could help her escape Jungkook then she was willing to do anything.

Seokjin smiled, “A group of less than a hundred men stormed a castle full of guards, nobility, and the royal family and within an hour had slaughtered them all and taken control. Of course, it was magic.”

So he knows nothing. YN remained quiet, she observed Kim Seokjin the way one might a potential threat. Even if he had yet to attack or make his intentions clear, the only person YN had met that hadn’t attempted to coerce her or hurt her had been Jimin. The odds weren’t in her favor. Even Namjoon whom she had thought of as a friend had acted strange the last time they met. “Unless there is something you know. Which may help us restore the imbalance of power and return things back to their harmonious state.”

It was clear neither were buying what the other was selling and it was only a matter of time before that truth became obvious to the two of them.

“What I am trying to get at my lady is, it would not only benefit the kingdom but you as well if you -” Before Seokjin could finish his pitch, the doors of his office slammed open and in strolled Kim Namjoon decked in a royal blue blazer with matching top and cream pants, he looked like a leader and with the way he regarded Seokjin it was clear which one of them truly called the shots. “I learned you kidnapped Lady Kim when I specifically asked you not to. Now we have both an angry prince and Duke on our hands.”

“The prince is getting married, he is far too concerned with his future bride to care where his mistress is.”

“Ah, well since you clearly know Jeon Jungkook so well explain to me then why fourteen of our allies had their families raided and imprisoned not ten minutes after you took her.”

Both Seokjin and YN froze in shock, unable to believe what they had just heard. Ten minutes? It took ten minutes for Jungkook to find out she was missing and exact his revenge when he was more than a hundred miles away. “Don’t play with me Namjoon.” Seokjin’s voice had lost all its charm and was not monotone, “This isn’t funny.” Namjoon scoffed, “They’re awaiting their sentencing and everyone knows it's the gallows for traitors.” An image of her brother’s dead body flashed before YN and she struggled to not heave. “Now go fix it.” Namjoon demanded, pointing his finger out the door. Seokjin marched out not sparing YN a look, but she could tell by the look on his face he would surely blame her for this. It’s always my fault.

YN sat stunned in silence as Namjoon ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends with frustration. She glanced towards her lap trying not to make eye contact, her hands were shaking and YN gripped her skirt in order to steady them. “I can talk him out of it.” YN wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Namjoon or herself. “He wouldn’t -”

“Yes, he would YN. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re dead already.” He muttered, before sighing and gazing at her sympathetically. “Don’t blame yourself my lady. This isn’t your fault.”

YN chuckled humorlessly, “All of this is my fault. Every death that has occurred since the prince and I crossed paths has been my fault.” Or by my hand. Lady Eun and Vito flashed before her eyes.

“Well then I shall have to start referring to you as Lady Death or Lady D for short.”

YN smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood, “Very funny my lord.” The two stared into each other's eyes for a while before YN finally broke the calm silence that had settled between them. “Is Kim Seokjin an ivy or a lily?” The smile on the lord’s face melts away before he quickly replaces it with one that doesn’t reach his eyes. There is a mask on his face that YN has only seen him wear around others before and she smurmises what it must mean - Namjoon finally sees her as a threat.

“He is a Kim with a stake to the throne, one of the last remaining ones.” He walks towards a leather seat right across from where she is. Namjoon sits the way a gentleman would, reclining yet keeping his back straight and shoulders square. Head held high as his height caused him to look down at her ever so slightly. YN found herself imagining what he would look like with a crown on his head. “So what is your plan? To use Seokjin and let him die in his quest for the throne?” Her eyebrow raises as she questions whether Namjoon would be as cruel to use someone for their own personal gains, then again that seems to be the norm among the nobility.

“Seokjin won’t die.” Namjoon spoke as if this were a fact and not an optimistic delusion.

“Please don’t be foolish, my lord. The Jeons and Seo’s will wipe out any possible threat that exists to them.” YN had experienced it first hand.

“The Seo’s believe where all lunatics clinging to the past and the Jeons would never attack without solid reasoning.”

YN laughed, “The prince just executed four families without solid reasoning.”

“No,” Namjoon shook his head as disappointed she didn’t understand. “The prince executed conspirators that may have played a role in the kidnapping of a court lady and his lover.”

YN fixed him with a pointed stare, “You know the truth.”

Namjoon leans forward in his seat, “The truth doesn’t matter, tell a lie enough times it becomes the truth. People don’t want to believe the reality, they want to hear what is most convenient to them.”

“What is this truth that you are trying to tell? That Seokjin is the true heir when the Kim line has been so mixed that’s nearly impossible. Or is that little speech all you have?” YN was frustrated. Tired of being treated like a pawn in a larger game of thrones. “You seem to be under the illusion that I am completely unaware of what having a Kim king was like. I don’t like the Jeons nor the Kims, both patriarchy’s have set about ruining the kingdom each in their own way.”

“Good thing we aren’t going to have a patriarch on the throne.” He smirked.

YN’s words died on her tongue as the statement caused her to pause. It unsettled, then it all began to click. Jungkook’s intense desire to make her queen, Soojin questioning her family name, Namjoon’s insistence, even her brother’s untimely death. At that moment YN longed to be anywhere else but there to be far away: back in the store with her brother, back in their childhood home with her parents, even locked back inside the palace bedrooms. At least there she knew what to expect, what future awaited her. There her status as a sister, daughter, prisoner were clear. Inside the rebel grounds they were not, she was about as certain of her fate as she had been that night in the dungeon. “What do you mean?” The look Namjoon gave her spoke for itself. You know what he means, don’t deny it any longer. “YN,” he rose from his chair cautiously, his eyes hesitant as if unsure how she would react. For a split second, YN could see what looked like trepidation in his eyes but what would the great Lord Kim have to be afraid of? “You were never merely a pawn and it was never nearly a name.”

Soojin sat restlessly on the marriage bed, waiting for Jungkook to arrive. She was certain there were ears glued to the chamber doors and could feel eyes on her figure, yet she couldn’t tell where they came from. The wedding had been a spectacle if a little small, but she supposed it would help cement her image as a humble princess. It wasn’t a good look to waste millions on a wedding when the country’s poor were starving. Her knees were tucked into her chamise as the cold air in the room nipped at her skin, the lit fire was too far away to offer anything besides light. Though she longed to go near it, she had been told it was bad luck for the bride to step foot off the bed before the marriage had been consummated. Even if it already had been days before.

She isn’t exactly sure how long passes, but knows that it must have been a while since the cold nipping at her had long seeped into her bones and was now causing her to shiver. The silk bedding offered little protection. More time passed and Soojin found herself dozing off, the new moon high in the sky before she was awoken by the ringing of a bell. It announced that someone wished to enter the room and Soojin gave her permission. A young maid entered, hair tucked tightly into a bun as she bowed deeply. She looked familiar to the princess and she racked her brain trying to find her name before finally recalling, Ah yes, Sana. The whore’s maid. Soojin didn’t think much of it, since YN was no longer in the castle and posed no threat to her. She regarded the maid civilly.

“What is it?”

“I apologize, your highness, the prince has left the castle for the city and it seems he will not be returning before tomorrow.”

Soojin laughed, to her it must have been a joke. Surely Jungkook would not leave on their wedding night to be with his mistress when his wife was right there. She lifted her hand to cover her mouth and realized she was not only laughing, but crying as well. Finally Sana looked up at her, eyes filled with pity and any sadness in Soojin turned to rage. I see. YN had sent her maid to taunt her, to show that even though Soojin was queen Jungkook still belonged to her. Soojin raised her hand to strike the maid, when a sudden sharp pain from her abdomen caused her to fall over.

“Princess?!” Sana rushed to her help, only to be pushed away by Soojin. “Leave! Lock the doors! I don’t want anyone to see me!” She roared like a lioness and Sana backed away, bowed in submission. It was once she heard the small ‘click’ of the locked door that Soojin allowed the sobs to wreck through her body as the pain in her stomach worsened. What is happening to me? She raises her hand and sees small drops of water that have stuck. Soojin could not remember the last time she had cried. Perhaps it had been her sixth birthday when her father had died or perhaps it had been when her mother scolded her for crying after his death.

Nonetheless she did not have time to dwell on it for the pain she felt forced her up and had her heaving. She could feel something crawling up her throat and she tried desperately not to choke on it. I won’t give up this fight. Not after everything I’ve sacrificed. The pain was harsher than ever and it burned so much that Soojin swore it would tear itself from the inside out. She had no choice but to open her mouth and let it out. Soojin expected a lot of things to exit her: bile, the wedding cake, even flowers if she were to be honest. What she did not expect was the small baby snake in the pool of blood; which upon closer inspection by the princess was dead.

When YN arrived at the Min house it looked deserted as if not a soul resided in it, but she knew Jungkook was waiting inside. Even far away, YN could sense the danger radiating from inside - Jungkook was sure to be infuriated and she hoped it wasn’t too late to talk him down from his anger before more innocent people lost their lives. She pushed through the front doors, not surprised to find them open, and saw Jungkook waiting for her sat upon the stairs. What did come as a shock to her was that he was still wearing his wedding clothes. Did he really come straight after? His long hair is styled back to show off his undercut, the tight fit of his suit - a grey and white jacket with matching pants and the Jeon symbol embroidered on the left breast - show off his figure nicely. When the prince catches her staring he smirks, but it does little to subdue the fire present in his eyes.

“Oh and did the rebellion help you find your way back darling? How nice of them. Not to worry, I’ve already sent them my thanks.” Sarcasm dripped from every word, but it stoked YN’s own fury how casually he spoke about killing people. How little he cared.

“Haven’t you killed enough?! Those poor people have nothing to do with it and you know it. Stop murdering people as a show of power.” She was seething, not being able to bear the guilt of anymore blood on her hands.

“A display of power?” Jungkook raised his eyebrow, “If I wanted to display my power, I would have murdered every single person in that little so called rebellion. No what I did was a display of my love for you.” Even through his insanity, she could see he was being honest and that terrified her even more.

“How do you think it looks to your people that on your wedding day, you’re more concerned with your mistress's disappearance than your own wife?” Though Jungkook didn’t care about appearances, the crown still had an image to uphold.

Jungkook opened his mouth, letting it form a small ‘o.’ “I see you’ve been under the impression this whole time that the public knows who you are.” He smiled at her confused expression, “You see while the public is aware that I have taken a mistress, all they know is that she is a lady of the court. But the murders that occurred tonight were due to the aiding of a wanted criminal.”

“A what?” It was not the first time that day that YN had found herself as the centerpiece in a chessboard. Except that while she had just been told she was the strongest piece - this conversation would serve as a reminder of who truly controlled the game. “Your brother was an enemy of the state, one that conspired to overthrow the throne. While normally I allow Kim Seokjin to play diliances since everyone is aware his claim is less than weak, him reaching out to you demonstrates that he is a far more threatening player than I had originally anticipated.” He shrugs, “If you ever do manage to escape you will be persecuted for your crimes against the crown.” He would throw me in a cell and let me rot to prove a point. No, it’s more than that. Jungkook is not only cornering her, but the Kims in general. A criminal can’t be a ruler.

YN walks toward Jungkook, her stride strong and determined as she crossed the space between them to come kneel in front of him. Once they were at eye level, she tenderly cupped his cheek. Whispering softly, “Are you afraid he sought me out to get to you? Is that what this is?” Jungkook leans into her embrace, trying to steal a kiss. YN avoids him by instead brushing her lips over the shell of his ear, “After everything you have done to me I do not need outside forces to compel me to hate you.” When she pulled back, she saw something unexpected. There were tears in Jungkook’s eyes, not dissimilar to the ones that had been there when she had told him of his father’s plan. For a split second, YN found herself wondering once again what might have happened if the two of them had met in a different time. If Jungkook were not the cruel prince that he is and had not hurt her, could she love him? Or were they doomed to repeat the same brutal love story for all of eternity.

Jungkook’s hand snapped up to grab a hold of YN’s neck and he flipped them around, caging her between the marble stairs and his own body. “It is not his interest in me or my crown that fills me with bloodlust, but rather his interest in you.” The prince’s grip was so tight, she could feel the indents of his fingers being left behind.

Perhaps she should have waited for a better time. Perhaps YN should not have taken the bait so clearly laid out by the prince, but it had been a long day and the only person who could truly give her answers stood right in front of her. “How long?” She questions in a broken whisper. “When did you know?” Had he known this whole time and that’s why he had been stringing her along? People in the kingdom longed to go back to a time before the Jeons, but their hatred did not extend towards the prince. In their eyes he was nothing like his cruel bloodline. Jungkook drew her closer, his lips trailing up her nose bridge until he planted a kiss on her forehead. “If you're afraid my interest in you is solely due to your bloodline, don’t be afraid. Something as measly as a name wouldn’t sway my affection.” He lowered his head, to make sure they were at eye level, “besides you’ll be a Jeon soon. Whether or not you are of royal bloodline will not matter once you are queen. If anything it will legitimize your place beside me.” The smile he gave her was saccharine, full of nothing but love and adoration. As if his words were meant to comfort her, when they were only a display of how carefully he had orchestrated everything.

“When?” YN repeated, glaring at him with so much fury Jungkook swore he should be beneath the ground.

“After our conversation in your cell. I had Yoongi and Jimin find information about you and deliver it to me.” He drew away, leaving space between them in case his words evoked a physical reaction. “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t being fooled. Then I read about your parents, what a strange accident that seemed to be.” His finger tapped his chin mockingly. “Especially so soon after your adoption had been finalized. Then I traced your lineage only to find it didn’t exist. Since my grandfather took the throne every single person born with the surname Kim has been documented, yet you don’t exist.” His pitch raised, dramatizing his words. “Seems like someone went a long way to make a little girl from nowhere completely disappear.” The prince shrugged, as if his words had not completely shattered everything YN once knew to be true.

“That is how I knew.”

YN lunged at him, she didn’t exactly know what had compelled her to, but she did. The strength behind said attack seemed to surprise even Jungkook. Still he looked entirely serene when she straddled and wrapped her hands around his throat, deciding to repay him for what he had done seconds before. YN squeezed with all her might. Instead of being afraid Jungkook began to laugh, maniacally so, “Honestly darling, first stabbing and now choking. What’s next, are you going to try to poison me?”

“Morte isn’t here.” YN spat out, “There’s nothing to ensure you survive.” The prince was beginning to turn red, face swelling at the constriction of air flow, yet he kept laughing. She had begun to understand the type of power Jungkook wielded, if Morte was his lifeline like Vito was hers. Then not having the snake around made him vulnerable.

“I don’t need a snake to keep me alive because you won’t kill me.”

“Who says I won’t?!”

By now hints of purple had started to seep through, he was gasping for air. “B-because i-if you d-do I’ll k-kill i-it. I’ll k-kill s-Soojin’s unborn child.”

YN stilled, but did not relinquish her grip. “You’ll be dead. You won’t be able to hurt anyone.”

“I’m the only thing keeping her alive,” he smiled sadistically. “The second I die, Seokjin will take power and he won’t hesitate to slaughter. Or maybe it’ll be your precious Namjoon. Perhaps even Sana, she’ll be so filled with envy and rage that I didn’t impregnate her that she will poison Soojin.” He leaned forward, licking his lips. “Then it will not only be my blood on your hands, but that of an innocent child.” As his words set in, YN’s fingers slacked and Jungkook took advantage, wrapping his arms around her torso. YN stared up at him, “How could you be so cruel?” It wasn’t until she tasted the salt on her lips that she even realized she was crying.

“I will do anything to keep us together. Whether alive or dead, you cannot escape me.”

_6 Months Later_

“Princess, are you ready? The prince and King are waiting for you.”

Soojin sighed, standing up from the chair she had decided to rest on and allowed the maid to guide her towards the front of the palace. There was to be a tour today, charity work where the royal family went out and pretended to care about their people. The last tour, before Soojin had known about her pregnancy had been a success, even if it had been cut short by the King’s health suddenly declining once more. Still today’s trip towards the city’s slums was sure to not be too troublesome. Just smile and nod. Her hand brushed tenderly over her large bump, it was quite big for the stage she was at and had been the cause of much speculation and rumors. Still Jungkook played the role of doting husband and soon-to-be father so well, no one would ever suspect Soojin had only seen him a handful of times since the wedding. Even less since the engagements.

Whom Soojin had not seen at all was YN. Though it caused her nothing but glee to think the wedding and pregnancy had hurt her in some way. The princess also knew that enemies should be kept closest of all, even more than her own son. “Did YN receive my gift?” She whispered lowly, so as not to be heard. The maid nodded, “Yes, princess. It was delivered at dawn by a neutral party.” Good, then she’ll be out of our hands soon. If YN was smart she would take the chance offered by Soojin, even if it was a trap that was sure to leave her permanently out of the picture. When she arrived at the main entrance, she noted all the guards and nobility lined up to bid them farewell yet - “My son will not be joining us. He has received word of the rebellion planning an attack and I have ordered him to stay.” King Jeon barely spared her a glance before adjusting his crown and entering the car.

Soojin grimaced, but put on a smile when entering. It’ll be fine. Just smile, nod, and make them love their future queen. The King’s days were numbered, anyone could see, that is why the rebellion was getting bolder. Staging public protests, spreading propaganda, and small planned attacks. They were building to something. Rumor had it they had infiltrated the castle and though Kim Seokjin had always been the face, Soojin had heard through the grapevine someone else truly pulled the strings. It's ridiculous. Just a little boy playing dress up. So the princess pushed it from her mind, cradling her stomach as the car drove away into the road to embark on the journey, unaware it would be the one that would lead her straight to death.

YN didn’t know exactly how long she had been walking, but considering the sun had just risen when she had sneaked out of the castle and was now about to set she must’ve walked a significant distance. She hadn’t brought much with her, wanting to leave before Sana brought her breakfast or Jungkook stopped by. Only a jacket, a change of shoes, some money, a map, and Jimin’s gift tucked away in case the worst happened. The blisters on her feet were surely bleeding by now, but stopping to rest was a risk YN wasn’t willing to take. Cliche as it might be, YN heard the snapping of a branch before she realized she had company. “Lady YN.” When she turned around she was greeted with Park Jinyoung and Lee Baekhyung. “The King has requested you return to the palace as soon as possible.” The guard’s faces were as stoic as YN remembered considering she had not seen them in a long time.

He sent his lap dogs after me...wait, the king? “I believe you’re mistaken, surely the King has greater concerns than me.”

Baekhyung smiled, “Nonsense, nothing is more important to the King than you right now. And we’ve been sent to escort you back.”

“Or retrieve you by force if necessary.” Jinyoung added.

YN didn’t need to look to know she was surrounded by guards, still the trip had not been useless. She had gotten what she was after and the men were none the wiser.

“The vehicle transporting the King and princess was attacked by the rebellion. Not all made it out alive.”

YN gasped, No. That can’t be. Before YN could dwell on it any longer, the guards grabbed her and dragged her to the car. She didn’t put up a fight, too many thoughts running through her head, but one stood out above all. Soojin can’t be dead.

“Get it out of me!” Soojin screamed, pain wrecking her body as she contorted every which way. Several maids held her down as they tried to save her son. “Get him out of me! He’s dying! He’s killing me!” Truth is with every contraction felt, Soojin found herself becoming weaker. Her muscles ached yet felt tender, bones brittle as if made of stone, every time she breathed it felt like she was inhaling smoke. What is this?! What is going on?! “Please princess. Just push. Breathe and push.” Soojin tried to do what she said, but instead of easing the pain it only made it worse. The knife had long been discarded and the maids were now attempting to help take the baby out, but it didn’t explain the pain. “Stop it hurts! It hurts!” She cried out, feeling like she was being torn from the inside out.

The second she realized that, Soojin swore she felt claws trace the lining of her stomach from the inside. “Get that fucking thing out of me!” He isn’t human. It isn’t human. She had long been warned of the dangers of a Jeon pregnancy, but Soojin hadn’t listened. She never listened and it would finally cause her death. I should have killed it. By now the blood spilled all over the sheets, floors, and clothes was turning a dark red. I should have killed the girl before he met her. Soojin felt her heart begin to beat slower. I should have killed the witch. Her senses weakening as spots filled her vision. I should have killed him when I had the chance. A flash of memory came to mind: the night she had told Jungkook of her pregnancy, how delighted he seemed to have been, yet when he spoke of ‘we’ she had somehow known it wasn’t about her. He knew, he knew all this time...and all to be with her.

“Just one final push princess and that’s it.” Soojin's smile was filled with melancholy as she gave one final push, bringing the new prince into this earth. When the child took his first breath, she took her last.

YN stood in front of the giant throne room, she hadn’t bothered changing knowing the King would look at her with disgust no matter what she wore. Tentatively she knocked, before the doors were slammed open and YN entered her eyes to the ground displaying submission. “You requested me, your highness.” Instead of a response, she heard a babble. When her eyes snapped up YN saw what to others might be the stuff of dreams, but to her, it was her worst nightmare come true. Jungkook sat upon the throne, a heavily jeweled crown resting on his head - the Kings crown. His entire focus was on the newborn in his arm. He gazed lovingly at the small boy and even cooed at it. Jungkook was so entranced a goofy grin adorned his face as he coddled his son.

Eventually the prince King did look up and what you saw in his eyes was an amalgamation of pure love, obsession, and insanity. “Look Mommy’s here.”

#yandere bts #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere jeon jungkook x reader #prince jeon jungkook #royalty au #yandere au #yandere bangtan #yandere jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #yandere kpop #prince of nothing #prince of nothing iv #pon #pon iv #girlmeetsliv3

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themonotonysyndrome · 3 years

Text

Guilt Eater

Part 4 of the ‘Successors of the Future’ is here! And yes, I will do my absolute best to squeeze in as much Blazblue reference in this series until I can’t! (I mean, that’s how I got the plot bunny for this series anyway~)

We’re moving the spotlights today to Malleus and Ace and a special guest! I thought it’ll be an interesting shift of perspective and change. Don’t worry, we’ll get right back to the kids in the next oneshot.

As always, big thank you to @tri3tri for letting us expand her Second Wive AU. Hope you guys enjoy this oneshot.

Time tend to leave its mark differently on each species.

For creatures who only grew stronger with time while their bodies remain near immortal, the passing of time means nothing to the Fair Folks. Time is likened to the ocean; ancient yet full of wonders.

For Malleus, however, time has not been kind to him. Not since his dear heart and children vanishes.

Ever since then, there is an unspoken rule among the residents of the Castle of Thorns: the Queen’s family wing is forbidden to everyone but the King.

Even Lilia nod his head to the rule; even he has been walking on eggshells around their King.

And the years had transformed the Queen’s domain into a catacomb. The rumpled beds, the toys littered in Princess Sherrie’s bedroom, the Queen’s favourite book on her study table - everything is left untouched with layered of dust and cobwebs covering every inch of the surfaces.

Every evening, the King would stalk the empty halls and bedrooms like a ghost; constantly yearning to feel the memories that embedded on the walls. Once he did his duties as the King and beget the male heir that the court had been pushing, Malleus has been living in regret ever since.

He should have known that his beautiful wife would attempt to escape during the night of his second wedding. He should have tightened the security not on his concubine, but to the Queen and their Princesses. He should have assured Renata and Sherrie that only their mother holds his heart and that Bellatrix is just a means to an end.

He should have told them that he loves them.

Regret and guilt are terrible poisons. It festered under your skin and twist your heart painfully. They plague your mind with ‘what if’s’ and ‘should have’s’ and Malleus have been carrying them ever since that night.

Tonight, he lost hours inside Renata’s bedroom, just staring at her favourite doll that he bought for her. He still remembers how her eyes lit up and how sweet her smile was when he presented the doll to her; how she was so happy that she clings on him and the doll that day. Deeply amused, he humoured her and carried her in her arms the whole day. Malleus even brought her to his court session, regardless how it broke propriety.

His every waking moments now drift to MC and their daughters. Where are they? Why couldn’t he find them no matter how many soldiers he dispatched across Twisted Wonderland, no matter how far his magic blanket the lands? Are his daughters healthy, happy? What are they currently doing now? Are they safe? Have they forgotten about him -

The mirror on the vanity table shattered. Malleus releases the doll in his grip and struggle to calm himself down; his body curl inwards and his breaths erratic. The thought of his wife and children far away and happy from him nearly drove him crazy if it weren’t for Lilia’s quick and careful words of consolation.

“They can’t hide forever, Malleus. Don’t ever give up, you hear me? And once we’ll find them, we’ll make sure her little escape routines are put to a stop. Permanently.”

Lilia’s words are enough to ground him. For now.

Malleus failed to assured his wife and daughters his love towards them, failed to show just how deep his convictions towards them are. The moment he finds any threads of their whereabouts, he’ll make sure to rectify that.

And as the night made way for morning, Malleus forces himself to leave his daughter’s abandoned bedroom to prepare for another long, monotonous day. The only reason why he hasn’t delegate his duties to Lilia was because of his grandmother. His grandmother had come to visit on the eve of his second wedding and stayed when a frantic Silver announced MC and their children’s disappearance. If it weren’t for her, Malleus would’ve burned away his suit and transform into a dragon to search for them. While Lilia organise a search team with Silver and Sebek, his grandmother made sure he understood his duties as King once more.

That was the first and last time he slept with Bellatrix before his thoughts and desire are consumed with the need to find his family. At that point, neither Lilia nor his grandmother could’ve stop him.

The castle staffs and guards know to scattered when they see him step out of the Queen’s wing. The moment they heard the door creaked open, the room is empty.

All but for one individual.

“Good morning, Father!”

Malleus stop his track. He tilts his head towards his heir, expressionless. Victor refused to be deterred by his Father’s gloomy aura yet he’s smart enough to carefully approach him.

The king is stoic on the best days, frightening on his worst.

“Will you be joining us for breakfast later? I heard from Grandfather Lilia that the kitchen staffs are planning to cook your favourites.”

“I’ll be taking my meals in my office as usual.” Malleus reply and starts to walk away.

Victor’s smile drop a little but he pressed on, jogging behind his father. In a rare burst of courage, the Prince grab Malleus’ hand. Surprisingly, Malleus stops walking. He stares at his hand before narrowing his eyes at Victor.

“W-Would Father like a report of my recent academic progress? My tutors said that I’ve been doing well in my magic classes! O-Oh! I’ve also been diligently keeping up with my etiquette lessons.” Victor stutters out after he immediately let go of his Father’s hand. Feeling like he just committed a grave crime.

“No need. Your tutors have been sending letters of your progress, daily.”

“Oh... then would Father be willing to... to train me - ”

“I’m busy. Ask Lilia or any of your tutors.” And with that, Malleus refused to linger any longer, leaving Victor in the empty room.

Crestfallen, Victor watch his Father go. Knowing that if he bothers him even more, it will just upset him and another storm would loom over the castle for the next few days. His expression immediately morph into a combination of anger and sadness as he stomps away before the staffs could return, not wanting them to see him vulnerable.

As usual, Victor desperately hopes that one day his Father would finally acknowledge him as a son, not as his Prince.

Time tend to leave its mark differently on each species.

For creatures with a set of years as flimsy as a lit candle’s flame, humans are creatures who bear the passing of time with a passionate vigor. Time is likened to fireworks; beautiful, bright but only for a short moment.

For Ace, however, time is a constant remainder that he had failed his best friend. Being vulnerable in Night Raven College is a sure way to be taken advantage off and Ace is never known as anything but his brutal honestly, mischievous streaks and habits of getting himself (and others) into trouble.

But when the headmaster announced that he couldn’t find MC anywhere the day after their senior’s graduation, was the moment that he, Deuce and Grim completely lose their composure. Deuce was too shocked to say anything while Ace couldn’t stop screaming alongside Grim.

She couldn’t have just vanish! People don’t work like that!

And even if she finally somehow found a way back to her world, she wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye!

Ace hated himself as that moment. If only he texted them the night before. Why didn’t he? They usually send stupid texts to one another! If only he kept a closer eye on them. If only she kept Grim close to her.

For once, the headmaster drop all pretence. For once, his guilt laden answer and heavy sags of his shoulders are genuine.

MC is gone and he has no idea how or why. But the three of them refused to gave up just like that. Ever since that day, they would do their best to figure out or research about MC’s fate. Jack and Epel, after finding out what happened, did their best to help out too. But days passed without any leads and with heavy hearts, they accepted that their friend is lost to them.

That was not a good day.

After Ace and Epel managed to pull Deuce and Jack away from one another (Deuce had completely lost it when the wolf boy reluctantly admit that maybe it was best to stop their research), strangely enough, it was Sebek who finally interjects.

They need to accept that MC is gone. Even if they could never gain the closure that they desperately want, it’ll be no good to carry this sort of horrible guilt with them forever. With a long sigh, Sebek told them to find peace with it, even if it’s hard.

Easier said than done. Even now that he’s already an adult and have a son, Ace still couldn’t help but wonder what happened to his friend. He hopes that wherever she is, MC is safe and happy. Anything other than that Ace couldn’t bear to think.

Ace takes out his phone and checks the calendar app. The anniversary of MC’s disappearance is coming. Usually, Ace would cook MC’s favourite food in honour of her memory and over the years, he has gotten pretty good at it. Good enough that it also becomes his son’s favourite dish.

Just as Ace was about to put down his phone and get ready to go out for lunch with his older brother, it suddenly rings.

The name on his phone surprises him. His son rarely calls him ever since he got accepted to Night Raven College. Something about wanting some independence from his old man that Ace retaliates by ruffling his hair because of his boy’s cheekiness.

Ace press the accept button with a grin, knowing that this is going to be good. “What’s up, kiddo? Finally admit that you miss your old man?”

He expects a scoff, maybe a reluctant admittance, hell even his son’s rare bout of innocent honesty. What Ace didn’t expect however, is hearing his son’s frightened shriek.

“Dad! You knew a MC/S before right!? Please tell me you know what to do when she went batshit insane!”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down! What are you talking about? I can barely hear you!”

Ace impatiently wait while pressing the phone close to his ear as he hear his son rapidly talking to someone, shouting apologies and heavy breaths as if he’s currently running.

“Oh Sweet Seven, ok, I think we managed to hide from her.” His son panted. “Yeah, so, I might have, uh accidentally threw my food tray all over this girl and she immediately went supernova. We barely managed to dodge her fireballs!”

Suddenly, Ace felt his heart drop. “Girl? What girl? Night Raven College is an all-boys’ school.” He heard himself reply. Absentmindedly, his mind brought up the memories of his Entrance Ceremony, years ago. Of a girl that looked so lost in her robes as she stood in front of the Mirror of Darkness.

“Renata MC/S. She’s the only girl that ended up a student here. I remembered that you had a friend with that surname so I thought she might be related.”

At that moment, Ace choose to believe it. It’s way too coincidental for it not be. A girl that shares his lost best friend’s surname who also just happend to be the only girl to be accepted in Night Raven College?

But what Ace doesn’t understand is his son’s comment about the girl throwing fireballs. MC doesn’t have magic. So what’s going on?

“Hmm, I usually gave her some space before I apologised to her. And a little bribery never failed too.” Ace advised, recalling how MC reluctantly accepts the candy that he offered after he upsets her.

“That’s not a bad idea, Dad! Will report back the result if I’m not scorched to death.” Ace’s son dryly answer. Some rustling noises and hush whispers can be heard through the phone before his kid ended the call.

Ace is already calling Deuce’s number. He needs to know about this.

I hope I managed to did Malleus and Ace justice in writing them! I’ll get better with writing the rest of the boys once their children are introduce. Because Renata needed friends/allies against Malleus after all~

Speaking of Victor, I was really nervous when I was writing him. Here, he’s not all haughty because deep down, all he want is some praises and love from a Father who only see him as something to appease his court. Not a son. Hope I managed to portray that properly!

(Also, the name of Ace’s son and two others will be reveal in the next oneshot)

#twisted wonderland #fanfic #malleus draconia #ace trappola #malleus draconia x mc #yandere malleus draconia #Draconia Family series #Second Wive AU #tri3tri

230 notes · View notes

ecrivant · 3 years

Text

a castle and the devil within | reiner braun

(reiner braun x reader)

the night of the ambush on utgard castle; the air, pregnant with the impeding deaths of his comrades. reiner, plagued by guilt, ruminates on the idea of loss and culpability, and with you shares a moment that will undoubtedly come to haunt him.

a.n. – canon divergent in assuming the warriors knew of zeke’s plan to attack the castle.

word count: 3.5k

The group moved in the swathe of night like some serpentine unity towards an unknown. The moon, incandescent and looming high above the earth, enfolded the terrain in a ghostly haze which of all it touched made apparitions. In the air, a disconcerting quietude, silent all but for Equus footfalls dampened by sogged pasture and sniveling muzzles and the cracks and pops of low-burning torches. The topography, undulating, and from it emerged towering palisades of spruce which sectioned the land and curtailed the interminable and verdant hills. Clouds, by lunar glow illuminated and resembling exhalations in cold air arrested, roved the sky and overhung land so primeval Nyx herself present for its creation. Nocturne was refuge from the diurnal beasts who within them harbored a taste for humanity, but the cerement of pitch did little to lessen the unrest among the riders—in this world, serenity, erroneous.

At the horizonal marge of sky and land laid twin towers seemingly erected from the earth itself. Spires traced in moonlight. As the group rode forward, exhausted and pace lagging, drawing with their path the outline of the sloping land and leaving a trail of muddled footmarks in their wake, the castle entire materialized. Surrounding the towers, a crumbling stone bulwark, at once a product of precise masonry now by worldly destruction ruined—the fortress’ impotent aegis. This manmade edifice so alien in its surroundings, as if a misplaced afterthought meant for another milieu but forgotten and left for this bucolic landscape.

The group, looking strange and scarcely manlike, finally was before this decrepit palace—its courtyard, barricaded on three sides, was rife with debris, and vegetation grew over and between the laid stones which once formed the yard’s floor. The horses staggered on the unevenness. Each rider, form sore and tender, dismounted and tied their horses to what he or she could find and uncomfortably shifted between feet, readapting to bipedalism all but forgotten in the wake of such journeying. In this momentary recuperation, his eyes drifted to you—in no worse shape than the rest of the group, situated towards the back of their shapeless unit. Your back to him, slouched as if incurring an immense weight, and shoulders rolling beneath clothes.

Within the castle, a campfire, amber alight. Pitch dispelled as if a demon exorcised. Deep shadows in visages’ creases, casted in the fiery glow. The group here indistinguishable from fatigued miscreants of past and future.

He knew outside Zeke haunted the landscape, both specter and wraith, poised to strike. He knew this verily, just as he knew you rested, a stride away, in wary repose. His guilt, corrosive. You may die tonight, and he, delirious and consumed by misguided pathos, could only wait for this terrible inevitability. And perhaps one day he would make peace with his complicity in it and see your death as one of many needed to secure Eldian posterity, but he at this moment knew better. He knew your death would in fact eviscerate him, and he knew he would never be absolved, and for it he knew, upon his own final moments, he would be driven to perdition under the weight of his transgressions against you.

Your face, with delicacy, painted in light and complexion made orange by fire’s illumination. Aura beguiling, no less so than the first encounter. If, in your voice, the proposition to forsake his life’s purpose was made to him, he would fain relinquish it. And he would invariably sacrifice his life in exchange for yours, though perhaps not in the noble light the act was so habitually painted—it was not a gesture of loving sacrifice but rather the embodiment of an abject selfishness by which he was possessed. He knew he would not be able to bear the burden of your death, regardless of whether or not by his hand delivered, and would rather himself meet this inevitable and fatal eternity than ever live to see your end.

These terrible and penetrative thoughts of demise—a ghastly, mental seepage—were debilitating. He, as a warrior, as a member of the Survey Corps, was so well-acquainted with death yet had never acclimated to it and knew the last death to which he would bear witness would be no less harrowing than the first. And as he uncomfortably ruminated on these thoughts, he came to realize he, his presence, his mission, was the scent of death which hung over his comrades, the one which they so desperately tried to evade. Perhaps it was some unarticulated curse which followed inheritors of the titans. As misfortune and pain had fallen on his predecessors—the same who now inhabited him as ghostly memories and feelings—these miseries now fell on him, as if he was not a blank slate but rather a prewritten history destined to recount and repeat itself. Did he have any choice in what he had done or come to be? Or was the first inheritor as culpable as he in the terrible fates he wrote for those around him?

Even with his stoic form, highly controlled and for years constructed, he could not assuage the tremor in his hands or the accumulating bile which at once burned his stomach and throat.

He thought at one point he had distanced himself from you—an act of self-preservation—but you, aura infectious and penetrative, always remained. There in presence and in spirit, beside him always as if a phantasmal servant.

Beside him you rose and waited for a moment then moved to ascend the stairs of the tower in which the group found shelter. Someone called out for you, voice indistinguishable in the muted silence; a call less words articulated and more akin to a spectral exhalation of a once-present form. Your voice in response, a quiet assurance of your safety—you simply needed a moment alone. Yet against your wishes, he erected himself and moved to accompany you, informing you of his presence rather than asking permission.

“My knight in shining armor.”

Voice coy. A slight smile.

Yet, over him, horror settled, and he, overcome by unspeakable sickness, fought against the bile which threatened to spill forth. His knees trembled, and the stairs swayed and moved below him, and within him burgeoned a caustic remorse which eroded his conscience, creating from once plane morality a chasmic and unnavigable wasteland. In this moment, he wished he had returned to Marley after Marcel’s death. For his titan, and his responsibility and mission and resolve, would have been inherited by another—his entire being reduced to pitiable memories in the mind of his successor. And he would never have come to know you, or your strong resolve, or your aching concern, or your voice, velveteen, the sumptuous way you articulated his name. Or your laugh which swept past him with airy carelessness and within him bred a distant and warm and melancholic feeling, like a far-removed recollection, a memory of déjà vu. Or your quiet and unassuming history once marked by genial tranquility which was so violently uprooted by his own actions.

He stumbled as his body anticipated a stair which was not there. Your grip on his arm, strong, steadying. His eyes met yours, and in your gaze, that stupidly sincere concern, and in his, unspoken gratitude. At the top of the tower, contained in the interstice between the outside overlook and the end of the staircase, you seated yourself against the wall and he, beside you. He tried not to think of Annie or Bertolt or Zeke or Marley or his mother who within him placed her hope entire, and instead focused on the way you smelled of campfire and cold air, and the way, among the silence, the sound of your breathing stilled his heart. With a vacant mind, he simply sat and tried to match his breath to yours.

Still trembling, he inched his hand along the stone floor until he found your touch, and he twined his fingers with yours, and aside from a slight and barely-there hesitation, you did not react. Your hand cold and his clammy, and in teenage and involuntary reaction, he felt embarrassed.

The last time he desired you so blatantly came in ambush. He could not recall the situation, or even the moment before or after, but you were together, and in movement you had drifted past him, and as his eyes followed your hallowed form, the idea of kissing you abruptly and wholly engulfed him. He often yearned for you under the shroud of night or in the aurora of dawn, in response to a smile or a laugh, in the wake of a day spent together or a moment exchanged, but never after such inaction. He had supposed it made sense: for a space, moment, to become consecrated, you merely had to occupy it, and perhaps the moments where he did not crave you, though few in number, did not truly exist and were instead simply obfuscated by your very presence.

He rued each and every time previous he had not set aside his fear and held you. This touch, for the first time, in such a chaste and quiet way, and perhaps on the eve of your demise, felt vile. Your shared intimacy, perverse.

But the constricting grip of your hand on his, tightened and loosened as a tide ebbs and flows in conjoined action, brought him back from his negative ruminations. As if you sensed his need to be grounded.

And the look of your face in the barely-there starlight was enough for him to press his lips to yours, a loving movement made shy by hesitance. The kiss, ephemeral and dissolving in the night as suddenly as it came to be. He pulled away, face hot at your nonreaction, but you followed his mouth as if now linked and did not let him go. Is this what it felt like to be wanted, needed? In a second, you returned to your seated position and he to his, resting in silence as if previous exchange forgotten. Or, perhaps, never having existed. He suddenly saw your mutilated corpse before him and could no longer luxuriate in the aftermath of this intimacy exchanged, the grip on his hand and the closeness of your shoulder and his own breathlessness and palpitations now feeling like heresy.

He felt in the air your hesitation, the quietude preceding the break of a storm, before you spoke, words uttered in tone eerie as if invoked then manifested from the night itself:

“Do you trust me, Reiner?”

In few moments was he struck as speechless as this. His implicit answer was one of affirmation—he knew amply of how you so presently and continually heeded him—yet he, dazed and aphonic, spoke not. Perhaps fearful of a forthcoming dialogue in which you would state your misplaced trust on him conferred. He preemptively contemned you for saying such things, though it was scorn quickly and rightly turned on himself. You trusted him under the same pretenses he did you, and no reassurances, no matter how constant, could convince him he did not for you experience true and attested concern. It was not a matter of you falling for his acutely maintained artifice but rather one where he had, simply and unequivocally, fallen for you.

Your gaze bore into him. Patiently waiting for his answer and seemingly unfazed by his hesitance. He swallowed and shook his head yes and spoke to substantiate this claim:

“Of course I do.”

You nodded your head as if satisfied and looked up to the ceiling in musing and spoke again after a shared and pregnant pause:

“I trust you. More than anything.”

You began another phrase, but it trailed off, lost in the night’s permeant sombre.

And he did not hear it, instead intent on edifice around him crumbling, and conscience, crushing and destructive, under which he collapsed, and ire which burned him like flame, and dread which gored him and spilled forth his viscera, black and befouled from deceit. Intent on his blood now bile, and complexion now rotted flesh. And the eldritch bawl, suffused with ruefulness and agony and lamentation unmatched by even the most repentous sinners, which nigh spewed from his gut but instead caught in his throat in a choked sob. And intent on the manner in which he violently ripped away from you, suddenly and acutely aware of the way his hand twined in yours was the quintessence of sinful hypocrisy—what one should be made to embrace the sadistic numen who in its hands held his or her ultimate fate? And intent on the countless bodies of victims, past and future, coalescing in a single, fleshed mass of sanguine gore and tortured and malformed faces whose expressions more resembled demons than humans, each and all prostrate before him, supine in some perverted reverence like an agonous congregation in worship.

“I feel you bear my burdens for me.”

Spoken with a quiet and slumberous quality, as if your first words after waking. His mind prayed for your silence, a wish, unarticulated, as he could only hold his head in his hands and rock forward and back with mouth open in a wordless scream. And the emotions with which he was suddenly inundated did not result in tears, and instead he sat beside you, breathing hard and in shock and doing nothing, as if struck dumb. Your hand on his shoulder, a touch which in it held such comfort and concern, which he cowered under and tore away from as if beast threatened and made prey. And upon this reaction, the space seemed too small and your presence, repugnant. The crucifix proffered before the devil.

He himself, cursed, and now he cursed you.

The trapdoor above, wood weathered and water-logged and laying heavy and flush against the stone ceiling, burst open with a tempest gale’s force, and one of the veterans plummeted from the tower’s crown towards the floor and paid no mind to your pair and instead rushed down the stairs and called for the rest of the group. And just as suddenly as he had fallen under the yoke of his own fervor, he repressed all thought and set his jaw and ascended the final steps of the tower to emerge in the night. You beside him.

From above, the terrain a banished landscape. The trees which once towered towards firmament’s ceiling now sat in small and sparse clusters littered over the land’s spanning hummocks. And the moon, now at arc’s crest, bewashed the purgatory below in that same haze from before, the one which made all things wraithlike and seemingly ephemeral. And within that courtyard on three sides barricaded by the crumbling bulwark and rife with lapidarius debris and vegetation made bluish by the night which encroached upon the yard’s stone foundation posed dozens of those unclad leviathans, climbing over architectural remains or coming forth from arboreal cells or clawing at the tower’s base with hands all but human and much more vehement. Monstrous and aberrant pilgrims converging on their infernal holy land.

Knowledge of Zeke’s intentions made the sight no less grim.

In the moments before the veterans descended upon the beasts below in instinctual response, they were struck still, shock and fear in their eyes clear. And for some reason wholly unknown to him, the reaction, so involuntary and raw and basally human, impressed upon his mind and burrowed deep within him. His body shuddering. The nightmarish air, pregnant with the threat of impending carnage, and in it, unspoken fear.

Under blade the brutes fell silently and with their impacts shook the earth. Even with the dexterous hands with which the veterans fought, the tower’s entrance—a large and wooden and rotting door—was breached. Authoritative calls, tinged with desperation and fear and sounding more like cries, ordered the group’s remainder to secure the edifice. To fight to their final breath.

He could not bring himself to look at you, yet he still felt your presence, the air around you leaden and viscous and suffused with dread.

As he ran down the stairs, leading the charge to secure the entrance breached, he pondered his intentions. Atypical of his carefully crafted persona, and perhaps his true self, to waver in the face of danger and at the chance to protect his friends, or rather those who he had acutely deceived and convinced of his friendship, he resolved that his actions were integral to the role of Reiner—the protective and stoic hero who, out of fraternal love, laid down his life for those around him. A role with which he had no qualms assuming. Even if it was one through Paradisian Eldian’s eyes seen—he cared more about the perception than those who perceived him. But as he heard your voice with unprecedented fear call out, his name from your mouth a desperate invocation, all notions preconceived wiped away. He did not fight for the longevity of his own ego, nor even for Marley, or Bertolt or Annie or his mother, home in Liberio. In this moment, he fought for you.

Upon reaching the staircase’s base, and beyond the open door, he found himself before a titan with stretched grin and ravenous gaze, all humanity absent. In torchlight, the beast’s grimace, devilish. And he slammed the door and threw against it his weight entire and called out an indecipherable—perhaps an order, perhaps a cry for help—to the ones descending the stairs behind him. A sudden plosion of splintering wood beside his head, and through the hole created shot a fleshy and steaming appendage, furiously and blindly reaching for him. He felt shame as he realized he had already consigned to dying, and in the seconds before this infernal arm enveloped him, he thought of Marcel. And of Marcel’s scream—his final and desperate expression of abject fear—halted at its climax and then punctuated by the ferric and sour smell of fresh blood and the sound of bone crushed and brains liquified.

No, he was not to die here.

His movements, automated—his body, propelled away from the door and brushing against the arm which all but had him; Bertolt beside him and pushing a spear into the goliath; his form responding to a warning call, diving out of the path of the unloaded canon which flew down the stairs and as a bludgeon crushed the titan.

His consciousness divorced from corporeal form, only united again as the agony of teeth sinking into his arm suffused him with an unknowable pain. He was made sick thinking this was the feeling which marked Marcel’s final moments.

—

Trembling hands struggling with makeshift gauze. Punctuating, shaky breaths. Though you tried to hide it, eyes focused on dressing his wounds in silence, he could see you were thoroughly harrowed by the moments prior. While he was plagued by thoughts of your death, were you by his? As much as it would cause you great suffering, he would still rather die before you—in his selfishness, he would rather have you alive and obliterated by grief than he. He was reluctant to believe true love was this selfish. Though, when one says they would die for their lover, is it a product of selflessness or self-preservation in the face of grief? Perhaps in a world different from this one, selflessness possible.

You finished your work on his arm and sat back. He looked at you for the first time since you last spoke and found he could barely hold your gaze.

“I promise that if I die, I will be with you. Always. Just look for me.”

Were these his words or yours? There was no distinction in this place, voices and bodies and human and beast all made one primeval unity in this cold dark.

He wished for you to hold him.

And when this wish remained unanswered, and the group was called to the towers peak again, and he quickly and silently ascended the stairs next to you, he became aware of a painful and agonous truth: he would never know your touch again, nor he did not deserve it, for the hours and days that followed held admittance of his duplicity; a look in your eyes which so clearly reflected how he violated you; between you, an establishment of mistrust and enmity. And he would perhaps know your touch again, but it was touch imbued with lethal intent, hateful, your vitriol unspoken but not absent, as you, with all your resolve, tried to wholly annihilate him.

And yet, in an ironic turn where you, in your hands, suddenly held his fate in a way not dissimilar to the way he did yours, he still wished for his own death to come first, for he would not and could not resolve to live a life devoid of you.

—

ah hi there! was this one week’s worth of work? perhaps no. but i hope everyone enjoyed it regardless! thank you so much for reading and thank you to the anon who sent in a request for this fic! i loved your idea, and i hope you enjoyed the piece!

all the recent support means the world, and feedback and all that is always so appreciated. have many requests on the way, so look forward to more stuff coming soon!

request: ok so there's this scenario that's been itching my brain in the wrong place 😭😭 reiner and reader in the castle ruins? before the armored titan reveal? possibly the reader "confesses" to reiner by saying that out of everyone in the corps they trust him the most. and later on he just... does that. spare me some angst please

masterlist

taglist: @flam3bird, @sakusas-whore

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan imagine #aot imagines #aot x reader #reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun x you #reiner braun imagine #reiner x reader #writing!

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aitarose · 4 years

Text

PROLOGUE | READ CH.1 [UNEDITED] HERE

PAIRING: Zuko x Waterbender!Reader [fem]

PLOT: Princess Y/N finds herself falling for the young Fire Nation prince with the shy smile. As their feelings grow, the childhood lovers face unimaginable challenges together.

TIMEFRAME: Winter 90 AG

WARNINGS: angst, separation

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

A/N: i’m rewriting the chapters i currently have posted as my writing has improved since i first created this series. the prologue is now a mix of the original work and the leaving the north extra.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Crystal clear streams of water circled in repetition around the young Northern princess. Droplets of water failed to rain down onto the stark icy ground as her control was near to perfection.

Y/N’s arms swayed at her sides, her mind fully concentrated on the actions that she was igniting in her vicinity. Soft hums escaped her lips, finding joy in the calming nature that waterbending brought her.

The waning moonlight sparkled around her, giving her a ghostly look and causing her to look like a lost phantom in the wind. The smile on her face was haunting, the look being of pure and utter bliss.

Her footsteps tread lightly, barely making a path on the snow covered hill. Y/N looked to her left amidst her dance, spotting her shadow against the white powder and grinned at the sight.

All that she could see was her silhouette, which was oozing undeniable joy and freedom. Y/N was at one with her most true self—the cause of that true self being the element of water.

Waterbending was the definition of Y/N’s comfort zone. Having the skill mastered at such a young age was unheard of, but it was also the thing that she loved most in the world.

The members of the Northern tribe commonly said that Y/N’s ambition would be the end of her. That her drive for success and perfection would be her great downfall—but in the six-year-old’s mind, it was the one thing that put her at ease.

That and her favorite person in the entire world. Her favorite person who was just drenched in the formerly suspended water. The person who was glaring at her with the most bothered expression Y/N had ever seen.

“It’s freezing!” Yue cried out, wringing out her hair whilst Y/N laughed, falling to the ground in a fit of giggles. Both girls were drenched in water, their formal attire beginning to stick to their bodies in the cold air.

The baffled expression on Yue’s face gave Y/N more joy than the waterbending itself. It wasn’t uncommon for Y/N to give her half-sister a hard time, but at the end of the day Yue loved her, no matter how far her antics were taken.

“Oh, so you think this is funny?” Yue raised her eyebrows, placing her hands on her hips in overall amusement. She opened her mouth wide to give Y/N her next dig. “I’m not the one who looks like a sea sponge!”

Y/N scoffed as she pulled at her frozen clothing, blowing the straying strings of hair away from her clouded eyes. A disgusted look dawned her face in retaliation to Yue’s attempt at an insult.

Yue was naturally kind, nearly incapable of showing bitterness and resentment. Even when her words were in good fun, Y/N hated to see her better half act in any negative way. It simply wasn’t her.

Y/N, herself, on the other hand was the polar opposite of Yue. She was hard on the surface, holding her head high, rather than cowering in fear. She knew that the world wasn’t all good or all bad as she was a realist.

The princesses rivaled each other in every way, but also found true balance in the fact. Yue’s reserved nature versus Y/N’s boldness made them the perfect pair.

However, when they disagreed, though that rarely ever happened, Y/N was always the last to apologize. She’d never admit that she felt inferior to Yue. Their inborn rivalry was unspoken but also undeniable.

As Yue would always have the thing that Y/N wanted most in the world. The one thing that was stolen from her due to her birthright. She’d always be the black sheep of the North without the unconditional love of their people.

The unconditional love that they only showed Yue. Yue who was her half-sister—meaning that half of Y/N wasn’t native to the North, but native to the nation that they feared the most—the Fire Nation.

While Y/N and Yue continued to bicker, chasing each other around in circles and lapping the snowmen that they’d created together, their serene playtime was interrupted by a pair of large arms wrapping around Yue’s waist.

The white-haired girl squealed in surprise, her arms flailed chaotically as Arnook chuckled, watching his two daughters with love in his eyes. As Yue settled in his embrace, he rubbed Y/N’s shoulder gently.

“Spirits, you two feel like icicles.” Arnook’s gaze become concerned. He held Yue in his outstretched arms, inspecting her for any bruises or scratches. “Your mother was worried sick, Yue. You can’t run off without telling us first.”

Yue pouted, pointing at Y/N in exasperation. “Y/N wanted to come out and show me some of her new waterbending moves! I’m sorry, father. We were only having fun.”

Y/N let her head drop as Arnook gave her a disappointed look. He’d told her many times that he didn’t want Yue involved in the progress of her bending as her mastery would also be the reason behind her departure.

The royal chieftain nodded his head, gesturing for Y/N to follow as he carried Yue in his arms back towards the palace. The waterbender trudged behind her father, envying her sister’s state of content.

The walk back to the capital was silent, the only sounds being Yue’s faint snores drifting off in the wind. Y/N’s eyes were on the ground, occasionally lifting to watch her father show his love for her sister.

Her footsteps were light, barely leaving marks of fresh powder on the palace floor as she and Arnook gently closed Yue’s bedroom door. They’d each given her a kiss on the forehead before leaving her to sleep.

Arnook sighed, running a hand down the back of his braided hair. He looked down at his little girl, the one that he’d never meant to have but promised to always protect.

His mind was scrambled, thoughts flying everywhere with no place to settle—whilst Y/N’s soul was unhinged. It was as if it was drifting away, not able to settle in a single place since it never belonged.

“What’s going to happen to me, father?” Y/N whispered, her body shaking in anticipation for what was to come of her fate in the morning. “Why do I have to go away?”

Fear consumed Arnook’s emotions. Fear for the safety of his tribe, the fate of his daughter, the future of his people. He didn’t know what would become of his eldest child—but whatever did happen to Y/N, he knew that it was entirely his fault.

She was only a child. A child that was to be forced to become a slave to the Fire Nation, another pawn in their game to win the war. Arnook had been given six years to raise her under the peace treaty.

The peace treaty that ensured that his eldest waterbending child would be the punching bag of the Fire Nation’s royal family. The treaty that prevented her from having a loving and nurturing childhood.

When he’d first made the deal with Fire Lord Azulon, Arnook hadn’t thought twice about the fate of his future child. He’d agreed for Lady Homura to be sent to the North to mother the infant, not wanting it to be of full Northern blood.

His thought was that if the child was half of Fire Nation genes, he wouldn’t feel so close to it. That he wouldn’t grow to love it as his own, since it wouldn’t truly be a part of his people.

However, what he didn’t take into account was the sight of her beautiful blue eyes and the goodness that radiated from them. At first glance, Arnook knew that he’d do anything to take back his promise—that he’d do anything for his firstborn daughter.

And when she became ill with the sickness that Yue would later contract at birth, he and Homura immediately took her to the spirits—thanking them graciously when the ocean lent its power to extend her lifeline.

Their time as a family was something he’d never forget, but have to learn to live without as their time was up. They didn’t have a sparring moment, not a day left to bask in the glory of being together.

The six years had gone by in a flash, the Fire Nation navy was arriving at dawn, and Y/N and her mother were to be whisked away at once—but at least Y/N was lucky enough to have one final laugh with her sister, making snowmen and dancing under the moonlight.

With her question having remained unanswered, Y/N turned away from her father and sadly left the hall, opening the door to her own bedroom in a hurry to avoid any more of the depressing mood.

She nestled herself beneath her covers, wrapping the blankets around her shivering body. Her mind was restless, insomnia overwhelming her exhaustion and keeping her awake until morning.

Morning which had come far too quickly. Y/N had done her best to ignore the callings and worrying that came from her mother. All she wanted was to run away, to be alone and at peace with her bending wherever she chose to rest.

But Homura had other plans. She needed this transaction to go smoothly, her wish was to make her daughter’s life relieved of the immense stress. She wanted Y/N to be a child without the heinous responsibilities that had been thrust upon her.

So, as they said their final goodbyes, Homura watched Y/N’s expressions. She watched how her daughter put on a brave face, how she shook her father’s hand rather than giving him a hug.

It was a saddening sight to see. A mere child, a six-year old girl, giving up her entire world to please a man who put his honor over his own family. A man who was letting his flesh and blood enter the lion’s den.

However, in Y/N’s mind this was perfectly normal. She was content with the interaction, considering the love Arnook had once shown her had diminished over the years.

This was their final moment as father and daughter. A moment of silence and respect for the act they were following through with. There was no love in their exchange, but apologies for the future of their bond.

Their bond that would inevitably be broken by the influence and hardships that the Fire Nation would teach Y/N. After all, a child has the most influential brain of any living being.

The minute Y/N and Homura stepped foot on the navy ship, they’d become members of the rivaling nation. Members of the nation that threatened lives and good fortunes.

But a second before boarding the militant boat, Y/N paused to wave a goodbye to her sister who’d been calling out to her in agony. Yue’s cries could be heard over the crowd’s roar, despair ringing in the breeze.

Y/N’s gaze met Yue’s tear-filled eyes. She pursed her lips into a sad smile, giving her an acknowledging nod, and turned away—disappearing in the vast sea of Fire Nation soldiers.

The heat was indescribable, differing greatly from the cold and sullen air that Y/N was used to. The sun was clear in this part of the world, no clouds or mountains blocking its natural light.

Beams of gold reflected off the towers of the palace and the top of the soldier’s helmets. Everything appeared to be shiny, sparkling, and new in direct relation to the power the nation held.

Not to mention that the only visible color was red. Red tapestries of frightening men, crimson artifacts lining the shelfs, torches filled with waning fire hung from the walls—it was all so intimidating.

Homura was shaking with fear beside her daughter, clinging onto her arm tightly. She hadn’t been to her home country since the talk of her daughter’s conception, choosing to reside in the North rather than face the shame of her deed.

Y/N squeeze her mother’s hand, sensing the nerves that were radiating off of her body like the plague. She looked straight ahead, showing Homura that confidence was the only way to handle the situation.

Despite being the age of six, Y/N had more courage than the average man. She was truly an enigma of her people, of both the Fire Nation and the Northern Water Tribe.

“It’s going to be alright, mother.” The young girl’s face went stoic, all emotion disappearing from her features. Homura would’ve been concerned had it not been for the little finger taps on her palm.

The guards that had been leading them into the palace opened the doors to the grand throne room, leading to the Fire Lord. The mother and daughter pair walked side by side, stepping in synchrony.

They stopped their strut at the large throne, bowing deeply in respect to their new leader, knowing that his policies were to be far different from those of Arnook’s.

Azulon was seated far above the rest of the room’s inhabitants, that being of a woman and a stern man, a girl around Y/N’s age, and a bearded general who was sitting respectively in the corner.

“Fire Lord Azulon,” Homura’s eyes rose from the floor to Azulon. Her lip quivered in anticipation for whatever it was that he would throw at her. “We are honored to be in your presence.”

The older man laughed maniacally, his placid expression turning into a sneer. Y/N noticed the coldness behind his amber irises and the apathetic look in his steely glare.

“Homura.” He looked down his nose, disgusted at the sight of her pleading face. “How humbling it must’ve been for you, a Lady of my nation, to become nothing but a mistress for a water tribe savage.”

Y/N’s head shot up in anger as she noticed her mother flinching in retaliation to his comments. She opened her mouth to speak, thankfully being interrupted by sparse giggles coming from the other child in the room.

The waterbender’s eyes narrowed at the girl, noticing how she presented herself. She was obviously important, the vanity that she expressed was evident of itself. Y/N could only assume that she must be the infamous Princess Azula.

While Y/N found frustration in Azula’s amusement, her father, Ozai, was entertained. He seemed to be used to his daughter’s sociopathic tendencies. He waved his hand aimlessly at her, causing her to quickly quiet down.

“Calm now, Azula.” Ozai gestured to the woman sitting next to him, causing her to stand obediently and approach Y/N with ease. “We have some more terms to discuss, without any children present.”

Homura let go of Y/N’s hand, her daughter hanging on as long as she possibly could to show her support and love. She frowned, leaving the throne room, wishing that she could stay and comfort her frightened mother.

However, there was an unspoken comfort in Ursa’s presence. Something that Y/N had failed to feel in all of her brief time in the Fire Nation thus far. It was obvious that Ursa was unlike any of her companions.

They swiftly made their way past the various guards and tapestries in the interior of the palace, entering a sunlit garden filled with a vast array of fire lilies and turtle ducks.

“Come sit, my dear.” Ursa took a seat on the ledge of the fountain, patting the spot next to her. The long sleeves of her robes dipped into the water as she welcomed Y/N with ease.

The waterbender happily obliged, already feeling comfortable with the woman that she could now call a friend—her first friend that she’d made in the Fire Nation.

As she sat, Y/N took Ursa’s hands in hers, noticing the sopping fabric dripping onto her lap. The girl slowly began to separate the water from her soaked clothing, the beads of dew landing in the streaming fountain.

Ursa watched in awe, admiring the natural skill and passion Y/N displayed in her bending. She’d never seen waterbending in person, but she could only assume that it was a beautiful art by the way Y/N was delicately performing it.

“Thank you,” Ursa whispered, the warmth in her heart growing solemn as she realized what would become of Y/N’s skill and purpose. “You have a kind soul, Princess Y/N.”

“But as long as you remain in this palace, the future will not treat you kindly.” Her brows furrowed, sympathizing with the struggles Y/N would come to face. “My husband expects you to be an opponent that matches Azula’s skill.”

The light behind Ursa’s eyes went dull as she recalled all of the horrible and dishonorable things her husband had done throughout their marriage. “I only wish that I could protect you from the pain that he’ll cause.”

Y/N shook her head in retaliation, a hardened look dawning her face. She’d grown up hearing stories about Azulon and his dangerous son. She knew what they were capable of, yet she wasn’t afraid. She couldn’t afford to be afraid.

Her stoney gaze locked with Ursa’s one of sadness. They held their stare for a moment, a mutual understanding spoken between them. A grim smile eventually rose on the woman’s lips, before taking notice of Y/N’s eyes.

On the left laid a beautiful dark blue iris, similar to the depths of the dark ocean and the strength that it represented—and on the right, was a dim white in comparison to the stunning blue.

The waterbender’s mismatched sight was a direct result from her illness as an infant. A direct result from the borrowed power of the ocean spirit, La, that was still inhabiting her body.

It was infatuating, the allure of Y/N’s eyes was of nothing that she had ever seen before. A spark of hope rose in Ursa from her new knowledge, a belief was born that perhaps this girl could help this world become good again.

Perhaps Y/N could help her own children become good, truly good despite the influence of their father. Azula was already nearing evil, but Zuko—Ursa knew that her son was better than that.

“Mother?” A faint voice rang through the courtyard, startling Ursa and Y/N and causing them to jump apart. The princess’ gaze searched her surroundings for the owner of the voice, landing on a small boy.

He looked to be her age, perhaps a year or so older than her. She knew he had to be Prince Zuko, there was no other explanation to the way he was carrying around a woven basket full of bread like he owned the place.

“I asked the servants if they had any leftovers for the turtle ducks, and they gave me this whole stack!” Zuko exclaimed, the excitement was noticeable in his voice as he watched where he stepped.

He opened his mouth in preparation to express his happiness to his mother, before his eyes met Y/N’s. Zuko froze in place, analyzing the girl and her appearance.

It was well known that the arrival of Lady Homura and her daughter was earlier that morning. Zuko had skipped out on the first meeting, having dreamt up a million other things to do than meet another snobby princess.

But as he saw her for the first time, Zuko felt somewhat of a connection. It was unexplainable in words, the feelings so intricate and immense. There was just something about her that Zuko couldn’t put his finger on.

Y/N herself was having a similar realization at the sight of the prince. Rather than noticing his entire appearance, she settled on the color of his eyes and how different they were to that of his father’s.

The amber in them reflected off of the water in the fountain, shimmering in the sunlight that bounced off of the cherry blossom trees. She could tell that he was the black sheep of the royal family as his eyes held something that no others did—they were kind.

“You must be Princess Y/N.” Zuko calmly said, setting down his basket in front of her and offering her one of the loafs. “I’m Zuko. Would you like to feed the turtle ducks with me?”

Y/N smiled, her first genuine smile in the entirety of her time in the Fire Nation, and nodded, taking it in her palm. She moved aside so he had a seat on the ledge, feeling complete in his presence.

“I’d love to.”

NEXT: CHAPTER ONE [UNEDITED]

TAGS: @irreplaceable-ecstasy @justab-eautifulmess @whalerus @eridanuswave @theblueslytherin @itsametaphorbriansblog @fire-lady-livi @royahllty @rainedoutdays @zukoatethat @winchestergirl907 @pointlesscoconut @mr-robot-x @wesokkasimp @vernon-dursley @sadgirlnumber92899 @kaylove12 @bigbuckyenergy @appa-gaangnam-style @nmriia @strawberiicreme @sokkassuki @fiantomartell @firelordhesther @user12345321 @lammello@practicallylivesonline @cherryskyies @shell-bells-ringding @xapham @mochminnie @bombardia @xxspqcebunsxx @missmorosis @mysticpeacecrusade @akiris @simpinforsukka

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ivanshatov · 3 years

Text

our happy ending, pt 2

wc: 4.0k

oh mama thats a mighty fine a pizza. pie

tw for character death, blood, and gun mentions

Absence is a strange sensation. Or perhaps it’s the crippling unfamiliarity of the strange new world he’s fled into.

He’s grown to call the town the Veil. After all, he doesn’t believe the name of it is ever whispered, and the very concept of it is fiction, lost to history and hidden behind a veil. And so, it was only appropriate he named it so fittingly.

Despite being in control of the Veil for years at this point, Pyotr doesn’t exactly remember how he came to be in control. Perhaps it was the monotony of it, the blatant repetition, his inability to think alongside the standards of the world that controlled theirs. Perhaps he’d witnessed it so many times, always emerging alive and unscathed, that it was only a matter of repeats until he’d retain his memories. And once he was able to retain his memories, he was able to perform his experiments and test the limits of his boundaries. Over and over, inserting new pauses, movements, features, until the world at last seemed to bow to him. It would have always been merely a matter of time until he came to be in charge of it, mastering its functions and consolidating control. Instead of a pawn, he became the player and the opponent all at once, controlling all the pieces in an orchestra of tragicomic drama.

Sure, Stavrogin is the middle, the center, the string tying everyone together. Stavrogin, too, is dead, uninvolved in the happenings of the Veil. He used the string to hang himself. No, it was all Pyotr’s doing, all his work. Every fleeting look and every interaction, even the few he had managed to slip in that hadn’t been there before, it had all been his toil. It was fun, too, to add a conversation where there wasn’t, an interaction lost in translation or a dynamic seldom seen. The act of a mere sentence unspoken turned said would give him a splitting headache, but it was worth it for his extra time with Stavrogin. It was even worth it for Liza and Mavriki to have a tender interaction that perhaps went unseen before, or even for his father to have a heart-to-heart with the woman he loved. What a gift he’d been given. A gift to pry into the minds of everyone that surrounded him, even his own father! Though, father’s thoughts were often too absurd and bizarre for Pyotr to comprehend. Nonetheless, he enjoyed his tiny escapades into character development. Filibustering the end with piffle and melodrama.

So, perhaps Stavrogin was the keystone. That was certain. So while Stavrogin would hold the strings of fate, Pyotr saw himself as the weaver, or perhaps a jolly puppetmaster. He bended and maintained the strings that held the weary cast together. Stavrogin the widow, him the web. His thralls, bugs. What a funny little way to think of it, he said to himself, smiling. These were the thoughts that came to his head as he gazed out the train’s window, watching Europe fly past him in a blur. Amazing how far technology has come, he thought. Amazing how much the world has changed since my becoming.

He rapped his fingers on the window in contemplation. What had happened? What had caused him to lose control over his precious town, his web? He could feel it now, pulling at him, demanding his quick return. It would continue to draw him, he figured, until he rebuilt or until he returned. But for now, he could not have stayed there, where his former contemporaries, his bishops, rooks, and pawns, would come for him in a matter of hours. It wasn’t the way. No. He had to clear his head, taste the fragrant mountain air, get his mind in order. Only then could he return, set everything back in its place.

Pyotr pressed his hand to his forehead and squeezed his eyes closed, propping his shoes atop his suitcase with a bothered sigh.

The tapestry had unraveled, but he’d weave it back together.

***

Alexei Kirillov lived on the edge of town. This he knew. It was some faint memory of his, a note he had taken for future purposes. There was no true markings or postage to mark the ending and the beginning of the province, only thickening foliage and the dirt roads transforming into grass.

He strode past the hollow, empty buildings that lay unoccupied on the town’s outer circle. The smell of smoke still tickled his nose and burned his throat, and even now, ash still blocked the sky. A dense fog covered everything in a menacing, unfriendly veil, and for a while Alexei found himself trapped in it. He walked, and walked, the soot stinging his eyes as he pressed on to the edge of town. As the earth changed texture beneath his feet, however, something dragged at him like a magnet, yanking him back into the town. It pulled him and attempted to force him back inside, though his curiosity was untameable and virulent. And it seemed, as each step he took drew him closer to the borderline, the pull grew stronger, a rubber band gaining momentum. He broke into a sprint, desperate with curiosity, hand outstretched to an invisible dotted line. Then, just as he felt a sudden jolt on his fingertips, spelling the end of the province’s dimensions, the rubber band snapped.

He went flying, launched as though he’d been thrown from a high cliff, and landed with a thud on the unpaved road, head spinning. Another shot of pain jolted through his body and he groaned, rolling onto his stomach and then onto his knees. He felt his forehead, now dirtied with dust and blood, and realized the absence of his purposefully placed cap. With another frustrated groan, he rose to his feet, trying to cover the wound with first hair, then a hand, before resigning himself to the fate of an undead zombie, mindless and bloodied. Defeated, he wandered back into town, the force subsiding and breaking the magnetic spell.

Alexei fell back into silent contemplation, going blank as the road turned from dust to cobble, the town going from unincorporated old shanties to congregated tenements and stores. His feet drew him past the town center, the empty marketplace, the governor’s mansion gone a sickly yellow behind the fastened gates. It was only then he realized that the town was empty. Normally, people would crowd in the streets and hurry for carriages, strike conversations or peddle wares. Now, however, it was eerily silent, as though even the strays and wildlife had fled the town. He stopped in his tracks, clearing his mind and straining his ears for a single sound. A fleeting footstep, a slamming window, a cat’s meow, anything. Yet, all he heard was the ringing in his ears, the hammer of his heartbeat. He raised his hand to his ear, the one opposite the wound, and snapped his fingers. Yes, the snap was audible, perfectly crisp and defined. He snapped again. And again. Then, convinced of his auditory health, strained his ears again. Nothing. Total silence, besides the faint twinkling in his skull.

With newfound resignation, he pressed on to wherever his feet took him, drowning out the silence with the sound of his thoughts. He had at last grown suited yet again to controlling his body, the unfamiliarity leaving him as he gave thought to his state. He continued to walk, still uncertain of his final destination, wandering around his memories and thoughts with quiet contemplation. After what would have been a few minutes’ walk transformed into something that felt like a few hours, he once again heard a magnetic twinkle ringing in his ears. Pausing and craning his neck, he realized where his feet had brought him.

Skorveshniki waited for him, the front gates ajar.

Against his better judgement, and feeling utterly underdressed to appear among a place of high society, he arrived at the front door, first rapping his fist against the wooden planks and shouting a greeting. Then, he attempted to peek in through the dirtied window panes, but they were shrouded with dirt and the magnificently embroidered curtains had been drawn. At last, he tried the doorknob, and the door budged open with a shriek. Rattled, he stepped inside the mansion, the high walls consuming him and plunging him into relative darkness. The lights were off, the candles unlit, and the only light was that of the faint sunlight peeking beneath the curtains. For a moment, he wanted to stumble backwards, back into the outdoors, fleeing to the other side of town yet again. Though something compelled him forward now, another magnetic pull at his soul, and he couldn’t resist. His feet drew him forward, ignoring all the signs against it, pushing him through the pointed doorways and opulent hallways.

As he was led into the dining room, he heard a shifting from up in the hallway, and froze.

The sound of hesitant heels echoed down the hall, and Alexei’s hands went clammy with anxiety. A strange sensation for him— he was usually so accustomed to his jaded outlook, his inability to process the degree of suffering around him, that fear was an emotion seldom felt. Now, his anxiety burned in his throat, while he stood weaponless, shivering, and frightened. The footsteps grew louder, and Alexei put up his hands, when the silhouette of a ballgown appeared in the doorstep. A pistol clicked and a shiver ran down his spine. “State your name,” a woman’s voice demanded.

“Alexei Nilyich Kirillov,” he stated, calmly, hoping to not betray the anxiety pounding in his chest.

The ballgown stepped into a sliver of sunlight, revealing a porcelain face bruised and battered, blonde hair done up now unkempt, and he instantly recognized her despite the relative unfamiliarity between them. “Mr. Kirillov?” she asked, her pale eyes gleaming in the pale light.

“Elizaveta Tishin,” he replied breathlessly, hands dropping to his sides. “If I remember correctly.”

“You do,” she replied, turning to the curtains and drawing them open. Now he saw her in full. Her green ballgown was tattered and dirtied with earth and her blood, her face still bruised and bloodied from what looked to be a painful struggle. She had knotted her hair up onto her head, but faint curls still sprung from behind her ears. The confident look of her severe face had vanished, and she looked apprehensive, cold, nervous, as she turned back to him. “You are the madman who lives in the tenement.”

The madman. He scoffed at that, and she curled her lip. “Yes, I live in the tenement,” he said, with a raised hand. “Though I am not a madman, I am relatively of sound mind. A man’s interests don’t always have to define his sanity,” he proposed with a faint smirk.

Liza’s gun caught the sunlight and he squinted as she held it up, wringing it in her hands. “But you are mad. No man of sound mind talks so calmly and presently about people taking their own lives.” She took another look at him, up and down, then eyed the wound on his head, the sickly blood that had pooled around it. “And it seems as though you may have taken your own.”

“It was always meant to be, wasn’t it?” he said, almost laughingly. “I mean, I suppose I always knew. It was just a matter of when. Even if Verkhovensky—”

Verkhovensky. Liza’s face twitched and Alexei stopped in his tracks, circling back around. “I don’t remember. Never mind it,” he said with a flick of his hand. “Are there… others?”

She glanced at him with faraway eyes and then directed her gaze down the hall. “Yes. In fact, you’re late to the party.”

“The party…” he murmured. “How many?”

“Two,” she grumbled, frustrated, stepping away from the window and starting down the hall. He didn’t have time to request an elaboration before she beckoned him over. “Come on now. Follow me.”

He jumped up and followed her, moving fast to join her side as they headed down the corridor. Though he felt himself fixated on her, anything she knew, anything she thought, she paid no mind to him, unbothered as she rapped on the door to the drawing room of Varvara Stavrogina before pushing it open.

There, he recognized Marya Lebyadkina and Darya Shatova, sitting on opposite chairs in apprehensive silence. Upon seeing Kirillov’s face behind Liza, though, Marya brightened instantly, getting to her feet. “Mr. Kirillov!” she cried joyfully, limping over to him with enthusiasm. “Mr. Kirillov is here,” she beamed, taking his hand and leading him into the drawing room. Liza shut the door and returned to her place, a vacant armchair.

Alexei smiled at Marya, who led him into one of the empty seats. As he sat, he noticed a heaping of bloodstained clothes on the floor, then noticed that Marya’s dress was quite too large for her. Sitting across the room was Darya, embroidering with focused intensity. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but shut himself up, sitting silently as he surveyed the room. “And where is Varvara Stavrogina? And Stepan Trofimovich? That Govorov fellow, too? And, how of Fedka the convict? And what about—?” His eyes followed back to Dasha, who had momentarily looked up from her sewing to shoot him an incredulous look. “Where is your brother?” he asked, voice shaking. “Where is his wife?”

Dasha puckered her lips in thought and bowed her head, returning to her embroidering. “I do not know where Vanya is,” she replied, slow and sullen. “Nor his wife. I didn’t know Marie had returned, either…”

He turned to Liza again. “Where is everyone? The town is empty.”

She responded with a shrug.

“And I thought you had died, too,” Dasha said. “Liza, Marya, too. Yet…” She made an anxious observation around the room, peering at everyone’s faces with wide-eyed curiosity. “Yet, here you all are.”

“Ah, Shatoushka will return, I am sure of it,” Marya said, flapping her hands. “I shall see Shatoushka soon.”

Wringing his hands and biting his lips, he turned to Dasha again. “How long has it been?” he asked.

She looked at him questioningly for a moment, before nodding in realization. “Not a week,” she murmured. “Yet, Pyotr has gone. The others have all vanished. Stavrogin has… yet to revive,” she said, shooting a wary look down the hall. “Though I locked his poor body away. God forbid he revives,” Dasha sighed, pausing to sign the cross. “We will all be doomed again.”

Alexei pressed a hand into his temple in confusion. “So, we have all revived, gradually, then?”

“You’re inquisitive,” Liza interjected.

“I am trying to figure this out,” he snapped back. Had he at last reached Godhood? Was this all a dream? Perhaps not. He opened and closed his hands, wiggled his fingers, pulled at his ears. No, he was present.

“Yes, first Marya, then Liza, now you.”

“Now me? But that must mean…” he gestured and mumbled something inaudible, striking his fist against his knee. “Is there a samovar here? I must have a cup of tea for my head.”

Liza and Darya pointed to a small stove on the counter, and Alexei jumped to his feet, fiddling with it and searching for a match.

“It must be chronological,” he said.

“I deduced that,” Dasha murmured, setting aside her embroidery. “Yet Lebyadkin did not revive with Marya. That fellow Fedka is nowhere to be seen. Mavriki and Varvara have vanished completely, as have all the townspeople, and now you and Liza have come in order. But what I can’t understand is…”

As Alexei drew the match over its box, the stick erupting into a small flame, memories hit his mind again and he nearly dropped the match onto the wood floor. “Ivan should be here,” he said, unable to block his inappropriate use of Shatov’s first name. “I, I, I knew he was dead before me,” he stammered, holding the match beneath the samovar and lighting the candle. “For Verkhovensky was quite rattled and intense.” He raised his hand, feeling the bruises that circled his neck where Pyotr’s hands had been, and sighed.

“Well, perhaps if not everyone revives,” Liza began, smoothing her gown. “Then he may be included in that section. If Lebyadkin, Fedka, and Stavrogin remain dead, then who is to say Shatov does as well?”

“Stavrogin is yet to be seen,” Darya murmured a moment later, her eyes shining with what looked like fear.

“But we will,” Liza replied, hands behind her back.

Dasha’s lips creased into a frown. “We will.”

Alexei extended his hand to touch the porcelain kettle, his fingers recoiling at the heat that had already begun emanating from it. The kettle whistled, and he rustled through the cabinets for a cup, paying no mind to the sounds of the room around him. Dasha returned to embroidery, Marya to the book she held, Liza to fiddling with the lace of her skirt. The sound of the kettle grew so loud in his ears and he became so involved with pouring his tea that he did not hear Dasha’s needle and thread fall to the ground as she gasped, and did not hear Marya’s cry of joy and Liza’s footsteps. As he filled the cup to the brim, whistling softly to himself, he at last heard another voice.

“Alexei Nilyich?”

Alexei turned, confused, the mug cupped in his hands.

Ivan Shatov stared at him, unkempt and bloodied, eyes wild and frightened. Ivan Shatov extended a trembling hand, and smiled. “Alexei Nilyich,” he said softly, with renewed certainty.

Suddenly overcome, and feeling his mind plunge back into another ocean of memories, the cup slipped from Alexei’s hands and fell to the floor, shattering into hundreds of pieces. Not moments later, his legs gave out beneath him, his vision going dark as he collapsed onto the floor.

***

It was a waiting game. Ivan was unsure whether to spend his first moments at Skorveshniki with his sister, hugging her and feeling her near, or tending to Kirillov, who had been moved from the floor to the couch after Shatov and Dasha had helped clean the pieces up.

Ivan had forgotten how similarly he and Dasha had behaved, both in movement, habit, and expression. Their appearances were night and day; Dasha had a thin, sallow face, supple lips and soft blue eyes. Meanwhile, Ivan had a round and pudgy face he’d always despised, with a hard jawline, unfriendly eyes, and a wide nose. One of his eyes was gray, too, like Dasha’s, the other brown, though this was hard to tell due to the permanent scowl on his face. But nonetheless, he and Dasha both wrung their hands and furrowed their brows, had loud laughs, were the first to clean up after themselves, throw out garbage, wash the sliverware. After moving Kirillov, he had sat in silence with them for the next few hours, saying nothing and remaining in the inquisitive silence. After Marya had slipped into sleep, then Liza, Ivan kissed his dreary sister on the head and told her he would check on Kirillov. She replied with a yawn and swatted him out into the hall.

Dasha had cleaned him up well. She cleared the blood off his forehead and hands and gave him some new shirts. She hadn’t said it, but he already knew that they must have belonged to Stavrogin. How strange was it now, wearing Stavrogin’s clothes, inhabiting the house of high society where Stavrogin lived. Stavrogin, Stavrogin. He filled his thoughts like an inescapable pest, that Stavrogin. All threads lead to Stavrogin.

He sat there now, across from a still-unconscious Kirillov, on one of those uncomfortable old chairs. He had his legs up on the coffee table, feeling quite the disrespectful serf, though there were no vassals or aristocrats there to reprimand him.

He had almost begun to slip into sleep himself, his eyes glazing over with exhaustion, when he heard Kirillov moan in pain, then shift in his seat. Ivan leapt to his feet, hurried over to the couch and gave Kirillov a nudge. “Alexei Nilyich,” he said. “It’s me, wake up.”

Kirillov rolled onto his side and slowly opened his eyes, staring up at Ivan with an unreadable look. “It’s you,” he began, his voice small and hoarse.

“It’s me,” Ivan replied, his voice betraying some of the glee he felt at Kirillov’s reawakening. “Here, can I grab you water, Alexei Nilyich? How’s a tea?”

“No tea,” he murmured, shifting his position and rubbing his head. “No water.” As he eyed Ivan, he noticed that the bullet hole on his head had been nicely covered up with a bandage. “May I have one?” he asked meekly.

“One what?” Ivan asked, confused.

Alexei pointed to the side of his head. Then he lifted another finger, then his thumb, creating a gun, and smiled ironically.

The color drained from Ivan’s face, and his stomach turned. “So you did…” he started, looking down at his hands. “Well, I thought he may have killed you too,” he began, his memories flying back to the cold barrel of the gun against his forehead. He shivered, remembering Pyotr’s unfeeling eyes, faint smirk, and glanced back at Alexei’s unwavering expression.

Alexei smiled bleakly. “He tried.”

Ivan sucked in a breath, going silent.

“And I nearly killed him, too. Nearly wrung his neck. I very well could have, had he not…” he went silent too, folding his hands on his lap and then smiling. “The most important thing is, you’re alive. Or, at least a version of alive.”

Ivan rose to his feet and strode over to Alexei, pushing aside the coffee table and sitting on the floor in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, resting his head on Alexei’s lap.

Alexei began to stroke the top of his head, humming softly to himself. “Why’s that?”

“I never said anything to you. We never said enough. After I came back, Lyosha, I felt… ashamed.” Alexei paused as Ivan did, and shifted sideways. “I was ashamed of myself. But I feel better now, Lyosha, I feel now we have time. We can be happy now, at least until… whenever, whenever.”

Alexei sighed and nodded his head, continuing to stroke Ivan’s head. Then, Ivan got up on the couch, laying across Alexei’s lap before taking his head in his hands. “We can be together now,” he said breathlessly.

With a faint smile, Alexei placed his hands on top of Ivan’s and leaned in. “Now we can.”

Their lips met, and they leaned in close, falling into each other’s warm embrace. Their heads pressed together, fingers interlocked, in a warm meeting that had been seldom felt in many years for either of them. Ivan leaned forward, beginning to undo the buttons on Alexei’s collar, when a flurry of footsteps and a scream sounded down the hall. The door swung open, and a mad-eyed Nikolai Stavrogin appeared in the doorway, his pale and hollow face illuminated only by the moonlight outside.

He was tall, frightening, still dressed all in black and almost perfectly blending with the wall behind him. Matted black hair covered his deepened eyes, bloodshot and foxlike, and rope burns circled his neck. His head craned to stare at the men, and he grinned, his voice morphing into a pleased cackle.

Ivan and Alexei fell into each other's arms as he greeted them with a grin, a laugh. “I always knew that you, Shatov, were nothing other than a sodomi—”

He did not have time to finish before a gunshot rang out and his face caved in, splattering blood across the floor and the ceiling. Like a cockroach, Stavrogin wobbled on his feet for a moment before collapsing to the ground, dead, revealing Dasha standing behind him, Liza’s silver pistol in her hand. Blood stained her petticoat and her face, and she blinked, her mouth hanging open.

Her eyes shifted to Ivan and Alexei, still huddled in each other’s arms, shivering and bug-eyed, their breathing rapid as Ivan stared at the body, Alexei at the ceiling.

Dasha closed her eyes, chest heaving, and she threw the gun to the floor.

“We have nothing to worry about now.”

#hahaha #i love it when #alexei kirillov #ivan shatov #elizaveta tushin #marya lebyadkina #darya shatova #demons #the possessed #fyodor dostoyevsky #dostoevsky tag #my writes #i should make a tag for this probably #books #fic #pyotr verkhovensky #oops

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shannonwrote · 3 years

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Summary: Set five years in the future; Sam, Robin and Olivia’s lives are a lot different than they had planned or expected. Follow their stories from their past and their present.

“The Oneiroi Triplets. The Oneiroi were the immortals who traveled through dreams appearing as certain types of images.”

Morpheus (god of dreams) — Robin Icelus (god of nightmares) — Sam Phantasos (god of fantastical dreams) — Olivia

Characters: Robin Flores, Olivia Schuyler (TNA/MC), & Drew (Ms. Match)

Fandom(s): The Nanny Affair, Blood Bound, Ms. Match

Notes: Thanks, as always, to the amazing and magnificent @txemrn (even though she’s probably disappointed at the lack of *smut*). Without her, I never would’ve finished this chapter.

Tagging: (if you no longer wish to be tagged, let me know!) @txemrn @lovelyladyk88 @secretaryunpaid @thefrenchiemama @pixie88

PS: Some of you may have read this already. Sorry! I’m in the process of moving my words from the old to the new.

Companion Pictagrams:

Olivia. Robin. Sam. Emily. Cassian. Jenny. Casey. Bryce.

Catch up: Icelus.

Chapter 2: Morpheus

THEN

Robin paced the length of his living room, nervously biting at his cuticles. His thoughts, a hurricane of hope and fear, thundering in his mind. “I can’t do this.”

“Then don’t.” Olivia said from her spot in his oversized chair, not bothering to look up from the book she was reading.

He paused in his pacing, and turned to face her. “What?”

Olivia looked up from her book, her toffee eyes meeting his steel blue ones. “If you don’t think you can do it, don’t.”

His mouth dropped open, as he pointed an accusatory finger at her. “But you said -“

“I know what I said.” She rolled her eyes. “But if you’re too chicken..” She shrugged.

“Don’t!” Robin stated with a shake of his head.

“Don’t, what?” She asked feigning innocence.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, Olivia.” He shook his head again. “And it’s not going to work.”

Olivia set her book down on the table in front her. Resting her chin on her clasped hands, she stared intently at Robin. “What do you want?”

“It’s not that simple.” He huffed out.

“No,” she agreed. “But it can be. You told me once that Dalton Enterprises was your legacy — yours and Sam’s — but you also told me it never really felt like it belonged to you.”

“It didn’t.” He replied, beginning to pace again. “It doesn’t.”

“Why?”

Robin ran his hands through his hair, causing the ends to stick up every which way. “I’m not a Dalton. Not really. Yes, the Dalton’s took me in, and raised and loved me, in their own way, but the Dalton name never really belonged to me. That’s why I went to Tulane instead of Rutgers, and interned at Ahmanet Financial instead of Dalton Enterprises.”

Olivia nodded in acknowledgement. “Then how’d you end up working for your dad?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and gazed out at the sparkling city below. “When I finished my internship at Ahmanet, Kamilah asked me what my plans were, and I was honest, I told her I didn’t know. I knew what I wanted, and I knew what was expected of me. In the end, it came down to what felt like family obligations.” He gestured at his blurred reflection in the window. “And here we are.”

Olivia stood up from her chair and approached Robin, sliding into the space between him and the windows. Folding her arms across her chest, her whiskey gaze rose to meet the stormy sea of his.

Robin’s mouth went dry, as the scent of lavender and cedarwood clouded his senses.

“Robin. What do you want?” She repeated her earlier question.

“Olivia.” He rasped, shaking his head, trying desperately to rid his mind of the woman in front of him.

Sliding her arms from her chest, she placed the palm of her hand against the stubble of his cheek. “Stop choosing for everyone else and choose for yourself.”

His eyes closed at her touch, the simple gesture causing his heart to beat erratically in his chest. Releasing a breath, his eyes met hers. “I hate you.” He commented, fracturing the moment.

Olivia grinned, her hand falling to her side. “No. You don’t.” She winked. “Now begone!” Pressing her hands against his chest, she shoved him toward the door. “And don’t come back here until you’re no longer employed at Dalton Enterprises.”

“Technically,” he said raising an eyebrow, “I don’t work at Dalton Enterprises. I work at Dalton-Russo Enterprises.”

Olivia rolled her eyes, “enough stalling.”

Robin caught her hand in his, a soft smile on this face. “Thanks, Olivia.”

She returned his smile with one of her own. “You’re welcome.”

— - — - —

“Trouble with the missus?”

The bartenders scratchy voice rolled over Robin, pulling his thoughts from the depths of his whiskey. “Hmm?”

“That’s the 5th whiskey you’ve tried to find answers in, and your phone’s been vibrating across my counter for the last 15 minutes.” He nodded at the empty seat beside Robin. “Add in the fact that Olivia isn’t in that seat beside you... let’s just say, it’s doesn’t take a genius to recognize lady troubles, my friend.”

“What? I mean — we’re not. It’s not — we’re just friends, Drew.” Robin tumbled through his words.

Drew’s eyebrows rose and disappeared into his salt and pepper waves. “And the whiskey? And the fact that you keep ignoring her calls?” He shot Robin a knowing glance. “I’ve been around the block a few times, kid. The only one you’re fooling is yourself.”

Before Robin could come up with another excuse, his phone vibrated again, Olivia’s name lighting up the screen.

Robin lifted his whiskey to his lips and downed the remaining liquid. Nodding his thanks to Drew as he refilled his glass, he swiped his finger across his phone.

“Olivia.” Robin answered.

“Oh good. You’re alive.” Olivia replied flatly.

“Because you anticipated I would not be?”

“I did think there was a chance you and your brother might kill each other respectively.” Robin could feel her shrug through the phone. “But when I didn’t see anything on the news, I just assumed Sam killed you and Sofia helped him hide your body.”

“Nope. Not dead.” Robin offered, in a voice that didn’t sound anything like his own.

There was a breath of silence, “you’re being weird.”

Robin swallowed his whiskey, tapping his knuckles on the bar for another refill. “I’m not.”

Olivia sighed, the sound almost sad. “Robin...”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he exhaled a breath, the sound loud in his own ears. “Olivia, just -“

“Robin, what the fuck is going on? Where are you?”

His shoulders slumped. He had spent that last two hours trying to chase the memory of lavender and cedarwood from his senses, but at the sound of her voice, everything came rushing back — the thrum his body always felt at her nearness, the gentleness of her touch, the feelings he had been trying to ignore since the day they met.

Closing his eyes in defeat — knowing he wanted to see her much more than he didn’t — he replied, “The Stockyard.”

Drew refilled his glass with a wink, as Robin disconnected his call. “Don’t start, old man.”

Chortling, Drew put his hands up in surrender and disappeared to the other end of the bar.

He sensed Olivia’s arrival the moment she stepped into the bar. His nerve endings suddenly felt electrified, pricking against his skin, begging to be free and to be closer to her. His heart, a steady thump in his chest, matched the pattern of her footsteps. Since the first day they had met, before they had even been properly introduced, his existence seemed to be attuned to hers. It was a feeling he had hated when she was off chasing his brother, now it was something else entirely.

He pulled a hand down his face, fingers scrapping through his beard, as Olivia claimed the empty stool beside him. He felt the wave of her emotions flow over him, lining his veins with her unspoken questions, as she remained silent, stealing glances at him from the corner of her cognac gaze.

Drew appeared, unprompted, and set an Old Fashioned in front of Olivia. He raised his eyebrows in Robin’s direction, and Olivia shrugged in response.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to start, old man.” Robin reminded him, rolling his half empty glass between his hands.

Drew’s lips twitched as he tried to suppress his grin. “Right, sorry.” He said, winking at Olivia.

Scowling at Drew’s retreating form, Robin continued rolling his glass between his hands, ignoring the weighted silence that hung between them.

Robin felt Olivia’s inhale, his lungs filling with the same air.

“You’re being weird.” She said softly, her voice echoing through his chest. “Why? What’s going, Robin?”

He released the breath he had been holding since the scent of lavender and cedarwood consumed him, the sound loud and staticky to his ears, but he remained silent.

Olivia turned in her stool to face Robin, resting her hand on the crook of his arm. “You know I don’t care if you actually quit, right?”

Robin’s glass paused, his breath hitching at the contact. His stormy gaze traveled to the press of her hand on his arm. “I did quit.” He answered, finally, his voice scratchy.

“Then what’s going on?” She pressed, squeezing his arm gently. “We should be celebrating! Not doing whatever this is.”

He lifted his eyes to hers, her eyes the color of champagne in the lowlight of the bar. “Didn’t you hear me? I said I quit.” He emphasized.

Her gaze sparkled with confusion, like the bubbles in champagne. “I feel like I’m missing something.” The hand that wasn’t resting on his arm, found a home against the back of his neck, fingernails scratching against the bottom of his skull. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

His head clouded with her nearness, his nerve endings sparking in their desperation to be closer. He silently cursed the amber liquid mixing with his blood, bringing all the things he normally kept bogged down straight to the surface. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing from the effort. “It is.”

Olivia sighed, her breath fanning over his face, a mixture of mint and whiskey and the sweetness of cherries. “Robin.” His name was a question and a demand all mixed into one.

The answer to her question rested on his tongue and poisoned his heart. He wet his lips, the taste of whiskey ever present. “I quit working for Sam, so you’re going to leave.”

Her hand stilled against his skull, her touch against his arm lessened, and a thousand different emotions flittered across her features, settling somewhere between hurt, anger and disbelief. “Robin, I’m -“

“Don’t.” He interrupted. He swallowed down the last dregs of his whiskey. “Everyone always leaves. I knew you wouldn’t be the exception. I just - “ His words caught on the lump forming in his throat. “ - I just wanted you to be.” He pulled himself away from her, the slight distance feeling like lifetimes.

“Robin,” Olivia tried again.

He stood up abruptly, setting a handful of bills on the bar counter. “I’ll just - “ He shook his head. “You were supposed to be the exception.” He ached to touch her, to beg her to stay, but he didn’t — he couldn’t, instead he left her sitting at the bar staring after him.

The walk from The Stockyard to his apartment took no time and all the time in the world. He had always known Olivia had remained in his life as a way to keep the door between her and Sam open. He had been a fool to allow himself to think otherwise, to hope their connection meant more.

The moonlight streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows cast shadows throughout his apartment, lighting some corners and darkening others.

Robin tossed his suit jacket onto the couch, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. Placing his forearm against the cool glass of the window, he rested his head against it, staring down at the twinkling lights of the city below.

A short while later, the hairs on the back of Robin’s neck prickled, causing his heart to go into overdrive, and just like at the bar — and every other time she entered a room — he knew Olivia was in the room.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers flexing at his sides. “What’re you doing here, Olivia?”

“I live here.” She replied, her voice echoing around the silent apartment.

Robin inhaled sharply, the simple reminder causing a rift to open in his heart. Of course she had only came back for her stuff. “I could’ve hired someone to pack your things up and deliver them to you.”

“Why would someone need to pack my things? Are you kicking me out?”

Robin’s eyes flew open at her question, her accusation. “N - no, of course not, I just assumed - “ His words caught in his throat, as for the third time that day, the scent of lavender and cedarwood overtook him.

Olivia again slid into the space between Robin and the windows, causing Robin to adjust his forearm, so it now rested just above her head.

“I’m not leaving.” Her words were a puff of air against Robin’s lips. “I’m here because you’re Robin, and I’m Olivia, and that’s the only reason.”

Robin swallowed. “But what about Sam?”

“Why am I here, Robin?” Her eyes like crystallized toffee. “Is it because I’m something Sam can no longer have?”

“What?! No. Never.” He shook his head. “But - “

“You’re Robin.” She said, placing her hand against his erratically beating heart. “I’m Olivia.” She placed her other hand against her own heart. “And we’re the exception.”

Robin felt like he was on fire as he surged forward and crashed his lips against hers.

#the nanny affair #blood bound #robin flores #ms match #tna #ms. match #drew (ms. match)#pixelberry #fanfiction #fanfic #my writings

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bledmagic · 3 years

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**the following is no way indicative of direct rp interactions & is solely referring to the personal canon to idrylla. if your muse wants to refer to the closeness of one of the companions listed here by all means, unless you are holding another rper muse in mind as that connection is different & not based upon these by the interactions idrylla & that muse has had. however if you would like to base interactions on these descriptions with your muse def lemme kno & we can plot on this further !

idrylla is not the only focus of the story, they are one of many that line the cast of our main tale & the interactions between idrylla & these characters drive the story forward or back. as the game still rests within the area of early access & there are hints from datamining of future companions this list is not complete nor is it going to contain anything proper beyond act 1 in terms of connections. with the previous statement said, here is each of our companions & the relationships held with idrylla as per the canon to their character & me. **i will note if i have romanced a npc like this, as the game is in early access n just like in who’s line is it anyway the choices n points dont matter there is no canon romance for idrylla at this moment in time.

LAE’ZEL: idrylla has very few memories of the nautilus. their capture, their containment, & the escape itself is somewhat of a blurry mess. what they do remember is lae’zel. they remember her face, her struggling, her escaping that pod. they saw the moment the mind flayer infected lae’zel & the fear held within the githyanki’s features. all of this is unspoken between the two, but for idrylla it’s spurned a lot of emotions that have boiled down to pushing idrylla to get close to lae’zel & be quite defensive of her with strangers( shadowheart can make a few insults as a treat, lae’zel in return can make some serious threats in return as a treat ). it is with the first weeks of travel idrylla can be found hanging out along side lae’zel like a safety net, finding the familiarity of their escape as a bridge to base a friendship upon. despite that link that idrylla has tied between them they find lae’zel absolutely delightful in every way possible & considers lae’zel probably the closest friend idrylla has had in years, the honesty lae’zel shows in the most blunt way a refreshing change from the passive aggressiveness of the wizards guild peers. beyond all this, lae’zel is also the first githyanki has ever known & has prodded the poor warrior with a multitude of questions to absorb the info like a weird elf sponge, even going out of their way to learn on their own & ask lae’zel about later on. idrylla holds lae’zel’s opinon in high regard & often will ask her or look to her for her advice & even if not followed takes it in consideration. anyways they are best friends. ( lae’zel: we are not ‘friends’ / idrylla: you’re right. we are best friends, pal. / lae’zel: tch. ) **lae’zel has been romanced

SHADOWHEART: while idrylla did try to save shadowheart from her pod, idrylla also has particularly failed at every turn to get shadowheart to even attempt to trust them. traditionally anyway. since the common ground of the parasite & needing to team up & trust each other has failed to get shadowheart to loosen up, idrylla has taken the approach to just be a utter nuisance to shadowheart. often chiding the other with jokes or teases, stirring up trouble between shadowheart & lae’zel, forcing shadowheart to go talk to people at parties( notable example is when idryl forced shadowheart to dance with them at the big fun tiefling celebration party in which shadowheart was so emabrassed she probs would have died on the spot if she wasnt actually having fun the whole time ), etc etc. shadowheart stresses idrylla out, so tightly wounded & clearly bothered by something that is clearly at times more dire than the worm in their brain. it activates idrylla’s older sibling mode near instantly as often the fussing of the other reminds idrylla very warmly of their younger siblings, one being very similar to the uptight cleric. when shadowheart does breakdown some of those walls & reveals her religious beliefs idrylla presents themselves as very accepting. while agnostic themselves, they do make a point to show they hold no ill will to shadowheart & support them, but more importantly wants shadowheart to learn to rely on them from then on to be more honest about anything. it’s after this shadowheart tends to be less antagonistic toward idrylla. but only a little less.

WYLL: idrylla noted early on that the “”””stone”””” that rests in his socket has a heartshaped looking pupil & annoyingly( to everyone except wyll himself ) calls him hearteye. as a baldurian they are very well versed in knowing the various tales & stories of the blade of frontiers. wyll is idrylla’s favorite drinking companion & the two get along like a pair of bros in a budding bromance that will make the fans go crazy. wyll holds a hard sense of justice that idrylla tends to think of a buzzkill at times, but does value the pull of morality his chiding holds considering her own moral standing at current is fuzzy at best. she does truly worry about how skiddish he tends to be about his guarded secrets & once learning upon the truth they promise to aid them in his quest to save his ‘totally not devil girlfriend’ & when wyll protests about such a title idryl simply responses ‘oh no i totally get it, hearteye.’ with a laugh & wink. idrylla also has wyll teach them the use of the blade, taking those teachings & applying them to their learnings of the staff as a weapon vs a channel for magic. often one can see them sparing in camp on down time. wyll is also the only one of the companions who gave idrylla a proper condolence when idrylla’s less than tragic backstory is revealed to the the companions, to which idrylla who was properly touched thanked him with a hand to their heart & a ‘aww, thanks man. you’re a real one.’

ASTARION: idrylla is far softer on astarion than they should be & they will deny it. usually such a judgement of letting astarion getting away with ( in most cases, literally ) murder is preceded by a loud groan or sigh. it’s not that idrylla wants to dull astarion’s sparkle, but more of a general worry. the more idrylla learns of him, the more & more they just feel bad( astarion: i rather be spared of pity, thanks / idryl: it’s not pity. i don’t pity you its just. well hearing that shit that happened to you ? makes me sick, man. horrible things to go through. makes me want to hit something. ). but the primary worry is what will happened to their newfound friend once the parasite is extracted, will astarion burn up in the sun ? prevented from hanging out with them at bars ? will they not be able to find something for him to eat on the journey they set on ? idrylla has no real way to comfort astarion in the face of his past & it makes them uncomfortable. all that can be offered is a arm about his shoulder & a ear to listen. beyond all this, however, the two get along disturbingly well. idrylla’s current fuzzy moral standing & general pull to do really stupid things setting a stage for the two of them to act in their own chaotic fashion. the two make comments with each other that would make people wonder if they share a braincell. idrylla often pulls lae’zel into their shenanigans much to her dismay. the fact that astarion is a vampire spawn has absolutely zero negative effect or reaction from idrylla. **astarion has been romanced

GALE: i hate these two. considering gale being a wizard busybody i have to do the most divergent shit with this mf. love this catdad, anyways here go. gale & idrylla absolutely know of each other prior to the events of the game & have a loving rivalry friendship thing going on. they have met a few times due to the wizarding guild( take in mind, this wizard guild is something im developing for idrylla & is not canonical to the game ) of which gale would visit, but is not apart of, due to his associations. the two never had a proper moment of conversation prior but are as i said, very aware of each other at least in terms of their talents in magic. so whilst there is a pre-established link between them they are without a doubt strangers. their rivalry comes out at any time magic is spoken about or knowledge thereof. a interesting change in demeanor for idrylla who, for all intents & purposes before & during the events, tended to not have a proper ambitious or know-it-all bone in their body. the two will often agree about magic or purposely disagree. they speak of other wizards & generally are capable of working together to figure out spells or something magical in puzzles. when gale says that idrylla knows nothing about the weave, it took everything in idrylla to not set him on fire. when faced with the truth about gale’s utterly stupid need to consume magic & the reason behind it, idrylla simply just starts smacking him on the arm & calling him an idiot( considering idrylla’s recent expulsion from the wizarding guild spurred on by peers that are power hungry & would do whatever they could to get ahead, the ordeal of gale sits very heavy on idrylla. while they does apologize later & explains the why. ). over time the two have gotten less antagonistic to each other & more or less bicker for the fun of it, showing that the two have found themselves more or less comfortable with each other & in their aventures found respect in each other’s talents. so far anyway. idrylla has threatened to steal gale’s cat( in jest to make gale wig out. )

#( meta / lore. )#( we do not reblog my bullshit. )#IT IS HERE I HAVE DONE THE THING

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shannonsaid · 3 years

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Metamorphoses.

Summary: Set five years in the future; Sam, Robin and Olivia’s lives are a lot different than they had planned or expected. Follow their stories from their past and their present.

“The Oneiroi Triplets. The Oneiroi were the immortals who traveled through dreams appearing as certain types of images.”

Morpheus (god of dreams) — Robin Icelus (god of nightmares) — Sam Phantasos (god of fantastical dreams) — Olivia

Notes: Thanks, as always, to the amazing and magnificent @txemrn (even though she’s probably disappointed at the lack of *smut*). Without her, I never would’ve finished this chapter.

Companion Pictagrams:

Robin. Emily. Olivia. Cassian. Sam. Jenny. Casey. Bryce.