#dainty and pathetic lmao

[squirmhoney]

No no no! I’m the dingle that didn’t read that carefully Lmao! Can I request 10 & 11 for our boy Aemond? 🥰 💖💖💖

Drabble Event: "Lemme hear you bunny." x Aemond Targaryen

A/N: Here is the link for number 10 with Aemond. Hope you enjoy this one as well. Warnings: Masturbation. Video sex. Smut. 18+ WC: 600+

Being away from you for so long had been driving Aemond to the brink of insanity. Every time he thought of you, every time your name popped up on his phone, he found himself missing you even more. He couldn't even remember how long he had been without you. A couple of weeks? Enough to make his cock spring in his pants every time he scrolled through photos of you, finding it impossible to scroll through the explicit album of you two.

Even the videos of you bouncing up and down on his dick, like the good bunny you were, wasn't enough to sedate him anymore. Before he knew it his fingers were tapping against your name in his phone.

You didn't answer in the first few rings, most likely the time difference but Aemond knew you would answer eventually. He still grew impatient as his hand yanked his joggers and boxers down his legs, releasing himself from the confinement.

On the last ring you answered, a dull lamp lighting up your tired face as you squinted at the camera. You seem panicked as you spoke, eyes widening at the sight of Aemond. "What's wrong my love?"

"I miss you," Aemond admitted, voice weaker than he liked it to be. But he was in dire need of your attention and if he sounded pathetic, he really couldn't care less.

"It's three in the morning here, Aemond," you sighed, fluttering your eyelashes properly open.

"I really miss you," his voice come out hoarse and needy.

There was no mistaking his intentions now and he had no way of hiding it. His mind was racing with elicit thoughts from just seeing your tired face tucked up in your shared bed. He couldn't help but remember how he'd wake you in the middle of the night with his dock buried inside of you or even the times where he fucked you till you passed out on the bed and he used you like some fuck doll to finish himself off.

"Please, bunny," he pleaded, he flipped the camera round on his phone to show you how hard he was. His hand wrapped around his shaft, thumb grazing over the reddened tip that leaked with pre cum. "I really need you right now."

"Fuck," you drooled out at the sight of him, biting on your bottom lip. It wasn't long before you found your hands in between your night shorts, rubbing soft circles into your clit. "What do you want from me, Aem?"

"I want you to touch yourself and pretend it's me," he commanded, tone becoming stern as he directed you. "Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," you let out in a breathless sigh, fingers working a little faster against your clit. You weren't even shocked at how wet you became for him in the matter of minutes, hearing his voice making your body ache with a desperation you had never felt before.

Within seconds Aemond was fisting his cock harshly, pretending it was your dainty hands instead of his rough ones. He's not even trying to keep himself quiet as he groans and grunts at the thought of you, only finding it annoying as it becomes the only sound he hears in his room.

"Lemme hear you bunny," Aemond demands, "I really need to hear you."

That's all it takes for you to stop holding back your moans, whimpering his name as you rubbed your clit harsher than before. You tried to keep your eyes focused on him, watching the way his lips parted slightly every time you moaned his name in a certain way.

"That's my good bunny, just like that."

It wasn't long before his cum was spurting all over his hands, covering the top of his stomach. All he can think, as he lies breathless on the phone, is how he wishes you were next to him, licking up the mess you had caused off of his stomach. But for now the image of your face as it countered and the sound of your high pitched moaning would have to suffice. To get him through these last few more days of being separated from you. Then he could finally have you exactly how he wanted.

#aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #squirmsdrabbleevent

[xxsabitoxx]

How the Pillars Suck 🍆

🐱 version • 🍆 version

Warnings: once again, you can tell by the title this will contain smut

A/N: this one is for all my 🍆 owning readers (lmfao) I hope you enjoy!! I know I keep saying it, but male reader content is coming soon!! Plz just hold on for me LMAO

Giyu

Giyu will take you by surprise. This man has no gag reflex, like at all. He’s such a tease too, like he’ll take his time pumping you from tip to base over and over until you are begging for his mouth. Even then he’ll only kitten lick the underside of your cock. You know he can deep throat too! He does this all to tease you. It’s not until you cum by accident that he finally decides to treat you right. He just likes seeing you teary eyed with a pathetic spurt of cum on your abdomen. He is unrelenting when he starts, his tongue swirls around your aching tip countless times before he takes you in one swoop. I’m talking you are down this man’s throat, he’s swallowing around you too just to make it more suffocating on your cock. He’ll purposely moan so it sends vibrations through you. He gives you no time to adjust before his head his bobbing up and down along your length. He also prefers to swallow.

Shinobu

She’s a dainty lady. But she’s also unbelievable cruel. Her mouth has to be earned, even then she’ll still be mean. I see her being into C&B torture — so prepare yourself for that. When you earn her praise and she thinks you deserve a reward, that’s when she’ll get on her knees for you. She certainly makes a show of it, delicate fingers wrapping around your base and tugging almost painfully at first. She’ll overstimulate you with her hands, occasionally licking your tip. Once you are whining and messy, she’ll finally give you what you really want. She’s not a deep throat gal though, she is embarrassed of her gag reflex. It’s not terrible, she can handle even the bitterest medication, but sticking something that far down her throat? She attempted it once and after the noise she made, never again. She sticks to the tip, pretty lips suctioning around it and swirling over and over while her drool drips down your length. She’ll continue to pump you while she does so. She is also a swallower.

Kyojuro

Man is eager to please. If you want him to suck your dick? His only question is what position do you want to be in. Kyojuro loves pleasing you with his mouth, he isn’t even ashamed of his gag reflex. Especially since he knows it turns you on. He’s not one to beat around the bush either, he is taking your head in his mouth and letting his drool be the lube. He’ll take about half of you before swallowing around you. His cheeks suction to your length, tongue lavishing your hot skin. He’ll fondle your balls softly too, it’s likely his drool will be that far down. He has to work slowly to get you down his throat, he’ll be gagging softly but he’s so focused to get it right. He won’t even stop if you cum before he can get there. He’ll just keep going — he’d overstimulate you by accident. He just really wants to hear the low rumbling moan you make when he succeeded. On the occasions his throat simply doesn’t cooperate, he’ll use both hands to pump you while he swallows around you. He is into swallowing but he also likes when you spray him in your release

Tengen

The man of many talents. Not only is he godly at eating pussy, he’s godly at sucking dick. Very fitting for a man that considered himself a god. He knows how to get you going. He’ll take all the time in the world to get you worked up. There is no skipping steps with him. He starts by palming you, then he moves on to using his hands, then finally his mouth. He is absolutely the type to wake you up with your dick already in his mouth. He’ll suck your tip and then switch to licking you from base to tip. He’ll alternate until you are gasping for air and begging for more. He’s the type to finger you while he does this, there is really nothing this man can’t do. That also includes deep throating. He even encourages face fucking, pulling his hair, forcing him to choke on your cock. He loves it all. He’ll let your orgasm fizzle out pathetically when he’s in a mood, but he’ll make up for it by taking your whole length at once. He loves swallowing around you, suctioning his cheeks to your throbbing length as he fingers your prostate. He is down for either, swallowing or coming on him. But if you come on him, he prefers his face or chest.

Mitsuri

She loves sucking dick. This woman takes pride in the things her mouth and tongue can do. She’s the type to ask you if she can sick your dick, like you don’t even need to hint at it. She’s eager to please and knows just how to make you putty in her hands. She starts off so cutely too, looking up at you with big doe eyes as she sucks on your tip. She — like Giyu — has zero gag reflex. She could have her nose pressed to your pubic bone, throat spasming and constricting around your length and not a single noise will leave her. She’s super into making you come with just her mouth. She’ll tease you by licking fat stripes up the underside of your cock, only teasing you more by sucking your tip for a moment before returning to licking. She likes to hear you beg for her, singing her soft pretty praises while her nails scrape your thigh. Mitsuri is also an “anywhere anytime” type of gal. She’ll do it wherever you want her too, she’ll even ask you if she can. Mitsuri falls into the either or category. She’ll swallow or let you cum wherever. She has a preference for on her chest.

Obanai

He’s so damn shy when it comes to sucking dick. Like this man will not be able to meet your eyes, which kind of makes it cuter. He sees dick sucking as a punishment — he’s more into getting his dick sucked. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it though. Obanai has a terrible gag reflex like Shinobu, he will not deep throat unless you are face fucking him. When you do face fuck him though? He has fat globs of tears streaking down his flushed cheeks, drool oozing down his chin and low grunts and gags leaving him. Obanai constantly looks wrecked after each round. He doesn’t even have the energy to tease you by licking your length or sucking your tip. It’s all rough deep thrusting while you have his hair fisted in your hand. He’ll be on his knees, not even able to support his own weight as his tongue lamely tries to lavish you. All he can really do is claw at your thighs, leaving scratches as he begs for you to slow down, go easy on him, anything. Obanai is into swallowing, he prefers it

Sanemi

A fucking feral dog. Sanemi is much more into getting his dick sucked, but if you ask him soooo sweetly? How is he supposed to say no? He gets embarrassed by it but won’t let you know that, he wants you to be cryinf by the time he is done with you. He’ll tease you by running the blunt tips of his nails up and down your skin, mouth suctioned to your tip. He won’t use his hands until he is trying to spread his saliva over you. Sanemi is a mix of teasing you but also wanting to get it over kinda quick. He’d never be able to live it down if someone caught him sucking dick. Which is why it makes it all the more tempting for you. If you can overpower / dominate Sanemi? You’ll get such a subby little cry baby. He’ll take face fucking like a champ with tears streaking his cheeks. He won’t even complain, he’ll let you tug his hair out of his head if it means you’ll shove your cock down his throat. He prefers you cum in his mouth, he only likes when you cum on his body if you are fucking him or he’s fucking you.

Gyomei

Sucking dick is a religious experience for this man. His whole hand will encompass your whole length, so jerking you off his easy. He’s worried he’ll hurt you though, hence why he prefers his mouth to get you off. It’s warm, wet and soft. There is no way he can hurt you while he has your dick shoved down his throat. I can’t see him having a gag reflex at all, if he does he’s mastered suppressing it. He doesn’t mind face fucking if it’s something you want. Gyomei is such a big pleaser, he’ll do anything you want if it makes you feel good. Like Tengen, he’s the type to finger you while you fuck his face. Hips jutting upwards over and over as he swallows around you, accommodating your size easily. Gyomei much prefers you come in his mouth, easier clean up. Of course he trusts you to clean him up, but he sees that as his job. He wants sex to be all about you, not him.

#kny #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer imagines #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer smut #demon slayer headcanons #hashira #tomioka giyuu #uzui tengen #rengoku kyojuro #shinazugawa sanemi #iguro obanai #sanemi smut #sanemi x reader #kanroji mitsuri #kimetsu no yaiba smut #kocho shinobu #himejima gyomei #mitsuri x reader #shinobu x reader #rengoku x reader #Tengen x reader #Hashira x male reader #male reader smut #xxsabitoxx’s work!

[fanandfiction]

For Lunch

How Arcane Characters Would Eat You Out... (part 2)

Summary: A balanced diet usually consists of three meals a day. Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner. Which will you be joining us for today?

AN: Surprise, I live! One minute I’m having a manic episode, writing every day for a whole two weeks, the next thing I know 4 months go by and my will to live has been completely nonexistent. Don’t you fear though bc low incomes got your back and for the time being I’ve got my ✨sparkle✨ back! (take your medication kids! you wouldn’t have it if you didn’t need it!)

Word Count: 2.06k words

Warnings: +18 MDNI, Cunnilingus, Oral (F receiving), Fingering, Cheating, Overstimulation, Jayce is a switch lmao, Threesome, F/F/M, Mild Exhibitionism, Mild Voyeurism, Spanking, Corruption kink, Mild Dubious Consent.

Characters: F! Reader, Jayce (ft Mel), Cassandra, Silco, Vi. (You can tell who my favorites are 😣)

THERE IS NSFW CONTENT BELOW THE CUT YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Cassandra sips a glass of red wine from her office balcony most mornings. As the councilwoman’s secretary, you usually scurry around the office or run small errands for her in the city.  Some days, when her silly little husband or naive daughter works her nerves just right, Cassandra needs to release her pent-up frustration. That’s where you come in. It’s your job to alleviate her stress and workload; what better way to relieve stress than having your secretary bent over your desk for brunch? You were always so good to her, never causing her the stress her daughter did, always willing to try the things her husband would shy away from.

One of Cassandra’s dainty gloved hands massages your ass, squeezing the supple flesh as her other hand is lodged in your sopping pussy, slowly fucking you with her long, slender fingers. It’s a privilege to have an audience with the councilwoman like this, so if you want to cum, you must beg for her, she says. At the same time, she’ll exhale lightly against your clit, teasing you all the more. You have no choice but to beg for her, not that you weren’t seconds away from dissolving in a blubbering mess anyway. The stimulation from her fingers alone was divine, but they were nowhere near enough to get you close to the edge. So you do, like a pathetic little puppy, you beg for her. You plead for her to let her anger and frustration out on you.

            “Please, Miss,” you whimper. “Use me, give me all your stress. I’ll take it, all of it.” 

 If Cassandra’s feeling nice, she’s quick to give you what you asked so nicely for.  She’ll move you to your back with your legs spread to make it easier on her own - you will never catch the counselor on her knees for anyone. She’s quick to press her de-gloved fingers back into your pulsing entrance, her mouth joining them this time, nibbling and suckling your clit. You try your hardest not to scream in pleasure- the last thing you want to do is alert someone to what is happening. But with all her stimulation, you can feel yourself tumbling toward the edge. Failure is inevitable, and you moan loudly when your orgasm consumes you. 

Cassandra slows for maybe a minute as you're coming to, your pussy is pulsing around her fingers, and you’re trying to flinch away from how sensitive you feel, but she’s not stopping. She chuckles into you, steadying you with her free hand, “I’m still very frustrated, my dear. And we haven’t even gotten to the main course. I’m afraid you might need to readjust my schedule after lunch.” 

Jayce would have you at the grand table in the conference hall after a relatively gruesome meeting. He would claim that after such a long boring conference, he needed a snack- he was “just absolutely famished.” You were quick to offer yourself to him, and he wasn’t hesitant to accept your offer. Jayce happily lapped at your cunt, savoring your juices almost as if he had been without food and water for weeks. There was nothing more Jayce wanted than to taste your sweet release, and he had you close to cumming relatively quickly. Jayce is incredibly skilled with his mouth; while his tongue works dutifully, leaving long broad strokes through your folds, one of his hands stimulates your clit. His thumb circles it without remorse, and you’re sure you’re falling apart then and there. But to your surprise and dismay, he halts his movements. 

“Well, don’t stop now that you’ve gotten caught,” Councilwoman Medarda stood tall and as elegant as ever in the doorway. You didn’t hear her come in. In shock, you try to get up, but Jayce halts you. Heeding her wishes, Jayce continues, holding you in place with his free hand. 

“I- Councilwoman- I-I’m sorry!” You squeak, trying to shuffle away from the persistent counselor between your legs. 

She strolls into the room, her hips delightfully swaying as she makes her way to join you. “Don’t be. You’re not the one in trouble- What a good aide you’ve been, helping this greedy dog get his fix,” Mel says. She stands in the inner portion of the table, near your head, peering down at you. She reaches down and begins gently massaging your breasts. “I think if the poor dog wants to eat so bad, we should let him eat, and eat, and eat until his heart's content.” 

There's no time for you to ponder or even process what she means. Your first orgasm comes crashing over you as Jayce takes your clit between his lips and pushes his fingers into your dripping heat. He doesn’t stop, and you can quickly feel the familiar tension returning in your lower abdomen. You attempt and fail to choke back sobs from the overstimulation. His fingers thrust in and out of you with remarkable precision and consistency. As you cum a second time, Mel comforts you by wiping the sweat from your brow and cooing gently in your ear. “There, there. If you waste all your tears night now, you won’t have any for the main event.”

Silco was a busy, busy man. It’s hard work running the undercity and raising a daughter with a loaded, trauma-filled past. So naturally, after a relatively long week of chem barron negotiations that went virtually nowhere, Silco’s patience was wearing thin. He didn’t have time to entertain you or put up with your bratty antics. That, however, has never stopped you, and you don’t take neglect from your beloved too well. If anything, it makes it ten times harder on Silco. You ramp up your brattiness and constantly interrupt his work until he snaps, deciding nothing can move forward until you’re punished. 

Paper and pens are strewn off his large oak desk in seconds, and your body replaces them just as quickly. You're bent over the cold surface, standing on the tip of your toes as you present yourself to him. Your knuckles pale as your grip tightens in anticipation around the edge of the desk. “Is this what you wanted, my attention?” Silco says as he makes quick work of discarding your undergarments. You hum “yes” happily when the cool air hits your sopping cunt. 

“Well, now you’ve got it, my little dove,” he says, groping and massaging the globes of your ass. Don’t be fooled. Silco isn’t letting you off scot-free. Not after all the strife you’ve caused him. His right hand lifts from your ass, and before you have time to register what he might do with it, it’s coming back down hard against your behind. You let out a surprised squeak, tensing when Silco grabs the tingling flesh.  

“ Count them,” he says simply. With little warning, the next one comes down as ruthlessly as the first. 

One, two, three, four, five. You heed his command and count each one. Every harsh slap is heavy and quick, causing your breath to become quick and shallow. 

Your ass is on fire, but that doesn’t stop your pussy from clenching desperately around nothing. As Silco harshly squeezes your burning flesh, his thumb makes its way to massage your tight button hole and your pussy entrance, teasing you. You whine and whither in his grasp. “Do you need something?” Silco’s low vibrato causes shivers to run down your spine. 

“ I need you, please,” you whimper pathetically. 

“We’ll get there, dove…Right now, we’re teaching you a thing or two about patience,” You can feel Silco’s warm breath graze against your entrance. “Keep counting.” He says as laps at your pussy.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. He slaps your neglected left side just as aggressively as the other. Both sides tingle, radiating heat as Silco devours you. It’s hard for you to focus, but you manage all while grinding back into Silco’s mouth. 

Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Silco can tell you’re close by how you tense around his tongue, and your legs start quivering. He moves to suck on your sensitive clit, and you grind backward onto his nose. Moments later you're tipping over the edge, Silco guiding you through every second of pleasure. 

Once you’ve caught your breath, Silco retreats, you don’t dare to move or get up. You hear him lick his wet lips and the metal buckle of his pants come undone. “Now onto the main course, my dove.” 

Due to her hostile nature, Vi had spent the first several years of her sentence alone within the concrete walls of Stillwater. The only human interaction she’d had was between meal times when the guards would bring her a tray of gray slop and stale bread or during hygiene hour when she is granted daily access to the showers. One day that changed, instead of being delivered the usual atrocity that was lunch, you’re delivered. Whether it be because her behavior improved or because the prison had reached a certain capacity, Vi didn’t know. When she got a good look at you, she quickly decided she was grateful to have a new cellmate either way. 

This innocence radiated from you, something Vi craved and hadn’t had for a long time. Something about you just screams, “she doesn’t belong here.” There's no way you were in this shit hole on anything more than petty charges, false ones even, Vi pondered. 

You fall into your place in the natural hierarchy so easily as well. Vi didn’t have to fight or intimidate you for anything. She was in charge from the beginning. Food, necessities- anything she asks of you, you give her. You never ask much of it. She kept peering guards off your back and ensured no bigger fish came to snatch you up. Although, maybe you should’ve been more aware of the peering eyes just behind you or the monster sleeping above you, waiting for the perfect moment to devour you whole. 

Before long, the tension you seem too naive to notice becomes almost overbearing for Vi. She’d asked you to scrub her down in the shower, wash her hair, and dry her off. You had done so dutifully, assuming the way she twitched beneath your fingers was due to stress and fatigue. It wasn’t until you found yourself face down against the cool bathroom counter and stripped of your lower garments that you considered anything else. 

“V-Vi!?” you stammer. Alarmed, you begin to thrash, trying desperately to face your cellmate. Only you find it’s futile. With one hand, Vi has your arms in a firm, unrelenting hold behind your back. 

“So innocent, so precious,” She drags out her words like a snake, grabbing and massaging your bare ass with her free hands. “I could just eat you whole.” 

Vi leaves you with no time to ponder her words before her warm mouth finds your cunt. She moans loudly at the taste sending vibrations coursing through you. You try to fight her, but your resolve is already weakening drastically, and your thrashing only serves to push you further into her warmth. 

“Mmh,” she hums. “You taste even better than I imagined.” 

“Please…” you whimper. 

“Please what? Do you want more?” She teases. Before you have time to deny her accusations, two of her fingers join her mouth, thrusting into your dripping hole. The feeling immediately shatters what’s left of your will to fight back. Kitten-like mews and whorish whimpers erupt from your throat. 

“There, there,” she coos, as your walls tense and un-tense tightly around her fingers. She can tell you’re close already.

Her mouth finds its way to your sensitive clit, and she begins sucking hard. With the combined efforts of her mouth and fingers, you're cumming in no time. Screaming out her name as your release finds you, your juices spill down Vi’s face. 

When she stands, her reflection in the mirror serves as your only method of looking at her. She wears a proud smirk on her face, watching as you pant and twitch beneath her. “What a good little slut you are. When we are done, everyone in Stillwater will know who you belong to.”

Next part- For Dinner - Set to include: Sevika, Renata Glasc, Finn, Jinx, Ambessa Medarda

#arcane #arcane headcanon #arcane league of legends #arcane imagines #arcane x reader #arcane netflix #arcane jayce #jayce talis #jayce x reader #mel medarda #mel medara x reader #cassandra kiramman #cassandra x reader #cassandra kiramman x reader #silco x you #silco x reader #silco league of legends #cassandra kiramman league of legends #vi league of legends #vi x y/n #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi x you #smut #arcane smut

[ohbo-ohno]

Ive just had a trucker ghost spark 🫣 what happens when he finds the weapon in her bag? 🙀like is he proud that she at least had some way to defend herself against people that would hurt her? Is he sad or angry that she might have used it against him? Does he find it going through her bag or does she try to use it on him? I’m thinking it’s more of a:

She needs to get out of the truck, but he won’t let her. Whenever she needs to bathroom he picks the most rural truck stops and he escorts her all the way in. Even stands outside the stall. One day she pretends she’s on her period so she had to take her bag with her and then when she opens the door she’s pointing the gun at him and demanding to be let go.

But Ghost just stands there, arms crossed refusing to move. He doesn’t say anything about her demands, just raises an eyebrow when she raises her voice at him.

Eventually she realised he won’t move without a fight so she aims the gun at his foot and pulls the trigger, click. Ghost begins to laugh because did she really think he didn’t know? He found the gun the first night and had taken the bullets and other parts out of it so it didn’t work. And now she’s in trouble.

Or maybe it’s something completely different 🙈🤷🏻‍♀️ idk -💙

that gun was a loose end that bothered me the entire time i mentioned it lmao. almost cut it out but i wanted to emphasize that she was so comfortable in the truck because she thought she'd be able to protect herself - hence the fact that the bag is in her arms even when she sleeps. i thought for a bit about a scene like you described, with her trying to hold him at gunpoint after the first night only to find he had taken the bullets from his gun.

he's definitely proud that she's got the gun, even if it is dainty and a little pathetic in his mind lmao. he likes that she hadn't gotten into a stranger's truck with no way to defend herself

trucker ghost is absolutely the type of guy to laugh in your face when you try and fuck him up lmfao. your little punches and scratches, even a gun aimed straight at his heart, it's all amusing to him. you couldn't hurt him if you tried, and the both of you know that. but he lets you pretend because he knows it makes you feel better to put up a fight before he makes you come on his cock <3

#💙 anon #asks and answers #sorry i didnt add much to this but the exact scene you described is one i tried and failed to get right in that fic LMAO

[waterfallofspace]

HI!! same anon who asked about vnc here. i feel like your answer is enough of a go-ahead for me to be a bit more unhinged so first of all PLEASE SHARE YOUR VNC THOUGHTS. at some point. you must be the change you want to see in the world and whatnot. ive been on a skk kick but my bimonthly vnc rewatch is my sanitys single saving grace. vanitas is such a pathetic worm and he deserved to get stomped painfully into the ground /aff

also just letting you know that a second season is unlikely bc the anime adapted 55 out of 61 chapter (WHICH ON THE BRIGHT SIDE easy to catch up!!! :"D) the only time ive seen an anime get THAT close is with... bsd. which. well. sure was something. but i doubt theyd go that route with vnc

i have... alot of opinions on the ships. but its ALOT. however i will disclose that vanoe <3 SO JUST KNOW THAT IF YOU DO POST ANYTHING VNC/VANOE RELATED.... there will be at least one person (ME!!) screaming about it FHDJDJSJ

Oh it's completely a go-ahead, I'd love the chance to be deranged about them!!! Gonna stick it under a cut because it's gonna be long ahahaha~ (possible V/anitas no Carte spoilers under cut, so be warned!)

Augh I know, I mean look at this man!!!! He deserves to be wrecked in the most gorgeously affectionate painful whumpening <3 I want to bite him (and we know he'd like it LMAO)

I adore skk and satosugu, but Vanoe will always have such a sweet place in my heart~ gah tragic beloveds (that are at times, not tragic) are my bread and butter.

Yeahhhh, I did hear about thatttt, but I'm still hopeful that after... idk... 5-6 years... we might get more.... I just!!! They can't end it like that!!!! I mean it's an ending I can live with, but god I crave so much more!!!!

Omg if you ever wanna discuss the opinions I'd be so happy to listen!!! I have some opinions about dif ships in there too (Olivier and Roland are In Love and you cannot convince me otherwise).

So I adore Vanitas like I mentioned, but um... Olivier also owns my heart. We don't get enough of him I love him- the way he gets a headache every time Roland is there???? ICONIC OF HIM <333

He's just... he's so gorgeous. He has the aethetics that I adore, and a personality I find intriguing and fun~ Gahhh now I need to rewatch again hahahaha~

(also love Roland but in the same way I love Noe, just lil sweethearts <3 also also Chloé and Jean-Jacques <3 are so precious <3 to me and each other <3 )

Aaaand a little snippet as a 'thank you' and 'congrats' for making it to the end of this way-too-long response, here's a lil taste of what I had headcanoned for Vanoe

Vanitas: Soft, little rapid ones, 'iHh'tchiew! hiH'tchhue!' and he is so. mad about it. Will often try to stifle so no one hears them, orrrr add a yell/growl to try and unsuccessfully make them sound more 'fitting'. Truth is, they fit him better than he'd ever admit~

Noe: Harsh and (fairly) Loud, and it surprises literally everyone, Vanitas most of all (despite hearing it however many times now). Think something like, 'hHRZShh'ieh! ah'yieASHhuh!' You'd think someone this soft-spoken and sweet would have a dainty little sound, but nope~

#waterfallasks #waterfall snzcanons #should be tagging this 'waterfall talks too much' LMAO #can you tell ive been holding thoughts about this in my head for months bc its been MONTHS #genuinely im so happy to talk about them any time like i love them!!!! #im also sorry for how long this was ToT and for the recent spam of ask answering #but god non i love you for asking about them im so!!!!! about them!!!! #i do have more in my lil hc document and i may actually get around to sharing it/writing for them sometime soon #gotta finish a few other projects first (im SOOOO behind on requests im so sorry djsakgl) #and got a lil birthday thing to finish too~ but these are my beloveds and you know what i might need to hc for R and O now too

[solivagant-muse]

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them? - ALL 

Iris: Okay, this is going to be embarrassing to admit, but she was originally going to be a slashersona. That's why her hair looks so similar to my self-insert. Inspired by the movie "eyes without a face". She was also meant to be small and dainty and soft-spoken, and interact with Billy Lenz... 👁👁

But then, after watching Scream for the first time and getting nostalgic for the 90s, I wanted to reverse the slasher formula. Also, after coming across the "slasher dating a novelist prompt," I decided to change everything.

Big, scary woman and small, weak man, and this happened.

-

Finley: Before Finley became, well, Finley, his character design was meant to be for my version of Danny Johnson! After making the change for Iris, I figured she needed a final boy, and after much thinking, I scrapped the idea of making him ghostface and made him his own character.

So Finley, in a way, is ghostface if he wasn't a slasher and instead was a pretty pathetic final boy having a puppy crush on a slasher.

Also, "hold you close/tear you apart by whore_or" was such a big inspiration for him. Hands down, best Danny Johnson version for me.

These are the songs that helped me mold Finley <3

-

Odile: I still wanted a doll-like slasher, and that's what Odile became. Not to mention, I added fairytale components on her and religious imagery, too.

Got big inspiration from Carrie and Martin for her looks and her behavior from Brahms.

This song helped me make her story <3

It fits her perfectly.

-

The Patron: LOOK... I wanted my own version of Gabriel May to play with and fill with subtle horror eroticism, OKAY?

Having an artist want me as his muse? *fans myself*

👉🏼👈🏼😔

WOE, HAVE SOME MORE SONGS.

-

"Alice": LMAO... I love drawing bandaged and unhinged women all the time. This time, I gave a random character a story.

Originally, I wanted to use her to practice making (romance/horror) visual novels... found out I suck at them, lol. Don't know where to start and don't have time now.

Then, considering I wanted a more down to earth story, with crime/mafias, etc I gave her the crime cleaner job.

Also, perfect blue and serial experiments lain gave me inspo for her.

#where's the art solivagant #my ocs #oc: odile #oc: the patron #oc: finley madigan #oc: iris #oc: 'alice' #slasher oc #slasher: the patron #slasher: odile #slasher: iris #final boy: finley madigan #oc emoji asks

[austronauts]

Men need to get on ao3 instead of writing fanfiction about Marner controlling the leafs like an evil mastermind then getting angry at their own made up speculation

i agree - their talents are WASTED on generating insane leafs conspiracies on twitter.

they should be JOTTING THIS DOWN on ao3 because i'd read it tbh. dangerous spoiled femme fatale sexy baby mitch marner wraps the entire leafs front office coyly around his dainty finger and bats his long eyelashes while kyle dubas signs mitch and his besties to lifetime contracts LIVE ON TWITCH

no pls like seriously. let me read it.

also i like - kinda knew this going in but i had NO idea how INSANE the toronto maple leafs media and fanbase are.

real question: what...is wrong with them lmao

men will really tether their ENTIRE emotional well-being and dignity to a sports team that has historically been "underperforming" since 1967 just to have ONE (1) acceptable "masculine" way of expressing human feelings and it's so...pathetic to me.

[certified-anakinfucker]

10 Characters, 10 Fandoms, 10 Tags

How to play: name 10 of your favourite characters from 10 different fandoms, then tag 10 people to do the same.

tagged by @kiwikipedia and @chiafett, i’m giving them both a gentle muah and an obligatory apology for mobile’s bullshittery

Cheerilee | My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Take a wild guess where I got this screen name from LMAO it has survived a loooooooooong time. I think I first took it when I was 11? 12? on a hellscape sns. Now I brought it back bc I like the vibes :) At the time I wanted to be a teacher like her (and my mom), and plus her coat color was probably my favorite color at the time. I just loved her a lot.

Christophe Giacometti | Yuri!!! on Ice

He got subjected to the “fuck you he’s mine” treatment, but really I just. Adore him. He showed up like a whore who was DEFINITELY seeing Viktor so long ago and now they’ve turned into the closest friends anyone could ask for with the most beautiful sense of “I love you but you’re going to pay for that” rivalry. He is so pretty. I kind of want to bring him back for SW but I dunno what he’ll be doing :(

[Redacted] | [Data Expunged]

I like my men pathetic and miserable and they can’t do jack nor the shit without causing a cascade failure on an unimaginably catastrophic scale and bringing about destruction to everything he’s ever loved BECAUSE he loved so hard and now everyone sees him with such a sour (bittersweet at best) taste in their mouth and he’s resigned himself to the background in so many things he used to be the proudest of his prowess in but he’s so pretty and dainty and and and and and-

Anakin Skywalker | Star Wars

Me and the scrungly blorbos ass-up in untreated trauma from abandonment issues and being thrust into high positions of power without proper support despite others insisting that we ARE being properly supported at all measures but there are people scared and jealous of us and we keep refusing to admit how deeply it effects our daily lives and relationships until it inevitably destroys what good we do see around us and we have to make the decision on whether to learn and grow from this or just shrug and keep it trucking in the trenches. Neither of us made the right choice here and that’s banger. We’re doing great wdym?

Jedediah | Night at the Museum

Can’t believe I had to split up Jedediah and Octavius for this but I just genuinely admire him. He is so cool. Maybe it’s the free-spirited gay cowboy gender.

Loki | M*rvel

Shut up he’s hot

Wheatley | Portal (2)

Don’t speak to me he’s so so so stupid

Jazz | Transformers

This is entirely Mikey’s fault and I will make sure she knows this daily. Jazz is so just like me fr

Honorable Fandom Mentions

Basically, fandoms I only dipped a toe into but not deep enough to pick just one favorite!

Hades (Game)

WHERE IS MY MOTHER NYX. WHERE IS SHE. I deeply admire anyone’s ability (namely @purgetrooperfox) in sitting through this game.

Red Dead Redemption / 2

What if I turned Micah and Dutch into mulch? What if Arthur lived an amazing life instead? This game makes me feel so many emotions what the fuck I should play it someday 🥲

Tags <3

i’m dumb and wasn’t paying much attention to who was already tagged so. @milf-maul @jekyllnahyena @spaceydragons @sithbian @friedennic @walk-ng-d-saster @kemendin @grandninjamasterren @perasperaadastrawriting @kkrazy256

#cheeri was tagged here #kiwi youre so lucky i love you /lhj #hi leoooo im borrowing u for a callout #terra i keep trying to @ your name and getting sent back to #‘omg wait kkrazy256 is TERRA??? the very terra im talking to rn?????’ #i refuse to elaborate on who the redacted is #and i refuse to elaborate on marvel loki #i absolutely will not elaborate on wheatley. i will not do it

[halohamilton]

reading comprehension is really poor within the fandom, you're not even denying he's shorter, you're just pointing out how some people exaggerate it so much that it IS concerning. why is THAT anon so triggered lmao

exactly lmao I don't live in denial. I know he's shorter obviously. Those anons are pathetic, have nothing better to do with their lives so they hide behind the anonymous button to make themselves feel better. The irony is coming into my inbox saying I'm raging and triggered when they.... came to my blog as an anon just to tell me that in the first place like?? 😭

and you should have seeeen the anons I got in my inbox when I called Harry dainty. Talk about raging and triggered 💀

#I loved that #he's a dainty bean <3 #asks #anon

[bruciewayne]

i think we as a society have let go of how sexy analogue watches are and i think it’s time to bring it back

#smartwatches are ok but thpse chronographs with 3 dials on the face #and a gorgeous leather strap?? #unbeatable #its mostly ‘mens’ watches tho bc ‘womens’ ones are like #dainty and pathetic lmao #get me a 44mm face that can barely fit on my wrist bro!! #in the same vein!! hands!! hands w rings #very sexy im glad that never went away #but like chunky bands #of metal not with gems/diamonds #mens jewellry is so sexy i want it!!

[borathae]

↳ Index [Chapter 05 - Feeling Shitty]

Genre: Smut, Angst, soft Fluff

Warnings: BDSM, subby masochist!Jungkook, dom!reader, waxing roleplay, latex gloves, a prostate massage, edging, a lil bit of degradation too, Jungkook is so whiney bruh, loving aftercare with the most heartbreaking conversations ever :(, yearning

Wordcount: 10.3k

a/n: I have no excuse, my puss is weeping but also my heart is aching lmao

He forgot about his sister. Jungkook realised that he forgot about his sister when he was in the middle of a meeting with three of his company’s web designers. He felt restless the rest of the meeting, eyeing the clock with his thumb between his teeth. He left once the meeting was over, running to the elevator and going straight up to his office.

“Hello Mister Jeon”, Ryujin was in the elevator with him, smiling at him with that sweet smile of hers.

“Hello Miss Shin”, he says, barely taking in her presence. All he can think about is his sister.

She steps closer and places her hands on his pecs. That calls his attention. He turns and looks down at her with confused eyes and his muscles tense.

“When can I see you again? I miss you”, she says, blinking at him with those big, adorable eyes of hers. She runs her fingernails over his pecs and nipples. It makes goosebumps rise on his skin.

He sighs and wraps his fingers around her dainty wrists.

“Not today, alright?” he says, trying to keep his voice soft for her, “I’m really busy today.”

She pouts and draws closer.

“But I’m so needy for you, Mister Jeon.”

He swallows.

“I’ve been wet the entire day because I can’t stop thinking about you”, she coos.

He felt his cock twitch in his slacks at her words.

“Miss Shin behave”, he warns, making her giggle and rest her forehead against his pecs.

“I’m sorry, I’m so silly. I don’t talk like this normally”, she confesses and giggles again.

He loves the way she is acting right now. If he wasn’t so preoccupied with his sister, he would have already taken her in the elevator, preferably bouncing her on his cock until she sobs into his shoulder. But he has important issues to take care of.

“You need to be careful Ryujin”, he says and pets her hair, “we don’t want other people to hear you talk like this, do we?”

She raises her head and grins at him with a lovedrunk expression.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Well, I do”, he says and caresses her cheek once before he breaks away, “now if you’ll excuse me I have to call my sister.”

“Okay?” she blinks in confusion.

He steps out of the elevator and fixes his tie.

“Mister Jeon?”

He looks at her over his shoulder. She is fumbling with her hair nervously.

“When are we seeing each other again?”

“Friday. I’m in my office till eight.”

“Okay”, she starts glowing in excitement, “I will be there”, she squeaks and bounces on the spot, which makes her perfect tits bounce with her.

He takes a quick look at them, licking his lips, and then he turns away from her and hurries down the corridor to his office.

He closes the door and locks it, running to his desk afterwards.

“Fuck.”

The phone is taunting him. He tried reaching for it a few times, but always pulled back at the last moment.

How should he even start such a conversation?

Hey noona, how are you doing?

Hey noona, I arrived at home safely?

Hey noona, it’s me your loser of a younger brother?

Hey noona, I’m so fucking sorry?

“Fuck”, he chokes out and falls down in his chair, head hitting the backrest.

His fingers close around the glass of whiskey and lead it to his lips. He takes a sip – or maybe more – and sets it back down. He sighs and closes his eyes.

Why did he have to forget about her? Why is he such an asshole? He gave her one promise and even for that he was too big of a fucking pathetic loser to keep.

He opens his eyes and sighs again.

“I have to”, he whispers, straightening up and reaching for his phone.

He dials his sister’s number from his memory and presses the phone to his ear. She doesn’t pick up at first and he is already so excited that he doesn’t have to talk to her, but then she picks up at the last ring.

“Hello?” she sounds stressed.

“Hey noona, it’s me Jungkook”, he says and forces happiness to his voice.

Silence then an exhausted sigh.

“What do you want?” she asks coldly.

He clenches his hand to a fist and swallows down the lump in his throat. She is mad at him.

“I just wanted to check up on you. How are you doing?”

Silence.

“Noona?”

“I have no energy for you today Jungkook”, she says and the anger was obvious in her voice.

 “I’m so sorry noona. I should have called sooner.”

“It would have already been enough for me if you sent me a text. Just a dot or one letter would have been enough for me.”

“I know, please believe me noona I, I forgot.”

She sighs. He can listen to her sitting down somewhere. Then another sigh and a quiet sniffle.

“You know I worry for you Kook. You are my little brother and I will always be there for you, but fuck”, she exhales shakily, “I can’t help you if you keep lying to me or ghosting me for that matter.”

He presses his eyes closed and feels the hot tears run down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry noona”, he chokes out shakily.

“It’s alright”, she assures him.

He knows that she was lying. He knows that she hated him and that she was disappointed in him. At least that is what his brain was telling him.

And so he clutches his phone tighter and bites down on his lower lip to stop it from trembling. He can hear crying in the background of his sister. High-pitched and painful. It must be one of his nieces.

“Fuck”, he hears his sister say.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Jiwon fell sick last night. She’s been throwing up everything we gave her and won’t stop crying. I’ve been crying for like an hour already to be honest”, she says with her voice shaky in her attempt at holding her tears back.

Jungkook gnaws on his lower lip. He is so fucking selfish. His sister has so much going on already. She has a life to live and children to take care of and he wanted to selfishly seek refuge in her.

“I’m sorry. Can I do something to help?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes to stop the tears from streaming down his cheeks.

“No, uhm no”, a pause as she hurries through the apartment, “honey? What’s wrong? Why is she crying?”

He knows that she is talking to Yoongi.

“I don’t know. She was sleeping in my arms and then she woke up and started crying”, Yoongi answers her with his voice carrying distress.

Jungkook listens to them talk about their crying daughter until Jiwoo turns her attention back to the phone.

“I’m sorry Kook, Jiwon just woke up”, she says, “what do you want to talk about?”

“Nothing, it’s alright.”

“Kookie, come on.”

“No, I’m sorry. You have enough going on, you are right”, he says.

“Jungkook don’t-“

He hangs up before she can finish her sentence, pressing his phone to his chest and sobbing quietly.

“I’m so fucking selfish”, he presses out and sobs louder.

His sister is so perfect. She is always nice and sweet even if she is angry. She is always so hardworking and ready to sacrifice herself for others even when she is stressed. She is always so good to him even when he is such an asshole to her. She doesn’t deserve to be burdened with his selfish, stupid worries. Not when she already has enough going on in her own life.

His phone vibrates.

A text from his sister.

-          Jiwoo Noona: You’re not a burden Kook. I love you, you know? Today is just terrible timing, but I’ll call you tomorrow I promise.  

He smiles but cries at the same time. He types his answer.

-          Jungkook: I love you too

-          Jungkook: Please tell me if I can do something for Jiwon

She doesn’t answer him anymore afterwards, not going online for the rest of the day. And Jungkook doesn’t blame her. She has enough going on, she doesn’t have to take care of her loser of a younger brother on top of that.

Miss Boss raises her head.

“Oh Bunny? You are here?” she asks and checks the schedule for a second, “tonight’s not Wednesday you do know that?”

He nods his head.

“So what are you doing here? You know that spontaneous sessions cost double?”

“I do and I’m going to pay. Don’t worry”, he says, handing her his black credit card.

“Alright then”, she smiles and accepts it.

“How many hours can I have?”

“Depends on the girl you want.”

“Is Lucky free?” he asks.

“Wait.”

Miss Boss looks back at the schedule. He studies the club goers in the meantime. All of them are drugged up or drunk, bending their bodies into weird shapes as they move to the beat of the music.

“She is.”

Jungkook looks back at her.

“Can I go to her?”

“She is currently with a customer, but she is free in an hour. I could call her then and ask her if she has time for you.”

“An hour?”

“Sweetie is free now if you don’t want to wait.”

“No I’ll wait”, he says and pushes himself off the counter, “please call her and tell her I want her for the rest of her shift.”

She studies him for a moment with her brows knitted.

“I will pay. Go on slide the card”, he says, slightly annoyed at her resistance.

She gives in with a shrug of her shoulders and goes to slide his credit card. The machine peeps and just like that Jungkook lost three thousand bucks. But he doesn’t regret it one bit. Miss Boss hands him back his card.

“You go and have fun in the meantime”, she leans closer to him and smiles, “I heard the Margaritas here are to die for.”

He gives her an awkward smile.

“Thank you, I’ll try them.”

Jungkook doesn’t try them. He doesn’t like Margaritas. Instead he tries a whiskey and then later two shots of vodka. They all taste disgusting to him, but make the shaking of his hands a little less. He sat at the bar the entire time, watching the people dance. At one point a girl came up to him and began grinding on him. He allowed her, holding her hips and pretending to be into what she was doing. She ran off giggling once he made her believe that she made him cum, now talking to her friends about the cute stranger she just grinded on.

He watches them for a moment, looking away a moment later.

“Idiots”, he says under his breath and orders another glass of whiskey.

He didn’t come here to grind with whatever stranger presents themselves to him. He came here to see Lucky, because he knows that she will make him feel a little better. He has been feeling better ever since he started coming here. At least in the nights he sees Lucky he feels better. Especially now that he spent way goo many Wednesdays in her arms, falling asleep to muffled house music and the smell of her warm body. He felt really good on those nights and although he woke up in a lonely bed and with Jerry, the security guard, telling him to leave for the day he always left with a smile on his lips. He hadn’t left for work with a smile on his lips for months and now there is always this one day in his week where he does.

Sometimes it scares him, but most of the time it just makes him drink less that day and fall asleep a little easier.

He hopes that he can find refuge tonight as well. He can’t stop thinking about his sister. She sounded so disappointed in him on the phone. He is sure that he ruined their relationship and he wouldn’t even blame her if she never wants to see him again.

Someone taps his shoulder then.

Jerry, the security guard.

“Miss Boss tells me that Lucky is waiting for you.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook jumps off the barstool, “finally.”

He hurries to the lockers and gets ready, leaving for the red door after giving Miss Boss one last wave of his hand.

The door closes behind him.

“Lucky?”

“Wait!” you call out.

What is he doing here already? You weren’t ready for him to see you yet. You haven’t finished cleaning. Too late, he is already in the bathroom, looking at you.

“Hey.”

“Get out, what the hell?” you gasp.

“Oh uhm?” he turns around, “sorry I didn’t know you were naked.”

“Yeah naked and covered in cum”, you scoff, “get out Bunny.”

“Sorry”, he stutters and stumbles out of the bathroom.

He closes the door behind him. You scoff and turn back to the shower, continuing your cleaning. Honest speaking you were kind of hoping to leave after the customer before Bunny. He ruined you. Your ass is hurting from getting it railed by his way too big cock and your head pounds from hitting it on the headboard way too many times because of his rough handling. You were hoping to just go home and fall asleep on your side and an ice pack strapped to your ass. You like having Bunny as your customer, you really do, but fuck tonight you just wanted to go home. And now he even saw you all naked and destroyed from your earlier customer. He was not supposed to see you like that because it ruins the impression that he is the only man you fucked tonight.

You were lucky that he only saw the back of you because you were not wearing a mask before now. You close your rope and straighten your back. You strap the mask to your face and look at yourself in the mirror. You just hope that he hasn’t seen your face because that would be devastating.

Then you turn and leave the bathroom.

He is waiting for you on the bed, having stared at the ceiling before he heard the door open and turned to look at you.

“Hey”, he greets you and waves.

“Hello”, you say.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m alright I guess. You?”

“I’m alright too”, a pause then, “hey uhm I didn’t mean to run in on you before. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You didn’t see my face did you?”

He shakes his head.

“Alright good.”

He lifts himself off the mattress with the help of his hands and turns on the bed with his legs crossed. Then he plops down and looks at you with his head tilted to the side.

“Come here”, he says, patting his lap.

You hesitate for a moment but give in because he was a customer after all and what he said counts. You sit down on his lap, feeling weird doing so. Not because you don’t like it but because it is so foreign to you. No other customer ever wanted to have you sit in his lap as if you were a couple cuddling and talking about their day.

He runs his hands up and down your back, gazing at you through the small holes of his mask.

“You are so beautiful tonight”, he whispers.

“Thank you?”

He nudges your nose with his own and lets his hand disappear under your rope to caress your naked ass and legs.

“How are you doing?” he asks in a soft voice.

“I…I’m doing good?”

“Are you really? Did the man before me treat you right?”

You clear your throat and look to the side. What has gotten into him? Why does this feel so weirdly domestic?

“Mhm?” he stresses and caresses your sides.

You sigh and shiver in his touch.

“Honest speaking”, you begin, “I feel like shit cause of him.”

His touch falters before it turns even softer than before. Almost as if he wanted to soothe your aches and make you feel better.

“Did he hurt you?”

“Yeah, my ass hurts and my head hurts too.”

He exhales shakily and places his hand on the back of your head to make you lean into him. You rest your chin on top of his shoulder and try not to close your eyes at the way he runs his fingers over your scalp.

“Can I do something to make it better?” he asks and fuck it makes you melt in his arms like a stick of butter in the sun.

You shake your head because speaking would be impossible right now.

“At least let me try”, he whispers, “please I want to help.”

He cups your cheek and tilts your head up. He runs his thumb over your cheekbone and although you can’t feel it because of the mask separating you from his touch, it still makes you shiver.

"Please?" 

"What, what do you have in mind?" you stutter, eyes glued to the sparkling brown behind his mask.

“Use me to feel better”, he breathes.

“What?”

“Use me. Drain my body until you feel better.”

“Are you serious?”

He nods his head.

“I’m ready.”

“Uhm”, you clear your throat, “d-do you know the rules?”

“I consent to this. Green, yellow, red. Snap my fingers three times or hum Happy Birthday. Also do not touch your ass tonight.”

You laugh at the last part, twisting his shirt between your fingers.

“Fucking hell Bunny, you are literally going to turn me mad.”

“In a good way?”

“Maybe yeah.”

He touches your lower back and presses you closer. You can feel his crotch rub against your core. He hasn’t hardened yet, but shivers at the feeling.

“So what do you want to do? You didn’t send me a list of requests.”

“I know, I just wanted you so much that I couldn’t wait till tomorrow.”

You laugh to cover up the fluttering of your heart. He is just a customer, another needy man, his words shouldn’t affect you.

“This still doesn’t let me know what you want to do.”

“Well what do you want you to do?”

You falter at his question, studying his hidden face with your brows furrowed. Why would a customer, someone who pays you to have sex with him, ask you what you wanted?

“Uhm…”

He confuses you so much lately.

“I don’t know? Honestly? I was kinda hoping not to do anything after the guy before.”

“That bad?”

You nod your head.

“Wanna take revenge?”

You falter again, feeling a coil turn in your stomach.

“Revenge?”

He nods his head.

“How?”

“How kinky can I be?”

You snort.

“You’re the one paying. Be kinky Bunny, I don’t care.”

“Fine”, he draws you closer and massages your waist, “wax my asshole and finger me until I’m squirming.”

“Well damn Bunny. I did not expect that.”

“Yeah”, he laughs breathlessly, “I stumbled down a rabbit hole last night. I came across porn like that and jerked off so hard to it.”

“Bunny stumbled down a rabbit hole”, you laugh, running your fingers through his dark hair, “kinda ironic, don’t you think?”

He laughs and lets you tilt his head back.

“So? Is this something that’s on your list?” he asks.

“With or without the gloves?”

“With.”

“It’s on my list, yeah.”

“Then I want this tonight and make it hurt a lot.”

You shiver and twist his hair.

“Come with me, I know a better room.”

It is the room two doors down the hallway. It houses an accurate reconstruction of a doctor’s office with thoroughly cleaned equipment and props and a white doctor’s table in one corner of the room. If one ignores the impressive collection of sextoys it houses as well, one could actually believe that they were merely visiting a doctor.

“Fucking hell”, Bunny says, looking around the room.

“It’s kinda neat isn’t it? It’s where I take care of all the freaks, who are into medical play”, you explain.

“I can see it.”

You give him a quick look over your shoulder. You just know what he is going to request next week.

“Either way, go on, get ready. I’ll get the props.”

He is already on the table when you come back, completely naked and with his legs spread wide open. He shifts at the sound of your steps, grasping the edge of the table but doesn’t look up. 

“Roleplay or not?”

“Roleplay.”

“Fine”, you pause for dramatic effect, “are you ready for your waxing session Mister Bunny?” you say with your voice slightly changed so you would sound more like the role you put yourself in.

“Yes, I’m ready”, he says, voice shaking in excitement.

“Yes? Are you going to be one of those nasty fuckers, who gets all hard and needy from the pain?”

He rolls his hips on the table and mewls.

“You get those a lot?”

“Oh trust me Mister Bunny, you would be surprised”, you set down the waxing supplies on the metal table beside his legs.

He turns his head to look at you.

“Yeah I’m one of those nasty fuckers”, he chokes out, “so punish me.”

You smirk under your mask and pull the latex gloves onto your hands. He watches you with his chest heaving up and down quickly. You picked out the blue ones, they go perfectly with your coat and silver mask. They slap against your skin, the sound of it echoing through the room and mixing with the excited gasp he lets out.

“Raise your legs for me”, you order.

Bunny pulls his legs to his chest and clasps them tightly. You grab his hips and pull them to the edge of the table, running your fingers up and down his balls and ass afterwards.

“Someone really wants it to hurt, doesn’t he?” you taunt.

“Am I disgusting?”

You falter. Is this going to be another Hell situation?

“Am I disgusting?” he stresses.

“Yes Mister Bunny. You are fucking disgusting.”

He shivers, cock twitching between his legs.

“Fuck, so disgusting”, he repeats and pulls his legs closer to his chest.

“Exactly. You are nothing but a disgusting man”, you say, squeezing his balls.

He moans and shivers.

“Then c-clean me up.”

“Gladly.”

You abandon his surprisingly tight balls and turn to get some wax. You mix it a few times.

“I checked the temperature, but let me know immediately if it is still too hot for you”, you say.

“Yeah, yeah it’s good. Just do it”, he stresses, nodding his head.

“Careful with your tone”, you warn, making him mewl and nod his head.

He spreads his legs further and tightens his fingers on his shins.

“Take your time”, he says, making you smile.

“That’s better.”

You pick up a good amount of wax and then press the wooden spatula against his balls. He hisses and twitches.

“Too hot?”

“No it’s good.”

You continue spreading it, watching his cock twitch with every new inch you cover in the warm wax. Once you spread it enough you reach for a cotton cloth, pressing it on the wax and smoothing it over.

He is panting the entire time, balls tightening under your fingers.

“Alright”, you grab the corner, “take a deep breath.”

“Just do it”, he chokes out.

“Fine. One, two, three.”

Rip.

He moans and arches off the table. His skin reddens in an instant, veins pulsating on his cock.

“That was fucking painful”, he groans, relaxing back on the table.

“Colour?”

“Green. Fucking green.”

You grin. He is such a masochist. Men like him are the best. They are so adorable when they are all squirmy and breathless from pain.

You put new wax on his balls and smooth a cotton cloth over it. This time he is holding his breath, waiting for the burn patiently.

“One, two and – “

Rip!

“- three.”

He groans and writhes.

“I apologize, it seems I have mistimed my counting”, you taunt.

He huffs out air, shivering as you spread new wax on his sensitive balls. Every touch feels like fire on his skin and it is not because of the warm wax. This has gotten him so sensitive. He expected anything, but not for it to hurt that much. It is exhilarating.

Cotton cloth on and fingernails playing with the corner. You rip it off without warning, hearing the pathetic moan he lets out and watching the way his feet wiggle in the air.

“I know it hurts. I can’t help it Mister Bunny, it’s because you are so disgusting”, you spit and throw the soiled rag on the metal table, “I wouldn’t have to hurt you that much if only you cleaned up before coming here.”

“Are you disappointed in me?”

“Yes Mister Bunny, very.”

“Fuck”, he whispers and groans, “fuck.”

One last time you spread the wax on his balls. You think it looks incredible against his reddened skin. Dark blue against glowing red. There is just something about this aesthetic which makes your mouth water. You secure the cotton rag on top of the wax and stroke over it three times. His cock twitches with every stroke.

“Last time. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

You make him believe that you are going to tug it away. He squeaks and groans in frustration when you hold back a second later. You chuckle, smoothing over it again just to taunt him. He just wanted to raise his head to see what you were doing when you finally ripped it off, sending such a jolt of pain through his balls he almost breaks his teeth from clenching them so tightly.

“Okay fuck”, he sobs, “that one hit different.”

“Colour?”

“Green.”

“Very well”, you place the soiled rag down on the table, stirring through the wax, “your pathetic balls are finally all cleaned up Mister Bunny. I’ll be moving on to your asshole now.”

“Yes okay”, he nods his head.

“Be useful and hold yourself open for me”, you order.

His fingers leave his shins in an instant, digging themselves into his ass cheeks to spread them apart for you.

“That’s it. Fuck you’re so disgusting.”

“I’m sorry”, he chokes out and shivers.

“It is like you expect me to do wonders here”, you spit and spread the wax on his trembling hole, “what should I do with you Mister Bunny, hm?”

“Make it hurt.”

You laugh.

“Trust me, it will.”

You smooth the cloth over the wax.

“One, two and…three.”

Rip.

“Fuck!” he screams, head leaving the table as he almost sits up on it.

You press him down roughly, forcing his legs back against his chest.

“Stay and keep yourself spread. Will you?” you bark.

He obeys with a squeaky whimper, trembling fingers digging themselves back into his ass cheeks.

“Better.”

You take up new wax and spread it over his hole. Next a cloth. You watch his face as you smooth over it. Not that his mask reveals the current expression he is wearing, but judging from how tense his neck is he must be grinding his teeth right now.

“Are you regretting coming here, Mister Bunny?”

He shakes his head.

“Yeah? So you still see no shame in presenting your disgusting asshole to me?” you spit and rip off the rag.

His mask moves as he opens his mouth to scream out a moan, back arching off the table. You watch his cock twitch angrily, precum dripping on his tense stomach.

“Of course you don’t see any shame in it. You are into this you fucked up pervert, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah so into this. So into this. So fucking into this”, he chants, legs shaking from him having to press them against his chest without the help of his hands. His muscles are protesting, wanting to give up but he can’t. Not when you want him in this position.

You spread new wax on his body and smooth out the rag. He spreads his ass for you and holds his breath.

“And here we go”, you taunt, twisting the edge.

Rip.

“Oh god Lucky!” he groans and writhes, legs falling down so he can buck his hips up.

“Legs up slut!” you bark, slapping his inner thigh.

“Fuck”, he groans and pulls them up quickly, “sorry, sorry.”

“Colour?”

“Green.”

“You are such a pathetic man Mister Bunny. First you come here looking as disgusting as you did and then you can’t even follow the easiest of commands. Is it so hard for you to keep your legs up?”

“No, no sorry”, he sobs and writhes, “sorry Madam.”

You click your tongue and begin spreading the wax again. He mewls with every gentle burn, cursing his body for being so into this. If he wasn’t so into this then controlling his legs would be easier. But fuck, every touch makes him lose control over his own limps like the pathetic man he was.

You stick the rag to the wax, smoothing it out with your entire hand. He wiggles into the touch, earning himself a harsh grasp to his hips.

“No moving.”

He grunts.

Fuck. You are so good at this role. That’s what he needed tonight. A strong, beautiful woman to abuse him to the point he feels like breaking. That’s all he needed tonight.

Rip.

He sobs and moans. Tears stream down his cheeks. His asshole pulsates in pain, so sharp that he has to clench it to make it somehow better.

“That’s better. Now you behaved”, you praise and give him no second of rest as you already spread the wax all over his hole again. And this time you actually go right over his hole, making his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

“Holy fuck”, he mewls.

The rag follows. Almost cool on top of the warm wax. Three strokes and then he is trembling in excitement.

“Take a deep breath”, you order.

Bunny takes a deep breath.

Rip.

He releases it with a painful moan and an uncontrollable twitch of his tangling legs. He rolls his ankles repeatedly, losing his grip on his ass for only a moment.

“What should I do? Feel bad for what I’m doing to you?” you spit and spread new wax on his hole, “it’s not my fault that you are so messy”, you add, smoothing out the rag.

“Sor – holy fuck!”

He couldn’t even finish his sentence and then you already ripped off the cloth and with it the last remainder of his hair. He sobs and writhes, legs threatening to fall down again hadn’t you held them up for him.

You stretch them out as best as possible, using the leverage you have over him to inspect his newly waxed asshole and balls.

“Now you are looking presentable”, you coo and run your fingers up and down his sensitive skin, “all soft and hairless.”

You pluck away the few remainders of wax on his skin, watching him twitch every time. Your other hand still keeps his legs high above your head, holding him open for you and humiliating him at the same time.

He is so happy for the mask because fucking hell you handling him like a weak, little boy who can’t keep his legs up makes him blush so hard he fears his actual face is even redder than his mask. And he fucking lives for every second of it.

You pluck away the last piece of wax, right on his balls and retreat your hand afterwards.

“Hold them for me”, you order, meaning his legs.

He obeys without hesitation, grasping his own shins and pressing his weak legs to his sweaty chest as best as possible.

“Colour?”

“Green, I’m so into this. Holy fuck Lucky.”

You hum in content and reach for the next prop on the metal table. A bottle of soothing cooling cream. You spread a good amount on your fingers and then connect both your hands with his skin. He flinches at the first contact, moaning softly.

“I’ll take care of your sensitive skin now. We don’t want it to get inflamed do we?”

“Course not”, he answers you in a raspy voice.

He is tense at first, but relaxes the longer you massage his balls and ass. You do so silently most of the time, only really breaking it when he moans in ecstasy.

You roll your finger over his rim, watching his cock drip precum.

“Tell me Mister Bunny, now that I am officially done with your procedure, what should we do about this nasty boner of yours?”

“Play with it.”

Sometimes his words are just too much. Just like right now. It leaves you trembling on the spot, fingers literally itching in the urge to fulfil his wish.

“Play with it? Ha”, you laugh at him loudly, “I’m an aesthetician, why should I touch your cock?”

But you still have a role to play. You can’t just give in that easily.

“Please”, he begs quietly.

"Begging won’t get you any further." 

"Please I'll do anything", he tries. 

"No, no your cock's not good enough for me. Why should I play with something so pathetic?" 

"Madam", he whines breathily. 

"Mhhhm poor boy", you feign pity and begin to touch his balls again, “that’s what you get for being such a nasty pervert.”

He shivers.

“I’m sorry”, he mewls.

“Mhm… pathetic”, you decide.

You reach for the lube on the table and open it. He tenses up at the sound, shuddering when a second later he feels it trickling down his balls. It feels like ice on his burning skin.

You close the bottle again and connect your fingers with his balls. You cup them and squeeze, listening to his breathy sigh.

“You’re such a fucked up man Mister Bunny. I am trying to soothe the ache and you are sighing. Do you have no shame?”

“I’m so fucked up, I can’t help it”, he moans, writhing on the table in blissed out humiliation.

“At least you know that you are.”

Then you begin spreading it on his body, making your way down to his hole. He is tensing up, trembling a moment later before tensing up again. It happens over and over again that his body tenses up and then releases the pressure by trembling only to tense up again a second later. And you aren’t even fingering him yet, merely drawing circles on his hole. Gosh his body has the cutest reactions.

“What should I do with your pathetic hole? Look at it pulsating.”

You roll slow circles on his rim, feeling how it follows your movements greedily. He gasps and twitches, almost managing to make your finger slip inside.

“And so hot too. Gosh Mister Bunny you are basically burning up”, you taunt, pushing in your finger to your first knuckle.

He gasps.

You pull it out again and laugh.

“You are even hotter inside!” you exclaim in feigned excitement as if you just discovered something marvellous about his body, “did the wax enter your body and burn you Mister Bunny?” you taunt.

He nods his head.

"Is that so?”

He nods his head more vigorously.

“But this means that I would have to put this cooling cream all the way up your tight little asshole too”, you feign pity, “can you even handle something like this?”

He nods his head even more vigorously.

“Well then, you give me no other choice.”

You reach for the lube bottle one more time and trickle the lube right on your fingers. 

"There we go all lubed up", you say. 

He holds his breath in anticipation. 

One push and his hole opens up for you, stretching around your finger as you push it in slowly. 

"Fuck", he mewls. 

"Look at you Mister Bunny. Fuck you are such a greedy pervert. It is like you wanted me to finger your ass.”

He moans and clenches around your digit, "it feels so fucking good." 

"You really are pathetic aren’t you? I haven’t even started moving yet." 

He whimpers and closes his mouth. He can’t help it. He lives for the stretch and if that makes him pathetic then so be it. 

You move your finger in and out slowly, watching his rim stretch and struggle so perfectly around you. It looks so cute now that it is all waxed and sensitive, so pink and soft. And so hungry for you. 

"How's that?" you make sure, curling your finger inside of him.

His cock twitches, a squeaky moan rattles in his throat. 

"Good?" 

He moans again and nods his head. 

"Of course it is. Fuck look at you enjoying this. I am trying to do my job here and you are enjoying this like a pervert. Do you have no shame Mister Bunny?"

"Sorry", he apologizes, grinding back against you unapologetically. 

"Sure, you are sorry", you curl your finger, making him mewl, "what about your sorry now?" you taunt, dragging your fingertip over his prostate. 

"That feels so good", he whimpers, thighs twitching angrily. 

Slap. 

He inhales and gasps at the same time, cock twitching angrily in the memory of how it felt like to be slapped by your gloved hand. 

"You are not supposed to enjoy this you fucking pervert", you spit, curling your finger angrily and squeezing his balls tightly. 

"Sorry! Sorry - oh god - sorry", he moans and pants, writhing on the table with his neck tensing angrily. 

You click your tongue, "tzt pathetic." 

Your finger curls, making him squeak like a little squeaky toy. And because you are greedy, you curl it again just to listen to him squeak again. And again and again and again. 

Bunny isn’t just squeaking at this point. He is trembling, barely making any sense with the words he lets out. The only thing which still makes sense to him is the pleasure you give him. That is the only sane thing to him. 

"Look at that. You are all loosened up already. Oh Mister Bunny, you disappoint me." 

"I'm sorry, I’m such a pervert. Need to get stuffed until I’m bursting", he mewls, grinding against you. 

"Now you get it", you spit. A second later you bury a second of your fingers inside his needy hole. 

He whimpers and grinds his teeth, nails digging into his shins. This is stretching him out way too well. 

The sound of your amused laughter makes him tense up and the blood freeze in his veins. 

"Ha! You swallowed it right up. Fucking hell Mister Bunny what should I do with you?" 

He can feel your fingers clearly. Both of them as they rest inside of him and wiggle from left to right. He could count them. Not just because he knows that you currently have two fingers inside of him, but also because both of your digits just feel so distinctively like your fingers. Your middle finger, slightly longer than the rest of your fingers and with a mean ability to curl right against his prostate. And your ring finger, a little thicker than your middle finger and with the ability to make his hole struggle each time you pull them out and slam them back inside. 

He could even tell which finger was the first to explore his inside. The middle finger because the memory of its touch was still burning on his prostate. You are currently not refreshing said memory, fucking your digits in and out whilst rolling his sensitive balls between your other hand and listening to the wet squelching sounds his hole makes. 

It drives him insane. He wants more but fuck, begging sounds like a bad idea to do. 

"What is it Mister Bunny? You grew so silent. Don’t tell me that you think I’m doing a bad job after literally begging me for my fingers", you taunt, knowing very well that he was craving that perfect curl of your fingers. You just want him begging for it.  

"It's good", he chokes out, rolling his ankles a few times. 

"Is it?" you chuckle deeply, "well I guess then I don’t have to change anything right now." 

You listen and smirk. He huffs out air and mewls quietly. You pull your fingers out all the way, massaging his rim twice before slipping them back inside. He gasps and shudders. Out again. Three circles on his trembling hole. In again, just barely gracing his prostate. He whimpers, tilting his head back slightly. Out again. Three circles and a drag up to his balls. You never touch them, merely playing with the reddened skin just underneath them. Then down and back in. 

"Please…" his voice is barely audible. 

"Were you saying something Mister Bunny?" 

"I need more", he whispers. 

You curl your fingers, listening to the guttural growl he lets out, "oh yeah exactly." 

You chuckle and smile. How adorable. 

You keep your fingers buried inside of him and continue your curls. He is trembling with each curl, cock twitching every so often when you squeezed his balls especially well. 

“Thank you, oh, thank you, thank you”, he chants almost religiously.

You must give it to him, he is polite. And because you have a soft spot for polite boys you continue curling your fingers until he is trembling and his moans become squeaky gasps for air.

You know that you could get him over the edge if you wanted to. Everything about his body tells you that he was so ready to fucking explode all over himself. His hole clenches around you, his balls are so purple and tight, his cock is twitching and red, even his chest has gained a rosy shine to it.

“Now”, he groans.

Fingers leave his hole.

“No!”

“There, all done with the cooling cream. I am sure the burn will subside very soon”, you say matter of factly.

You watch his hole clench around nothing, pushing the lube outside pathetically.

“No, please no”, he sobs, writhing from side to side painfully.

“What?” you spit, “you want me to continue you fucking pervert don’t you?”

“Yes please, please, please.”

“Hah!” you laugh in disbelief, “this was never about the burn was it Mister Bunny? This was about you being a fucked up little slut and needing someone to take care of your pathetic body, wasn’t it?” you taunt, running your hands down his thighs to his cock.

“Yes Madam, I’m so fucked up and wanted you to take care of me”, he keens.

“Pathetic.”

You wrap your fingers around his cock and start jerking him off with two hands. Fast and punishing. One works his cock and the other squeezes his balls. The lube spills everywhere, squelching sinfully. His cock is throbbing, squirting precum everywhere.

“You are making such a mess of yourself, how disgusting”, you taunt, spanking his cockhead a few times and watching it cry for you.

You wrap your fingers around him again and start jerking him off. He squeaks and babbles, shakes and writhes.

“I’m gonna cum, please I’m gonna cum, please don’t stop, gonna cum.”

“You are pathetic. I haven’t even touched your little cock for long and you are already close.”

You grip his cock right underneath his frenulum and roll your lubed up and gloved palm over his cockhead repeatedly. His legs begin twitching, he is rolling his ankles again.

One tense of his stomach and you are gone, dropping his cock against his stomach and watching how it twitches angrily.

“No don’t pleaseeeee”, he mewls, arching off the table in an attempt to find any kind of friction.

“I like you Mister Bunny, you are a fun one”, you taunt as you make a mess on his body with the new lube you pour down his cock, balls and ass.

You run your hands up and down his cock a few times then you bury two of your fingers in his hole again, watching him swallow them greedily.

“Yes”, he squeaks.

Fingers curl against his prostate, the others play with his leaking cock. You jerk him off with a certain pressure in your grip, thumb running up and down the angry vein at the underside of his cock and hungry eyes watching the way it changes shapes under your touch before bouncing back into its original shape.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum.”

You pull away and smile.

“Fuck”, he exclaims and bangs his own head against the table, “I need to stop saying that.”

You laugh loudly, grabbing his legs to hold them for him for a moment. You shake them softly, closing and parting them repeatedly just to watch how his sensitive cock gets squished between his muscular thighs so perfectly. It makes him whimper each time.

“You are not making it easier for yourself Mister Bunny, you really aren’t”, you taunt, forcing his hands back to his shins, “hold them.”

Three jerks to his sensitive cock and then he is already mewling so much that you need to let go and move on to playing with his balls instead. He lets out a tiny little sob, moaning afterwards. You tug at them a few times, roll them between your fingers, squeeze them until he wails up and then he is already writhing again.

“Oh Mister Bunny”, you laugh, “you are so sensitive, it’s almost adorable.”

“I feel like fucking exploding”, he answers you in a whine.

“Yeah? Colour?”

Silence then a shy little “….green.”

“Knew it.”

Then you drill your fingers back into his ass, making his back arch off the table and forcing his mouth open in a silent gasp for more. The table is ruined, a pool of lube and his cream has collected on the surface, smearing all over his ass each time he squirms beneath you.

“Look at you leaking for me”, you taunt, grabbing his cock to jerk him off. You squeeze and tug on it, wanting to get as much of his cream outside as possible, “it is like I am milking you.”

He squirms.

“Madam, please don’t stop.”

“Why? Don’t tell me that you are going to cum again.”

“Please don’t stop.”

His prostate feels hot against your fingers, you can feel it burn even through the gloves. His cock is leaking each time you squeeze his cockhead, soiling your glove and dripping on his stomach before running down his body and spreading on the table.

He is so wonderful to look at.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god”, he chants, hugging his legs to present more of his ass to you.

“Keep them spread”, you bark.

He can barely open them, grasping them with his nimble fingers shaking in pleasure.

“That’s better. How else should I take care of your pathetic cock?” you spit, twisting your hand around his throbbing length.

You force your fingers to go deeper until the palm of your hand was resting against his ass. Then you curl them and Bunny wails.

“Oh – nooo”, he hiccups a sob, body literally collapsing on the table, “nonononono”, he cries, legs tangling from the edge and squeezing together in hopes of finding his release that way.

You watch him as he writhes in yet another denied orgasm, smiling to yourself because he looks so adorable when he is so desperate.

“Look at you squirm like a little bitch”, you taunt, grasping his legs by his knees. You force him to lift them again and then press them against his chest with such strength it makes him squeak and gasp for air. You squish his poor cock between his muscular thighs and begin moving them back and forth so he would be fucking himself with his own thighs.

“Icanbarelyhandleitpleasemadamplease”, his words become one long slur of letters and pathetic moans.

“Yes you can, that’s what you came here for. Now stop whining and take what I am giving you, fucking pervert”, you spit, slamming your fingers back inside his clenching hole.

You are fucking him, moving in and out at a punishing speed as you keep your fingers curled just perfectly so that his prostate would be reminded of its existence every time. You use his trembling legs as leverage, still using them to fuck his cock. You can watch how his thighs become more and more covered in his milky cream the longer and harder you finger him.

Bunny isn’t making any sense anymore, babbling and sobbing with his nose snotty and his chin covered in his spit. You can’t see it, but you can hear it. Wet, pathetic moans that sound more like chokes of utter bliss and desperate laughs than anything else.

And you know that he can’t take much more anymore. You know that if you would deny him his orgasm one more time the poor man would probably pass out in misery.

“Pleasepleaseplease”, he sobs, coughing out a wail afterwards, “pleaseeeee.”

You bury your fingers deeper, move his legs over his cock faster and force him over the edge.

Bunny literally loses control over his own body, almost kicking you in the face as his body convulses on the table. His cum shoots everywhere, his mask, his chest, his stomach and the table, even the wall behind him gets treated to a good amount. His ass is fighting against your fingers, squeezing them out while you continue drilling them inside of him and forcing every single one of his very high-pitched screams out of him.

He comes down hard, hitting his head on the metal table and legs sliding down the edge before they tangle in midair lifelessly. His cock continues throbbing, spilling the last remainders of his cum until it slowly becomes less and less.

You watch him take deep breaths, playing with his cum in the meantime.

“How are you doing Mister Bunny?” you ask him.

“Incredible”, he answers you in a croak.

You reach for the last prop on the table. A white towel. You use it to clean up his body, doing so gently. He stays quiet while you work, floating on his afterglow and purring happily.

You raise his legs one last time to clean his ass as best as possible. They are so heavy now that his muscles are literally refusing to work.

“There we go, Mister Bunny. Now you are truly finished with your session”, you say and place them down gently, “I am waiting for a good review on Yelp from you.”

He snorts and laughs. You grin, you normally don’t make jokes like that, but you kind of like making them with Bunny from time to time.

“I’ll leave you a good review Madam. Don’t worry.”

“Well then I am happy.”

Bunny sits up then, struggling until you help him.

“God”, he forces out, sloughing on the table with his head tangling to the front.

“Are you doing good Bunny?” you ask, now that you have officially left the roleplay.

“My ears are literally singing. I think you made my brain explode right now”, he says and laughs breathlessly, “fuck it was amazing. Thank you so much for doing this with me, it was so hot.”

“I’m happy you liked it. You did so well, Bunny”, you praise him with gentle pets to his hair, “come on now, I’ll take you back to my room and we can snuggle.”

You wrap him up in a bathrobe, closing it in the front.

“I like to snuggle”, he whispers, allowing you to lift him off the table to set him down. But before you can set him down, he wraps his legs around your middle and hooks his arms behind your head.

“What? You want me to carry you back?” you ask in a chuckle.

“My legs are not working”, he murmurs cutely.

“You have them literally slung around my waist”, you laugh.

“…they…aren’t working”, he whispers.

You snort and jump once to have a better grip on him.

“Fine, I’ll carry your adorable ass back. But don’t you dare make yourself heavier.”

“I’m not”, he says, nuzzling into your neck contently.

You give him a snack to eat and water to drink while you clean up in the bathroom. When you come back outside Bunny has already finished both of them and is now resting on his side with his legs pulled to his chest.

You turn the lights off to make it more comfortable on the eyes. He moves his head slightly before nuzzling into the pillow with a sigh. The candlelight casts long shadows on his body and make his skin glow golden. He has such a sense of tranquillity around him or maybe it was the complete freeze up before a breakdown. They have the tendency to look dangerously similar. You just hope that he is feeling happy tonight, he deserves it.

“Hey there Bunny, how are you feeling?”

“Alright”, he murmurs.

You sit down next to him and rest against the headboard. Then you begin petting his hair, letting your eyes travel over the paths of his sides.

"Yeah so no aches or discomforts?" 

He shakes his head.

"My skin burns a little, but it's nice", he says and reaches behind himself to run his fingers up and down his asshole, "it's so soft now." 

You laugh. 

"Yeah well I actually tried to do a good job. You'll like the look. It suits you." 

"Yeah? You’re into it?" 

You falter with your answer. There he goes again, wanting to do things for you. 

"Mhm yeah, but you know that I don’t mind about hair. I think it's hot too." 

"So you like both?" 

"Sure, I have no preference."

"Okay." 

Bunny scoots closer until he can rest his head on your lap, hugging your legs as he does. You try not to concentrate on the way his gesture makes you feel. 

"Are you tired?" you ask him. 

"Yeah", he murmurs.

“I feel you, that week has only started and I already want it to be over with”, you murmur and close your eyes, “at least tonight I can rest, that’s honestly amazing.”

You start playing with his ear mindlessly, wanting to soothe him into a peaceful slumber.

“Do you like it with me?” he asks quietly.

You look at the parts of his face his mask doesn’t cover. Oh Bunny…

Then you sigh and look away.

“Yes, I like it with you. You are fun.”

“So are you still aching?”

“No, I’m not.”

“I was able to be your punching bag then?”

“No Bunny, you weren’t my punching bag, you were my playmate with whom I shared a good time with.”

“Okay.”

“Unless you didn’t have a good time, then let’s talk about it and see what we can do better next time.”

“No I had a good time, just….feeling sentimental.”

You tug his hair behind his ear and caress his earlobe softly.

“Tell me about it.”

“No, it’s nothing. I’m just sentimental.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, just…please rest Lucky.”

“You know that I can rest and listen, right?”

“Yeah, but just rest please.”

“Alright”, you close your eyes, “I’ll be there if you change your mind.

You share silence for a little while. It wasn’t actual silence. The ceiling was vibrating in the music upstairs and from somewhere on this long hallway of rooms two people were currently screaming their lungs off in pleasure. You are used to those sounds, so used in fact that the room seems to be completely silent safe for the steady breathing of Bunny. You take a deep breath and release it in a sigh of relaxation. You fucking love your nights with him. It is like a little holiday in your otherwise endless nights of bad fucks.

“I forgot to call my sister”, he whispers all of a sudden.

You open your eyes and look down at him.

“Mhm?”

“That night I talked about Hell, I promised her that I would call her, but I didn’t.”

“That was two months ago.”

“I know.”

“And you remembered that only now?”

“No, in my office. I remembered it in my office and then I called her.”

“Was she angry?”

“Yes.”

“Did she cry?”

“Yes.”

“Did she yell at you?”

“No, she kept quiet.”

“Fuck, that’s worse.”

“I know.”

“Is she the one married to her brother?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For bringing her up again.”

Bunny sighs.

“It’s okay, I don’t really mind anymore.”

“Really?”

“Most of the time, yeah.”

“But that’s good, it means you are healing.”

“I’m not healing, not when I still think about her. I shouldn’t think about her. It’s been a year. I should stop thinking about her.”

“You still want her back?”

“No. No, I don’t want her back.”

“But that’s good, you are healing.”

“No I’m not!” he yells, sitting up in bed, “why do you keep saying that? I'm confused and angry and tired and upset all the time and I just want something, anything to make sense again."

“And booze makes sense?”

“No, no fuck”, he chokes out, twisting his own hair, “it doesn’t. It leaves me confused and hurting more than I did before.”

“And yet you can’t stop doing it. The drinking I mean.”

Bunny sobs, nodding his head.

“And that is why you keep thinking about her. You blame her.”

He shakes his head.

“Well, who do you blame then?”

“Myself. I’m blaming myself.”

“For not being strong enough to stop?”

“Yes.”

“And for forgetting to call your sister?”

Bunny sobs, “yes.”

“She will forgive you.”

“No”, he chokes out, “no she won’t. I disappointed her. She hates me, I know she does. Why shouldn’t she? When she has such a disgusting, despicable loser as a little brother?”

“Stop that!”

Bunny raises his head.

“That’s bullshit what you are saying.”

“It’s the truth.”

You are so angry at him. So angry that you can’t help but push him back into the mattress, towering over him with your hands on his shoulders.

"I don't like it when you talk like this. And listen I'm not saying that you should stop talking like this so I can feel better. Don't fucking be considerate of me. Stop talking like this for your own sake, because if you keep talking like this, if you keep telling yourself over and over and over again how terrible you and everything you stand for is, you'll one day start to believe it. And that's not the fate, time or the universe has planned for you."

You shake him softly.

“Do you hear me? You are not supposed to feel shitty about yourself.”

“But I do.”

“I know you do and I know that it’s fucking hard not to when you became so comfortable in the tub of shit you forced yourself into. But Bunny, fuck, stop finding enjoyment in those thoughts.”

“I don’t find enjoyment in them.”

“Good, I hope you don’t. Because trust me, once you do. Once you make hating yourself your comfort zone, it’s almost fucking impossible to crawl out of it.”

You sit down on his stomach and intertwine your fingers with his.

"It's understandable to have your mind racing with those memories because it's the only way for you to heal. Trust me, I still have nightmares about my brother and that shit happened six years ago. There is no time limit on grieving, that’s the shitty part, that it can sometimes take you a day to get over something and other stuff you carry with you for half of your life.”

You squeeze his hands, feeling how he squeezes them back.

“But the heartbreak will get easier, please trust me on that. Even if it is unbearable at first and you just want to force it down every time it creeps up on you, there will come a time where it doesn't hurt you that much anymore.” 

You can sense that Bunny is listening intently, his sobbing has stopped and the tension in his muscles gets less with every gentle touch of your fingers. 

"I can't tell you exactly when this time will come, but I promise you it will come. Just don’t make hating yourself your comfort zone, please don’t do that to yourself." 

You lean down and rest your forehead against his. It sucks so much that your masks are preventing you from feeling his skin against yours.

“And other than me, you aren’t alone in this”, you whisper, "I’m with you, as your shoulder to cry on and as your comfort whenever you need it”, you promise him, knowing very well that this promise goes way beyond business. But sometimes, only sometimes, you feel like being with Bunny has long stopped being business for you.

He twists his fingers in your hair, arching into you.

“I want to be with you Lucky”, he breathes, pressing your head closer until your mask is hurting your nose.

“Bunny my mask, it hurts.”

“Then take it off. Let me see your face, please.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Please Lucky”, he begs, rubbing the nose of his mask against yours, “please.”

“No.”

“What if I take you out? Meet you as the man behind the mask and not as Bunny? No business, just two people meeting.”

“What would we even do?”

“Whatever you want to do.”

“I don’t know, Bunny. I’m terrible at dates.”

“I don’t care. We could spend eight hours staring at a wall and I would be happy.”

You laugh.

“I just want to be with you.”

“You are with me.”

“That’s not what I meant. Outside this room and this club. Where it’s just the two of us.”

“It is just the two of us. Right now, it’s just you and I.”

Bunny presses you closer, cursing under his breath because all he wants to do is kiss your lips but he can’t.

“I’m sorry Bunny”, you whisper, caressing his ears softly.

“Fuck Lucky”, he chokes out, fingers slipping from your hair to twist the edge of the pillow instead, “I’m so fucked because of you.”

#jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook romance #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #ceo!jungkook #sub!jungkook #bottom!jungkook #bts smut #bts angst #bts romance #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #bts x you #sub!bts #bottom!bts #ceo!bts #bangtan smut #bangtan angst #bangtan romance #bangtan fluff #bangtan fanfic #bangtan fanfiction #bangtan x reader #fanfic: aaol

[gnocchighoul]

Hmm.. kind of a random thing but that's how my brain works sometimes but hear me out! The Bros (plus undatables and Luke if you want) get turned into cats. What type of cat would they be, how would mc react, and how would they react to being a cat.

I had SO much fun writing this one. Thank you for this excellent prompt 💗

This is just the demon bros getting turned into cats, but I might make a part two with the undateables! :D

~

Lucifer

Oh he’s going to be so pissed off. 

Seriously, even as a cat, his murder-death-murder-death stare is beyond intense. He will sit himself high up on furniture to glare down on everyone like the prettiest gargoyle you’ve ever seen. 

Nobody is allowed to come near him. He will swat and hiss at anyone and everyone who approaches, unless they are approaching to turn him back into a demon. 

BUT if you had nothing to do with this curse that’s fallen upon him, then he’ll probably let you near, as long as you’re not like, weird about it. Seriously, don’t baby talk at him, he’s not actually a cat.

Cat-Lucifer will probably just want to constantly stand on your shoulders and wrap his tail around your neck, which isn’t super comfortable because he’s not exactly small and dainty. 

Also, every time you say something stupid he’s gonna bite your ear lol

Tbh he’s probably going to make you carry him everywhere like that and he’s gonna control where you go -- you know, kinda like ratatouille LMAO

Mammon

You know those cats that climb literally everything and anything?

Yeah.

When he first gets turned into a cat, he freaks the fuck out. But when he finally calms down and isn’t meowing up an angry storm, he’s gonna realize that this is a great opportunity. for evil.

He's gonna book it the second he realizes that he can literally be a cat-thief.

Nothing is safe from his grabby little gremlin paws.

He steals so much shit (wallets, Asmo’s jewelry, Levi’s limited edition collectors items--anything he can carry in his mouth or drag around) and then he stashes it all in your room, because unfortunately, becoming a cat didn’t make him any smarter.

Lucifer tasks you with just sitting in your room and keeping track of everything cat-Mams steals so that you can return everything to their rightful owners.

You quickly become used to cat-Mams sauntering in and out of your room every five minutes with his newfound riches.

So it’s a bit concerning when Mams darts out of your room after stashing a wallet in his hoard, and doesn’t come back after thirty minutes.

Naturally, you go looking for him.

You’ve only been searching for about twenty minutes, when pathetic meowing reaches your ears. You follow the sound, and--

You find him stuck in a cardboard box.

(before fishing him out, you take tons of pictures. He’s very upset.)

Levi

Levi is so distraught. He’s literally going to just wail and roll around on the floor until somebody picks him up. 

He’s literally the crying cat meme.

Once he’s in your arms, do not put him down. He’s very sad and his reflexes really aren’t good. You know how you can just kinda toss cats onto the floor and they’ll land on their feet just fine?

He will not. 

Is suuuuper jumpy and only trusts you (and maybe Beel, but he’s lowkey afraid that Beel is going to eat him.) 

You should probably get him one of those bubble back-packs that cats can sit in and carry him around in that. 

He has the worst time as a cat. He just wants to play his video games :(

(But if you give him lots of smooches, it’ll make his suffering a little bit easier to deal with. But like, he’s gonna turn into an overwhelmed ragdoll when u start giving him the smooches)

Satan

Honestly? He isn’t that opposed to being a cat for a little while.

But he’s also like. So hyperactive. Goes from 0-1000 in half a second.

He’s got the zoomies.

He’s gonna parkour his way around the house of lamentation, testing how fast he can zoom, how high and far he can jump (and how far he can fall without hurting himself)

He’s gonna do a backflip off lucifer at the speed of light and then sprint away as fast as he can to go wreck some shit

If you want to hold him, you’re going to have to catch him mid-air. If he doesn’t just squirm out of your arms and actually lets you pet him, he’s gonna stare you dead in the eyes, extend his claws, and then pat your leg with his lil toe beans.

You’re not entirely sure if that means ‘keep petting me’ or ‘stop it right now’ so you just kinda scratch his ears instead

Asmo

Even as a cat he’s beautiful and everybody has to see just how pretty he is. 

He’s constantly striking poses. 

Looking back over his shoulder. Stretching his leggies out so you can see how long and lean they are. Contorting his body in the WEIRDEST ways because he’s even more flexible now.

He does not run anywhere, he struts very daintily and model-like.

He’s gonna be so affectionate. Constantly rubbing his cheeks all over you, and leaning against you, but be careful while you give him pets because if you mess up his fur he’s gonna swat your hands away.

He’s also definitely going to be really annoying and constantly walk in front of your feet and trip you up. Where are you going, why aren’t you admiring him, dammit

You know how most cats hate water?

Not asmo. 

He’s gonna make you fill the bathtub up to his chin so he can float around on his tiptoes with just the upper half of his head out of the water like a crocodile. 

Then you have to blow-dry him until he’s all nice and fluffy and give him a good brush. 

He will absolutely tolerate you dressing him up and taking pictures as long as you make him look nice. He won’t allow you to put him in stupid costumes (he’s gonna bite you when you bust out a lobster costume) but a pearl necklace? Hell yeah.

Beel

Feed him dammit, he’s starving.

Cat-Beel is going to gnaw on EVERYTHING. Furniture. Books. Clothes. Your hands and ankles. 

It’s not anxiety -- honestly he really doesn’t mind being a cat -- he’s just so hungy.

Also he’s MASSIVE. 

You don’t actually know that he’s been turned into a cat until you go to the kitchen for a snack and find an orange & white cat the size of a literal child raiding the fridge. 

Which brings me to my next point -- he’s gonna be SUCH a snuggle bug. Like those really big dogs that insist on sitting in your lap and crushing you. If he isn’t eating then he just wants to flop on top of you and crush you with his love.

You can baby-talk at him if you want, as long as you give him treats and snuggle him. 

He purrs so. Much. 

Will also let u just roll him around and do whatever you want to him dkjncdsn he’s honestly the chillest out of them all

Belphie

God he’s so fucking upset at first, like claws out, hissing and spitting at everyone, full on tantruming upset, BUT THEN. but then. You pick him up and press a kiss to his sweet little triangle head and he bleps and it's all over.

Good luck getting anything done. Cat-Belphie is going to demand your full attention for snuggles CONSTANTLY. 

No, he doesn’t care that you’re trying to research ways to turn him back, he’s gonna plop his little butt on the tome you’re attempting to read until you give him love, dammit.

Honestly, Belphie being a cat isn’t that much different from normal. The biggest difference is that now he can squeeze into weirder places to nap, which makes it very difficult to keep track of him. 

After searching for two fucking hours, you, Satan, Levi, and Beel find him stretched out across the arms of one of the chandeliers in the dining room, like it’s some kind of weird hammock. 

He’s fast asleep. Nobody knows how he got up there. 

(To get down, he ends up yeeting himself into Beel’s arms.)

If Bells isn’t napping, then he’s hiding under furniture, waiting for his next victim to walk by so he can attack their ankles.

(also the most likely to bite u when he wants your attention)

((part 2 with the undateables))

#obey me headcanons #obey me hc #obey me shall we date #swd obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me #gnocchicanons

[periminkle]

blazes of deceit

this fic is a part of the disney collab hosted by @btswritingcafe​!! please go check out all the other talented writers and their works 💕

+ summary. When the opportunity to finally venture past the stone walls you’ve grown up in presents itself, you jump at the chance to discover the origin of those mysterious lights—even if the trip comes with a harsh truth and a suspicious, yet undoubtedly attractive, tour guide.

+ pairing. jungkook x reader

+ genre. fluff, angst. tangled!au.

+ word count. 26.052

+ rating. 18+

+ warnings. threats against a baby’s life, unwarranted death, mom problems, trespassing, pan violence, hiding a (not dead) body, tying people up with hair, curse words, drinking, thievery, deadly chase, sword/pan fight, recklessly jumping from a great height, graphic descriptions of wounds and blood, general violence, dark family matters (it’s pretty twisted!), orchestrated infidelity.

+ author’s note. happy early birthday to golden baby jungkook!! this fic took me wAY too long to write but she’s finally here! HUGE thank you to my big brain frenemy @guklvr​ for beta reading and hyping me up by boosting my confidence level +2000 even tho she’s on vacation and should be relaxing LMAO i would’ve postponed this until next year if u didn’t push me so TY ILY LOADS CARL 💘 i also wanted to shoutout #1 jk ryder supporter @dewykth​ and wofe @yeojaa​ for encouraging me every step along the way, y’all are the best n ily both to pieces 💝💕

You are positively ravenous.

Flurries of people scurry past the towering bars of your crib, yet none spare a glance in your direction despite your boisterous wailing. Like moths to a flame, they’re all huddled in one corner, surrounding a panting woman that clutches her rotund abdomen in one hand while tightly clasping onto a bejewelled crown in the other.

“What are you waiting for?” she spits out, hardened orbs narrowed in on your pathetic form.

“Your Royal Majesty, it’s only been an hour since you have given birth, please reconsider—”

Her glower is redirected onto the younger woman’s trembling form. “Are you questioning your Queen? Shall we reconsider your life as well?”

“No,” she begs, her tone quivering with anguish, “please spare my ignorant self.”

Your facial muscles begin to cramp and the walls of your throat feel like sandpaper, which only serves to exacerbate your violent sobs. The insistent suckling on your thumb is doing nothing to quell your raging stomach.

Her lips peel back to reveal two rows of pearly white, dazzling teeth framed by a nasty snarl. “Somebody slit that brat’s throat!”

Another midwife adorned in the bloody rags of childbirth darts across the cramped space with a weeping bundle of rough canvas in her arms. As she scrambles to deliver the shuddering newborn into his counterfeit mother’s arms, the clumsy woman trips over thin air, flying across her enraged Queen’s lap. Without a second thought, her backside is pierced by a shiny steel sword, sullied in a crimson liquid when it reappears.

The introduction of another babe deters your cries for attention. Instead, you distract yourself with a dull glimmer that you catch in your peripheral. Your chubby fingers hopelessly extend toward the dingy stars dangling above your head, just out of reach, reflecting the bright orange tiger lily printed onto the high ceiling of your cage.

“Not a soul shall speak of today's treachery.”

You’re well aware that your short arms could never stretch the distance required to satiate your unending curiosity; but they stay aloft, searching for the reassuring warmth of your mother’s embrace.

“Our blood will remain on the throne.”

Screams of agony overwhelm your developing eardrums as your tiny hands come to cradle your head, willing the pain to end.

Every inch of your walls is covered with abstract paintings, doodles of twisting branches snaking around the edges, dainty birds in every colour under the sun, and a joyous little girl dancing in her own brilliant freedom. No matter where you look, bespeckled tiger lilies are buried within the intricate linework like easter eggs, waiting to be found.

Your favourite by far is the uncanny depiction of the image stashed deep inside the crevices of your memory, a sight your heart desires to view most from up close. The miniature illustration captures your longing gaze pinned on the multitudinous lights ascending from a foreign location, golden hair streaming down your back and flowing over the fireplace in your determination to capture its vast length.

You attempt to steel your nerves for the umpteenth time, but you can’t help your nervous pacing across the minuscule length of your room. The entire tower is spotless as a result of your mindless cleaning—floors scrubbed twice, nonexistent dust wiped away, and trinkets set at the perfect angle to encourage your mother to comply with your outrageous request.

Today is the day, after all. The day that you’ll finally convince the stubborn woman to bring you out to watch the masses of floating lanterns disappear into the night sky.

The pitter-patter of your bare feet scuttling against the concrete floors nearly drown out the melodic appellations from outside your window.

“—down your hair!”

You dash over to the aperture, hastily gathering the ends of your mane to fling down while fixing the bulk of it onto the hook above your head. When the figure enshrouded in a black cloak snatches up your tresses, looping it around to create a foothold and carefully wedges one leg inside, you haul them up through the makeshift pulley.

By the time both of their feet are safely planted on the ground next to yours, sweat is beginning to form by your temples and the perpetual ache in your arms flares from consistently being forced to heave another grown adult up the stretch of the colossal tower.

“Welcome home, Mother.” You pull the rest of your hair inside and turn to face the stunning woman who lowers her excessively long hood, the extra length of fabric intentionally stitched on to keep her identity obscure as she travels.

Your mother sweeps you up into her comforting embrace and you allow yourself to relax in her arms, resting your cheek on her chest while your digits tightly clasp on to one another around her middle. Her chin settles onto the crown of your head.

“You would think that lifting me up all these years would give you some more upper body strength,” she says, her disappointment practically tangible. Placing both manicured hands upon each of your shoulders with a light squeeze, she pushes you back to examine your body from head to toe. “But look at you! My poor, delicate, little flower.”

Your forehead creases from your raised brows as a tense smile completes your agitated countenance.

“Oh, darling, what’s wrong? Come, come with Mother.” The adamant woman latches onto your forearm, dragging you over to the rustic fireplace and pressing down on your shoulders. Ever the obedient child, you kneel down onto the thick rug below.

Your mother delicately takes a seat on the antique chair beside you, a weary sigh slipping past her lips before she starts sweeping a brush through your golden strands. As per tradition, you sing the incantation that’s essentially engraved in the back of your mind at this point.

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine,”

A gleaming shimmer races across your tresses at the verse and from the corner of your vision you watch the light creases marring your mother’s features fade in rapt attention. She hums along to the tune with a detached, distant look in her eyes.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fates' design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine,”

You allow your lids to slide closed, gathering all the courage you can muster for the following conversation.

“What once was mine.”

Once the last note fades and a deafening silence reigns, she gently urges, “Tell Mother everything.”

This is it, it’s now or never.

“Uh, well, as you know,” you mumble, clearing your throat, “my eighteenth birthday is tomorrow.”

“Mhm, and I’ve already gotten your present as well,” she hums, steadily working her way down your mass of hair.

You falter at the information she casually reveals, guilt eating away at your conscience for preparing to ruin her good mood. “Yes, I know you’re always thinking of me, but, uh, well—”

“You can tell me, darling.” You register your mother’s heavy palm stroking your head, coaxing the words to tumble out of your mouth.

So you lay it on her. “I was just wondering if you would take me to see the lanterns this year.”

“What was that?” she questions, rightfully so when the garbled words blurt out quicker than you can process.

Before you can second guess yourself, you stammer, “C-can we please go see the lanterns?”

The brush suddenly halts in its path, suspended within the waves and dips of your many strands. Although you can’t see her, you know your mother well enough to feel her stiffen up, peeved at the topic you’ve brought up many times before.

“Petal—”

You interrupt, desperate to plead your case, “Mother, please, I’ve been waiting for—”

“Zip it.” You instantly clamp up at her hissing.

Your mother takes her time to stand, stalking over to halt directly in front of your hunched form. Her daunting figure looms above you, fierce orbs evoking a filthy shame that sinks its claws into your spine, and you lower your stare to her ankles from its intense weight. “Enough. I don’t understand why you keep asking this idiotic question when you already know what my answer is going to be.”

Her spontaneous refusal dampens your spirit, but you press on. “I just, uh, thought that I could see them once for my birthday a-and then I’d never ask to leave the tower again.”  

With a scowl as cold as an executioner’s axe, her arms come to cross beneath her bust. “I’ve already told you time and time again that they’re to celebrate the healthy birth of the Prince, any special ‘connection’ you feel to these lights is simply misguided and naive.”

You scramble to gather the scraps of bravery she shredded in order to sputter out, “But it’s my b-birthday too. Even if it’s just a coincidence, I wanna see them with my own two eyes.”

“How many times do I have to explain to you how dangerous the world is outside these walls? Do you know how many people are jumping at the chance to use your magic for themselves?” She rolls her eyes, chiding at you as if you’re a petulant child who disobeyed their elders one too many times. “If your little heart wants some adventure, you can go downstairs and explore the living room, besides darling, you should be thankful that nothing has happened all these years.”

“How am I supposed to be thankful for anything when you keep coddling me like this!” you lash out, frustration bubbling over at her usual response and refusing to toe the line any longer. Any notion of gently swaying her judgement or prompting her to consider your point of view is thrown out the window.

But your mother is nothing if not resolute.

“What?” Her words turn to ice—syllables forming razor-sharp blades that figuratively line your throat, poised to strike the second you step out of place. “Do you want to repeat that?”

Your breaths quicken, deathly afraid of the repercussions that will follow if you decide to continue your rebellious act. It wouldn’t be the first time that she punished you for begging to leave the tower.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, head hanging low and voice laced with resignation, “I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Aw, my precious petal,” she coos, her mood drastically flipping one hundred and eighty degrees as the edges of her lips subtly point upwards at your obedience. “That’s why Mother is here, to guide you in the right direction. You know that I’m only looking out for you, right?”

“Of course, Mother.”

Evidently content with the outcome of the conversation, she turns back to continue brushing through your tresses.

By the time her ebony cloak rests upon her thin shoulders, hood draping over her face, your hair is already hanging by the hook above the window and she hops through the opening to lower herself to the ground below. You watch as her figure shrinks with the increasing distance, only turning back once to give a short wave before disappearing through the lush greenery.

And then you’re alone once again.

In the hours that pass after your mother’s departure, you become well acquainted with the five stages of grief. Of course, your requests to leave have been denied more times than you can count on both hands, but you foolishly believed that mentioning the eighteen years you spent cooped up in one place, fending off boredom, would hit a soft spot.

You forgot that your mother doesn’t have any of those.

Obviously, she anticipated your attempt to convince her by throwing yourself a pity party, as she deliberately mentioned purchasing a gift in advance. Out of all your celebrations, you couldn’t recall a single time where she prepared—much less remembered—your birthday.

Utterly absorbed within your final stage of acceptance, you lose yourself within your thoughts. That’s why the steady, rhythmic tapping on the cobblestone metres below makes you jump, mind wiped clean of everything except questioning the origin of the sound. Goosebumps manifest across the length of your arms, already slick with cold sweat.

Initially, you believe that your mother may have misplaced something, but your doubt accumulates when you don’t hear her usual jingle follow the rapping. You wonder if she is harbouring acrimony at your earlier outburst—even though she seemed quite pleased as she left.

Thus, like the loving daughter you are, you gather the ends of your hair, about to throw the lump over the aperture when you take notice of the stranger’s bulky frame and lack of disguise. Last time you checked, Mother certainly hadn’t chopped all her curls off either.

You can feel your heart thumping in your head, chest rising and falling expeditiously to compensate for the sudden rush of adrenaline surging through your veins. In your distress, her words come back to bite you, echoing within your mind that he must be after your magic.

Mother knows best, after all.

Discreetly glancing back down, you spot the man scaling the wall using two arrows, a feat which you’re sure he wouldn’t be capable of performing without those well-defined muscles, attractively outlined through his thin clothing. Realizing that you’re wasting time ogling at the intruder, you spin back to survey your room, scanning the area for any weapons you can use to defend yourself.

You disregard any prospect of overpowering him and decide to approach the confrontation by taking advantage of your ability to startle him. Before long, the sounds of the rigid arrowheads wedging into the spaces between the stones are no more than a couple of metres away, and you grab the nearest object in a blind panic.

All too soon, his large hands are gripping the window sill, and you scurry to press your body against the wall directly next to the opening. You grip the handle of metal tighter, struggling to keep your heavy breaths silent as you watch his fit form effortlessly raise himself up past the open window.

When he lands inside, you’re transfixed by the way his shirt hangs on his brawny body, the veins in his arms enlarged from the physical exertion of carrying his weight up the tower. Just for that moment, you let your eyes roam his lean figure in unadulterated fascination.

“Hah! Stupid guards, thinking they could catch me after—”

And then that moment ends.

A loud clang resounds throughout the cramped space as a result of the pan in your hand bashing into the back of his head. For a split second, you worry if the force behind your swing is enough to knock him out cold, but then he meets the floor headfirst. You wince for him.

With the substitute weapon in hand, you circle around his seemingly unconscious form up to his head, which is turned away from your prying stare. In order to decipher his level of cognizance, you crouch down and bow over him to get a better look at his face.

Long, dark locks that were perfectly mussed before his fall now cover nearly half his countenance, so you push them to the side to reveal his closed lids and strong brows. Following the curve of his cheekbones, you pass his cupid’s bow to gaze upon his thin lips, a tiny beauty mark laying directly underneath—an intimate detail that you feel uncomfortable knowing.

A faint blush colours your cheeks as you comprehend how utterly breathtaking the stranger is, drastically disparate to the stories your mother told you as a child, where men resembled ogres that lived under bridges, grotesque and unkempt.

He is nothing like that. Not at all.

He reminds you of the princes you read about in picture books—dashing and strong, willing to go to extreme lengths to find their Princess, their one true love. You know you’re taking it too far when you begin to fantasize about his personality purely based on his, admittedly, strikingly handsome appearance. With a vigorous shake of your head, you force yourself out of your reverie and get back to your task.

You stretch two fingers out to rest just beneath his nostrils, feeling the warm air that leaves his body at constant intervals, a good sign that he was not only alive but knocked out cold.

You prod at his shoulder, whispering, “Are you awake?”

No reaction.

With this confirmation, you take hold of one of his wrists with both hands and clench your jaw while leaning back, trying to use your body weight to help drag him. He proves to be much heavier than you initially believed, though you feel him moving inch by inch. Rather than another human being, you simply think of him as a heavy sack of potatoes for the sake of your conscience as you shuffle backwards, heading for the wardrobe on the other side of the room.

By the time you reach said armoire, you collapse on the ground next to him, gulping in as much air as you can. Now, there was simply the problem of shoving him inside. You turn your head to face the stranger, pouting at the prospect of having to lift his bulky self.

After much pushing and rearranging, the doors finally close behind him, although, as you predicted, stuffing him in there took much longer than you would like to admit. You aren’t sure how comfortable he is in the disfigured pretzel position you left him in, but his contentment is not at the top of your list of priorities right now.

Rubbing your palms together, you go to pick up the frying pan that lay discarded on the floor near the window when you take notice of the brown satchel that sat next to it. You have no use for any kind of travelling equipment, obviously, what with your whole life existing in this tall building, and your mother only carries a quaint, woven basket around. She is insistent on living as modestly as possible, and that includes whatever goodies she brings back from her adventures.

That rules out everyone but the stranger. The bag does look more masculine, anyway. Grabbing the strap, you raise the object in question up to have a closer inspection and find the leather to be heavier than expected. There are odd bumps protruding from its exterior, filling you with a tenuous curiosity.

Carefully, you lift the flap open to expose a heavily jewelled crown. Perplexity is written within the creases of your brows as you reach to grab the item within and drop the empty satchel. From your inexperienced eyes, the thing is as real as it gets, a shimmering gold decorated with the finest jewels in the kingdom. The different colours of each gem catch the light, reflecting the brilliant rays onto the walls of your room.

Your impromptu analysis concludes with an inexplicable pull towards the diadem, which you’re uncertain how to act upon until you involuntarily place the crown on your head. You turn to face the mirror leaning against the wall and it feels so right, as though two matching puzzle pieces have finally been brought together. The reflection staring back at you seems complete in ways you have never been before.

Yet, you can’t begin to fathom the reasoning behind all these strange epiphanies, unfamiliar with the tranquillity that quiets the constant buzzing in your head. Overwhelmed, you remove the crown and not a moment too soon, for a familiar, shrill shriek meets your ears.

“Petal!”

Your stomach lurches. Eyes darting to the wardrobe, you’re reminded of the man inside. You know if Mother saw him, she would definitely freak out, maybe even refuse to visit for the next week to drive you insane with solitude. But, then again, you could use him as an example to show that you could handle yourself out in that dangerous world she was always going on and on about.

“Let down your hair!”

You stuff the diadem back in the bag and stow it in an empty flower pot.

Giddy at the prospect of having a legitimate argument to reinforce your reasoning to leave the tower, you dash to the window sill and fling your hair over without a second glance outside. The rush of excitement blinds you from the sensitivity of your sore muscles as you haul her up.

“Petal,” your mother grits out, staggering inside due to your rushed actions, “what did I tell you about checking who’s calling before letting your hair down?”

“Hello, Mother!” you brush off her question, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. “I have something really important to show you!”

“Don’t change the subject.” She squints her eyes at you, lips pursed with frustration. “You're getting more and more reckless. One of these days, a crook will make their way up here and you’ll be foolish enough to invite them inside, maybe pour them a cup of tea while you’re at it?”

“I’m truly sorry.” You decide to humour her to prevent her temperament from flaring, throwing out a meaningless apology—one you’re used to blurting out left and right.

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” she says, as smug and haughty as always. Your mother removes her coat, handing it off to you. “But today’s your lucky day! Just as I was about to visit, I remembered to bring your present!”

Your heart warms at your mother’s unusual thoughtfulness, although you’re much too eager to prove your strength first. “Ah, thank you, Mother. But I really want to show you—”

“Something more important than your mother’s present?”

“Of course not! I just wanted to get it out of the way so that I could enjoy your present later.” She seems unconvinced, so you add, “Y’know how they always say to leave the best for last?”

The older woman heaves an exasperated sigh, shoving you out of the way as she heads for the armchair in the corner. She slumps her tired form on the rickety seat as it creaks its refusal, then waves her hand, gesticulating that you get on with whatever it is you have up your sleeves.

Perspiration gathers within your palms and you fight to ward off the minuscule smile that plays on your lips while you gradually make your way back to the wooden armoire, “So, you’re always going on about how weak and fragile I am…”

“Yes.” She rests her chin in her hand, scrutinizing every hair on your head as though the answers to your ridiculous behaviour are buried within the multitudinous strands. “And what of it?”

“Well, I just thought that I should show you,” you start as your back hits the old furniture and your fingertips graze its rough texture. “That I’m more than capable of handling myself when we go out to—”

“When we go out?” she interrupts, irritation hardening her sharp features as she fixes you with an enraged scowl. “And where do you suppose we’re going exactly?”

You hesitate as your earlier confidence slips and you scramble to correct your word choice before she completely blows you off. “Uh, I just meant that this will show you how strong I am, and, uh…”

An eerie silence occupies the room when you find yourself at a loss for words. You know that your blabbering will get you absolutely nowhere, so you tighten your grip on the handles of the wardrobe, counting on your actions to speak louder than your words ever could.

“How old are you turning again, Y/N? It was eighteen, was it not?”

You shrink under her abrupt question, choosing to play along to pacify the shreds of annoyance flickering in her orbs. “Yes, Mother.”

“And for how long are we going to play this game?” she asks, standing with her basket in tow. Your mother rounds closer to you and your gaze automatically flies to the floor.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“What’re you hiding this time? Did you find another mouse? A rat?” she mocks, resting one hand on her hip. “Ooh, did a raccoon find its way inside?” Once her face is a mere couple of inches from your nose, you allow your eyes to meet her own, dreadfully empty ones. The sight sends a chill down your spine.

You release your hold on the furniture, dejection seeping from your tone. “Two mice this time.”

Her boisterous cackle echoes off the stone walls and she clutches her stomach in an attempt to quell the onslaught of laughter. The gesture reminds you of the countless other times you tried to ‘prove yourself’ through similar methods when you were younger, catching rodents that occasionally found their way into the nooks and crannies of the tower.

The first time you caught a mouse, you’d been ecstatic, rushing to show it off to the only person you knew. Although at that age, rather than a ticket to freedom, you were simply seeking your mother’s approval and perhaps a few praises here and there. You wanted to prove that despite your lonely upbringing—with your mother lounging around the tower for only a few hours every other day—you could handle yourself. She wouldn’t have to worry.

Evidently, you were too young to understand your mother’s rash nature, and she immediately assumed the worst—that you had somehow managed to sneak outside and wanted to prove your calibre by hunting down a nearby animal. The harsh scolding you received that day still lingers as a scar on your wrist, a painful reminder to never cross your mother.

“The outside world is not a simple matter of ‘two mice’ darling. You should know better than to think I’ll ever be impressed by these foolish displays of strength.” She swoops you up into her arms and you automatically bring your hands to circle her lithe waist. “That’s why you’ll always need Mother to protect you.”

Your chin rests on her shoulder, stare unfocused as you dismally state, “Yes, Mother.”

“Now, onto more exciting matters.” A couple of light, successive pats strike your back and you’re released from her hold. She is quick to open her wooden basket and rummage through the contents, reaching inside for what you assume to be your birthday present. The vegetables in her hand don’t excite you, but you put on a fake grin for her anyway. “I’m making your favourite soup!”

She scurries away from your static form to head past the doorway, but you stop her in her tracks with a low voice. “I’m not really feeling up for soup today.”

“You know how far the journey is to get some of these vegetables, let alone how expensive each one is!” she exclaims, waving said produce in her hand as she spins to face you.

“I’m really sorry, Mother,” you mumble, flashing her your best puppy-dog eyes. “But I ran out of paint recently and I’m feeling kind of down about it.”

She tuts. “That’s a three-day journey, Petal.”

“I know, it’s just that when I can’t distract myself with painting, I get these horrible thoughts of leaving the tower.” Doing your best to reason with her, you shift your weight to the other foot and fiddle around with your fingernails, attempting to appear as innocent as possible. “And I think those paints are a much better idea than going out to see the lights.”

A few seconds pass before a groan escapes your mother’s lips. “You’re lucky Mother loves you dearly.”

You stumble into her torso, grateful that she is unintentionally following along with your plan—a tedious scheme that you were saving as a last resort. She strokes the crown of your head, allowing you to nuzzle your cheek into the comfort of your mother’s embrace before her immediate departure.

Goodbyes are exchanged with some more reprimands sprinkled into the conversation, then she scales down the building and is no longer in your line of sight. You rub the nape of your neck, inching towards the armoire as you ponder whether a trip to indulge in your greatest desires is worth it when weighed against the lifelong bond you have with your own blood.

While navigating through your moral dilemma, you twist open the knob and watch as the scruffy man’s body slumps down to the floor without the support of the door to hold him upright. You refrain from cringing at his reddened nose.

Prioritizing your safety first, you retrieve your trusty pan and manhandle his body onto a chair, the seat still warm from your mother’s presence. This time around, you won’t be able to attain the upper hand by catching him off guard, so you settle on tying him up.

The question is: with what? You have no reason to keep ropes casually lying around the tower and one glance at his bulging biceps assures you that sewing thread will not be enough either.

As you’re thinking about stuffing him back into the wardrobe until you come up with a better idea, the blond strands at the edge of your peripheral catch your eye. For the first time in your life, your excessively long hair proves to be of use.

When he is tightly restrained to the armchair, your tresses acting like a straitjacket around his torso and snaking around his legs, you step back to appreciate your work. Your eyes drift over his corded muscles and roam over his face once again.

Before you let yourself get lost in his model-like features, your free hand reaches out, palm outstretched, to slap him across the face.

You nurse the stinging pain ebbing atop your outermost layer of skin, cradling the appendage to your chest as you hiss out a low whine, although the sound is masked by the low timbre of a groan. Your body stiffens while you gawk at the stranger, watching him gather his surroundings, whipping his head back and forth before his chestnut orbs land on you.

Your grip on the handle of the pot tightens.

“Wha—”

“No! Uh, I mean, hush!” you exclaim, deepening your voice for a rather weak, intimidating effect. “I’m doing the talking here.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat before you can utter another word. His doe eyes bore into yours and you step back, instantly feeling threatened by the intensity of his gaze. He wriggles around in his restraints, testing his extremely limited range of motion.

A prolonged, slightly awkward, silence stretches in the air as you attempt to recall the interrogation questions you practiced while tying him up. Regrettably, you come up blank.

He rolls his eyes at your lack of speech, raising a single brow.

“Well?” he questions, seemingly accepting his lack of free movement and slouching comfortably against the back of the chair. “I thought you said you were gonna do the talking?”

You grit your teeth at his impertinence, shaking off the nerves of talking to another human being that was not your mother as you adorn a superficial, bold facade. Striving to exude the same persuading tone that all those mystery books depicted, you mimic the slow strides you’ve read detectives take around their suspects.

“How did you find me?” You round the corner to escape his unimpressed glare, circling around him.

In turn, he cranes his neck to peer over at you, bewilderment written in the slack of his jaw. “Find you? Who says I was looking for you?” He whistles lowly catching sight of your mane, “That’s some hair you got there. Is that what’ve you tied me up with?”

A scoff escapes your lips, unconvinced at his act.

“Oh yeah?” you challenge, marching back to the front of the chair to dramatically slam your hands down onto his bound wrists, effectively halting his faint wriggling. “Then why did you come all the way up here, huh?”

The dashingly handsome stranger’s tongue prods at his cheek, serving to rile you up further. Taking his sweet time, he inspects the space around him before his focus comes back to you, and he leans in, smirking devilishly. “Sure as hell wasn’t for you, Princess.”

At the odd nickname combined with the close proximity, a flush tints your cheeks and you take a few steps back. He chuckles at his small victory—a deep, melodic sound that sends your flustered state into a muddled craze of butterflies, threatening to burst from within. You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at the man, more so to collect yourself than to unnerve him.

“Got something in your eye?”

You tilt your head back and grumble, exasperated at his lack of cooperation followed by his audacity to tease you further. “For your information, my eyes are working perfectly fine.”

“Good for you. Now, if you’ll just untangle me and give me back my bag, I’ll be out of your hair. Literally.” He grins at his joke, which you don’t find quite as funny.

“Like I’ll believe that.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “I’ll ask you again. How exactly did you find me?”

“As I said, Princess,” he jeers, his impatience made visible by the bulging veins lining his neck, “why would anybody be after your poor ass? I mean, just looking at the place, doesn’t look like you’ve got much else other than a bunch of hidden property and a shitty old tower.”

“Shitty?” You repeat, accosted at the stranger’s portrayal of the place you grew up.

He takes another look around the place as if to confirm his accusations before curtly nodding his head.

You glower at his blunt words, taking personal offence for the many hours you spent decorating, cleaning and doting over the building. “Well, I didn’t know we were expecting a rude guest. Then again, guests are invited inside, aren’t they?”

“Listen, you seem like the ditzy type, so I’ll keep this short and sweet. I got into a bit of a scuffle with some scoundrels and before I knew it, I was outnumbered!” he recounts slowly and melodramatically as if he is presenting a bedtime story to a child. “Then I stumble through some vines and find this gigantic tower!

“And to my surprise, rather than hidden treasure, this place has some naive, pan-wielding maniac at the top,” he concludes with a sigh, soundlessly implying that you should pity the unfortunate situation he stumbled upon—the unfortunate bit caused by your interference. All you feel is a burning itch to sock him across the face again, although that wouldn’t be too helpful in discovering his real objective.

His whole story sounds like pure bologna to you, but you feed into his obvious lies with a hum of acknowledgement. “Must’ve been so hard for you.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he whines, a pout forming on his pink lips.

You flash a close-lipped smile and thrust the metal weapon centimetres from his nose with more force than intended, though it seems to do the job when you catch his eyes widen slightly before reverting to the same relaxed stare as before. His posture is evidently tenser than a few seconds ago, which builds your pliant determination.

“Either some truths are gonna come out of that smart mouth or you’re gonna take another nap,” You threaten, waving the pan back and forth.

“Okay, easy now.” The stranger bends his hands upwards by the wrists, waving his fingers down slowly, as though he were calming a raging bull. “There’s no violence needed in this okay? We can make a deal.”

The sound of his cooperation piques your interest, so you inquire, “What kind of deal?”

“First of all, can you lower that?” You comply with his request, although you keep the skillet in the air, ready to strike at a moment's notice if he tries anything funny. “Okay, Princess, how about you give me the satchel, let me go without any trouble and I won’t tell anyone about your little hideout here, hm?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m the one with the upper hand here.” If you two are to come to a compromise, you’re going to need more from the stranger than his word to keep quiet. “And I need you to take me to see the lanterns at the capital.”

A hacking cough morphs into a distorted chuckle in his throat. “Hm, you see, that would be a bit difficult considering the rocky relationship I have with the royals.”

You cock your head to the side, raising the metal menacingly.

His fists curl into balls as a strained grin stretches across his face. “But I guess we could make it work.”

Pleased with his compliance, you continue with your conditions, “You take me to see the lanterns tomorrow night, bring me back home in one piece and I’ll give your bag back. Then you can jump out of the window for all I care, just keep your mouth shut about this place.”

“Do I even have a choice in the matter?”

“Nope.” His lack of protest makes you giddy, and you allow yourself to credulously overestimate your influence over the man. It has to be that or your frightening frying pan, right?

“Then what’re we waiting for?”

A childlike wonder brightens your countenance as you speedily unravel your locks from around the stranger, whipping the bulk of it over the hook and out the window. With his newfound freedom, you catch him combing through miscellaneous trinkets and in fear of him identifying the location of his bag, you call out, “There’s no use, you could ransack the whole tower and never find your precious satchel. You’re better off fulfilling our agreement.”

Fitting your trusty skillet under your arm, you don’t spare him another glance and hope that your bluff is enough to deter his scouring. Thankfully, the clattering of objects ceases and he saunters past the vase with his dear bag inside. Your attention flits to the verdant scenery below.

You allow an exuberant screech to rip through your vocal cords while you effortlessly fly down, your body wrapped around your hair as though the strands have solidified into a firepole and land on the plush, vibrant grass with a bounce. The prickly sensation on your bare skin is not what you imagined the spindly plant to feel like, yet you revel in its oddities nonetheless.

Your companion follows along with less flair, steadily climbing down using the two arrows that were left between the stones. By the time he reaches the ground, you’re already feeling the consequences of sticking your bare feet in the mud by a river.

He rolls his eyes at your antics and darts off while you tread toward the water to wash off the muck between your toes. You swish your foot back and forth, watching the current run off with the dirt and avoiding the miniature fish that gather around you. Their bright orange bodies are stark against the rocks underneath, easy to spot due to the clear, crystalline stream that you’re splashing around in.

When one of them decides to start nipping at your ankles and the rest of his posse tag along, you wade deeper—searching for a grassy area to withdraw from their persistent suckling. As you’re scouring the landscape, enjoying the slight breeze blowing through your hair, you find yourself alone.

This doesn’t bother you at first, used to the notion of having only your own inner thoughts as company. You’re preoccupied with rinsing the brown stains that mark one section of your tresses and gather the clean, soaked mass into your arms before you realize that the tour guide you recruited has gone missing.

At first, you can’t believe he abandoned the precious crown that he appeared to cherish so greatly, but before you can think too deeply about it, a light smack meets the nape of your neck.

“Looking for me, Princess?”

“Stop calling me that,” you whip around, a glare directed at his triumphant smirk. “And where were you anyway? Not trying to run off already, are we?”

He raises his hands up as though he has been caught red-handed, although his digits are curled around what looks to be strips of tree bark and long strands of weeds. Just as you’re about to question him further, he crouches down and grabs one of your ankles, lifting your leg out of the water and closer to him. You yelp and shift your weight to rest on your other foot.

“What?” He secures a few layers of the rough wood to the sole of your foot, wrapping the flexible plants around the bark and expertly tying it at the top. “This is what I get for being considerate isn’t it?”

“Is considerate even part of your vocabulary?” you tease, the relief at his presence causing you to lower your guard.

He freezes halfway through fastening the second makeshift shoe onto your other foot when the orbs staring up at you light up with mischief. Changing position, he folds forwards then rocks back to stand up to his full height. “Ah, I see how it is. Then I would never do something so thoughtful, right?”

“I take it back! I take it back, just finish it up,” you beseech.

“That’s what I thought, Princess.” He bends over to complete the second knot then scampers off to the forest as soon as the job is complete.

As you test out the peculiar slippers—inwardly marvelling at the barrier they provide against the elements of nature—you vocalize your displeasure with the nickname he has taken to calling you, “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

His strides ease up from his hurried pace, shortening to compensate for your smaller steps. “Aw, does Princess dislike being reminded of who she is?”

“I’ve never heard of a Princess living outside of a castle before.”

He hums, tilting his head in wonder. “Is your tower not considered a castle?”

“Not when I’m the only one living there,” you mutter under your breath, although you’re not sure if he catches it or not based on his silence. Regardless, you change the subject before he has a chance to respond. “So are you gonna tell me your name or what?”

Sneaking a peek at his side profile, you catch the endearing crinkle that appears by his eyes when he grins. “What’s with the sudden interest? I mean, I understand the enthusiasm but—”

You strike his elbow with the bottom of the skillet and he whines like a kicked puppy.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I just thought we should be on a first-name basis if we’re going to be travelling all this way together.” You amuse yourself by twirling the skillet around in your grip, acting as though there’s a gigantic pancake that you professionally flip onto its other side. “I would prefer my name over ‘Princess.’”

“I kinda like the ring of it though.” He winks at you, but you’re too invested in your cooking charades to notice. “You can call me Geum.”

“Geum? Like ‘gold’? What kind of name is that?”

“Ooh, someone’s judgemental.” Snatching the pan, he brandishes it around like a deadly cutlass in a seasoned pirate’s hand, bounding around you. He ends his show with the tip aimed straight at your heart.

“Just saying. You’ve got to admit it’s a bit… unique.” You halfheartedly brush him off, fighting to keep your grin from showing. As a side note, you announce your name.

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

Before he can prance off, you pluck the skillet out of his grasp and tear through the dense bushes with your treasure. His war cry echoes throughout the expansive woodlands as he rushes after you, untangling your hair from lone branches as he goes.

To claim that your feet are about to fall off is a gross understatement.

You have been travelling alongside Geum for hours now without a single break. Despite the high spirits that you two kicked your trip off with, the elation from brushing against the silky plants, cooing at the wildlife that crossed your path, and inhaling the fresh scent of damp moss and wet tree trunks from yesterday’s showers wore off quickly.

You’re inclined to believe that your enthusiasm began to subside when Geum yanked you away from running your finger along one set of rich emerald leaves—narrowly avoiding what he explained to be poison ivy. Your curious hands have been cemented to your sides ever since that close encounter.

After your lively bickering dies down, rather than a peaceful, quiet walk, listening to the whispers of the wind and the pleasant chirping of the birds, the antsy man beside you puts you on edge. He can’t stop looking from side to side, trying to peer past the endless birches and elms that obscure your view.

Is Geum expecting someone?

Perhaps some parts of his story are true. Perhaps having a ruffian with other delinquents hunting him is not the best partner to accompany you on this journey—not that you have much of a choice in the matter, it’s either him or no one. You’re unsure which option is worse.

Any conversation you strike is met with teasing remarks, so you give up on prodding him for any substantial information. But with the sky darkening and the breeze turning brisk, you’re about to mention camping out somewhere when Geum says, “We should settle down for the night.”

“I never thought I would agree with something that came out of your mouth.”

“That’s why you’re wrong most of the time.” And there it was, another snotty retort that practically begs you to deck him with the pan you keep tucked in your underarm.

The quibble ignites a fire under your skin, the flames licking at your sides and providing some warmth amidst the chill in the air. “Most of the time? So you’re saying that you’re wrong sometimes?”

“Yeah, nobody can always be right.” He flashes a lazy smirk your way, adjusting the bundle of your locks in his arms. “Like when I said that your hair isn’t an inconvenience.”

You take a second to process his snarky words. With your mind occupied, stuck in a whirlwind of potential reprisals, you unintentionally head towards the distant outline of the castle when you approach a crossroad branching in two opposite directions.

Just as you’re about to let loose a nasty quip, his warm hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from the faraway mansion. You overheat at the source of the touch, thoughts going haywire.

“Hey, hey!” In hopes of snapping him out of his reverie, you raise your voice. “You can’t blow off our deal now, don’t you want your precious satchel back?”

When he offers no explanation for his cryptic actions, you attempt to pry off his fingers with your other hand—making sure not to trip over your own two feet while you’re at it. Your wriggling is all for nought because Geum’s iron grip is too durable to be outmatched by your fumbling digits.

“Geum, please just,” you plead, ceasing your struggle when the delicate skin in his grasp begins to sting from his strength, “let’s talk about this, okay?”

You’re so preoccupied with regaining your freedom that you don’t notice the dingy sign you two pass; a rubber duck with the words The Snuggly Duckling etched onto the wood. “Shut up and hurry.”

Your jaw drops at his insolent tone, astounded at his change in demeanour. There’s no playful spirit behind his words this time, only a sharp annoyance accompanied by his sudden haste that you feel all too strongly in your wrist. You stumble after him and duck your head through a small doorway, your mind caught up in formulating a coherent response that consists of sounds other than your outraged sputtering.

“Don’t tell me to—”

You’re cut off by the ruckus inside the establishment. Burly men surround the two of you, drinking, howling in laughter, practicing their aim with throwing knives—there’s even a large group of people fighting in one corner. The amount of blood streaked across the walls, their clothes, and pouring out of their open wounds is concerning. You can smell the metallic tang from the entrance.

When the hand around your wrist disappears, you find yourself yearning for the physical connection, serving as some kind of reassurance that he is not leaving you to the metaphorical, and sort of literal, wolves before you. In order not to lose Geum as he wades through the crowds, you latch on to the thin hem of his shirt. He pays you no mind and continues onward.

Skillfully slipping through the giants while you bumble behind him, you two arrive at a row of vacant barstools. You loosen your grip at the unexpectedly tranquil space, such a drastic contrast to the commotion in the background that it’s like you’ve been transported to another place altogether.

You’re brought back to reality from the loud grunt that booms throughout the joint, although you tune out again when you hear a punch being thrown, then a crack that you can only hope isn’t a bone. Or two.

“Uh, Geum?” you ask, although he pays your appellation no mind. His attention is focused on the intimidating, tattooed man behind the counter.

“Joon.” Your unofficial tour guide takes a seat. “A mead?”

Determined to stick close to the only familiar face in the building, you slide onto the seat next to Geum. The overwhelming scent of liquor hits you hard, causing you to crinkle your nose the exact moment that your narrowed eyes spot the bartender, Joon, awkwardly cough into his fist, trying to stifle his snickers for your sake.

“Just a water for her.”

While Joon confirms Geum’s order with a slight nod, you cast your head down to stare at your twiddling fingers. Your mind is still reeling from the abrupt change in scenery, unsure how to carry yourself in this new setting. It was no problem in the dense forest, with only Geum to judge you—but it isn’t like you’re trying to impress him anyway.

In here where hordes of broad men are gathered, drunk out of their minds with crimson staining their attire, you’re scared. Everything is too raucous, too rancid, too overwhelming. You’re uncertain whether the trip to the capital will play out as you’ve imagined and you turn towards Geum to tell him as much when—

“Was this from me?” You instinctively flinch at his tug on your elbow, although regret rushes down your back, clawing against your spine like ice-cold water when hurt flashes across his shadowed orbs. Before you can blink, it’s gone.

As a feeble apology, you offer a tightlipped smile. Referring back to his words, you examine your arm and grimace when you spot the blooming scarlet streaks encircling your wrist, taking the shape of Geum’s slender digits. “Oh, uh, don’t worry. It’ll fade.”

It’s not a lie since the marks will eventually fade. You hope it doesn’t turn black and blue before that though.

A clear glass is thrust your way, which you’re overjoyed to snatch from Joon’s hand, noting Geum’s copper liquor from the corner of your eye. Hours of travelling without any form of hydration definitely took its toll on you, evident by your severely chapped lips that you can’t help but swipe your tongue over every minute—not that the dried saliva is doing you any favours.

Before you have a chance to sip from heaven in liquid form, you’re halted by a gentle finger tracing the length of your forearm. Thankfully, you’re not as skittish this time around, remaining frozen until Geums pulls back; the pale, discoloured scar he was following having tapered off into your natural skin. “Where’s that one from?”

His strange inquiry confuses you with its unusually intrusive nature considering his inability to chat seriously five minutes ago. You pause for a second to debate on revealing the truth or constructing a comical narrative for the sake of avoiding a sombre turn to the light conversation. Despite your decision, your lips rebel, taking on a mind of their own. “A punishment.”

Bronze orbs snap up to yours, boring into the deepest parts of your soul and uncovering each of your secrets one by one as if they’re gems, buried within the layers of your lonely childhood. You’re transfixed. “Mother said it would remind me to never leave the tower.”

The condensation running down the side of the chilled cup meets the edge of your palm, sliding down your index finger and becoming a stark reminder of your parched mouth. You lift the glass to take a sip, but a taste renders your control inoperative as you guzzle down the rest, leaving not a single drop inside.

Your famished stomach makes itself known with a growl when your thirst is quenched. Attracting the attention of the bartender with a small wave, you ask, “Is there any chance you’ve got some food here?”

“We’ve got anything as long as you’ve got the coin for it, blondie.”

You shudder in alarm at the introduction of another patron in the bar. Leaning away from the repulsive drawl to your left, you shift over to position yourself as far away as possible. Seeing your discomfort, the stranger takes a few steps forward to invade your personal space once more and you recoil back with a jerk of your torso.

The abrupt motion messes with your centre of gravity, tipping you over the edge of the barstool. Just as you’re about to have an unpleasant meeting with the floor, a palm darts out to the small of your waist and steadies you. You follow the arm up to Geum’s clenched jaw.

“She’s not looking for anything that you guys can offer.”

Your throat tightens at your companion’s harsh answer, wary of how the other men will react. The burly man to your other side bursts out in obnoxious laughter and a glint of light reflecting off of his silver teeth catches your eye, which you recognize from earlier. He’s one of the goons that was involved in the fistfight near the entrance.

“As if you’re packing anything better.” He nudges his lackeys behind them and they chuckle along like they’re all in on one big joke.

“It’s not hard to top a baby carrot.”

Panicked at his provocation, you glimpse at the challenging smirk plastered across Geum’s lips. You aren’t sure why he’s trying to pick a fight or if there’s any logical reasoning behind his actions at all, but you tap on the arm still attached to your torso, conveying your opinion on his moronic pride with your widened eyes.

Of course, men will be men, and the little posse arranged behind the silver toothed boss riles their leader up, encouraging him with disgruntled yells and unintelligible speech to prove their dominance. With you in between the two blockheads, you’re sure that you’re not going to like how this plays out.

Dismissing your distress, Geum takes a sip of his drink. He seems unbothered by the commotion surrounding him and you envy his nonchalant demeanour.

“You got any bite behind your bark, pretty boy?” His lackeys change tactics, switching over to goading Geum on. You assume their greater numbers spark their courage, reassured that they could overpower one man. “Or are we just trying to impress this little miss right here?”

“I’m not sure if it’ll be very fair for you guys,” Geum says cockily, scrutinizing each member from head to toe then returning to his sweet mead. “I mean, just looking at you boys, doesn’t look too impressive if you ask me.”

If the atmosphere didn’t thicken with a fatal tension, you would have giggled at his smart mouth. But the other man’s nostrils flare in resentment, beginning to surge forward before he’s interrupted by a spindly boy who thrusts a paper below his nose. “Boss, you were right, it’s him.”

His unsightly features twist upwards in joy, displaying his horrendous set of chompers once more as he chuckles. That’s when you realize that a sinister smile can be much more frightening than any bellow of rage. “Looks like you’ve got quite the bounty on your head there, Geum.”

At the snarl of his name, your eyes dart to the wrinkled sheet in his hand which he graciously flips to face your direction. An uncanny depiction of Geum’s face is drawn, a sum containing many zeroes painted underneath his name. What appalls you the most is the red, bolded letters at the very top, distinctly spelling out wanted.

Geum is a wanted criminal.

While your mind is reeling, sight blurring and breath quickening from the influx of information, the man in question unabashedly finishes off the last of his alcoholic beverage and proceeds to slam the glass onto the counter. Through all of the clamour, you pick up Joon’s exasperated sigh in the background.

The door to the establishment flings open, hinges creaking as the wood bounces back from the sheer force of the blow. While everyone is distracted by the bustle, Geum stealthily hops off his seat, slipping an arm around your waist to soundlessly lead you to the other side of the counter. Although you’re reluctant to follow, you refrain from squabbling with him in order not to attract any unwanted attention.

“We’ve received a report that a well-known thief has been spotted in the premises—”

Geum kneels in front of the shelves lined with drinks of all shapes and colours, fiddling with something you can’t see from your position behind him. Following his lead, you crouch behind him, softly muttering in disbelief, “You really think they won’t find us hiding here?”

A click is heard as a few of the racks cave in on themselves, revealing a concealed passageway. Geum shakes his head towards the opening, silently directing you to enter first. You’re hesitant to accompany him any farther but you’re pushed forwards by Joon’s calf on your back and you understand that you don’t have much of a choice in the matter anymore.

If you’re caught now, you’ll be accused of being an accomplice to whatever crimes Geum committed.

You spare a thankful nod to Joon, stealing a glance at the guards blocking the entrance while you’re at it. Their white uniforms are decorated with accents of bright oranges and reds, a familiar flower fastened to the right side of their chest. One of them holds another copy of Geum’s wanted poster which you tear your gaze from, willing yourself to escape from this mess before thinking about anything else.

Geum shoves you through the opening, and you crawl through the underground passage as fast as you can in order to keep his pinching fingers away from your ankles. You two are far enough to safely whisper short phrases to one another, but he insists on being a nuisance as he urges you to pick up the pace.

It’s pitch black when the trapdoor shuts behind Geum, and you’re unable to make out your own hands in front of your face; with no other path in sight, you blindly head forward. As you continue, you pass torches burning with a bright fire that provide light, illuminating the stones around you and the shadows following you. You wonder how often this underground system is used to have fire running at all times.

Eventually, the tunnel’s height expands enough for the two of you to comfortably tread through on your feet. If you weren’t tired enough from walking for hours on end, the brutal jog which Geum sets is more than enough to tire you out within mere minutes.

“Geum,” you heave, unable to catch your breath with your chest fruitlessly rising and falling, never passing enough air for you to gather your senses. He’s too far to catch, effortlessly sprinting ahead, yet you still uselessly reach out to capture his attention. “Geum.”

You push yourself to the limit, another few minutes passing by before your powerless body can no longer handle the stress of the strenuous activity, and you slow down, coming to a full stop. One hand on the rocky wall steadies your dizzying sight as you hunch over, throat burning and stomach aching. Even though you try to remain standing, your legs involuntarily give out and you end up on the floor.

As you try to regain your breath, hands grasp your shoulders and gently shake you back to reality. Geum’s intense gaze is only centimetres away, torso bent to level with you. “You can do this, come on. We have to lose them.”

“I,” you huff, “I can’t… It’s… too much.”

Geum’s arms return to his sides, his brows furrowing as you watch the gears whirring in his head through your blurry vision. When he spins around to face the exit, you cry out in a hoarse voice, believing that he’s leaving your pathetic, crumpled form to fend for yourself—but instead of running off, he crouches to the ground with his backside to you. “Get on.”

In spite of your resolute will to arise from your folded position, your legs can’t seem to extend outwards in order to climb onto his back, which you convey by tapping his shoulder and pitifully shaking your head. Geum’s lips pry apart to respond, but his words are drowned out by the pounding footsteps that echo throughout the tunnel walls. He curses under his breath as he turns and scoops your fetal form into his arms.

All you can register is his natural woody scent enveloped in the sweaty musk that drenches his frame, your body clutched tightly to his torso as he races to the end of the tunnel. You grip his thin shirt in one fist, unfamiliar with the warmth fluttering in your chest, so you brush it off as another side effect from the arduous sprinting.

A bright light can be seen at the very end, but your eyes are locked on the well-defined jaw of the man carrying you as if you were as light as a feather, running as if your lives depended on it—which they kind of do.

You couldn’t differentiate the pounding of Geum’s shoes from the mob of guards pursuing you two. As you slowly recover from your exhausted state, the guilt of becoming a burden settles into the creases of your face, worrying lines etching onto your features from thinking about your impending fate.

Your thoughts wander to the reasoning behind this violent chase. By the fancier uniforms they sport, you suspect their position to be rather high, perhaps palace guards or ones belonging to the royal family. Reminded of the wanted poster clutched within one of their hands, the image stirs unease within the depths of your stomach that’s already stinging from the massive amounts of cardio you’ve done today.

Before you can connect any dots, you’re out in the wilderness again, although instead of the sun’s blazing rays on your face, the moon’s tender beams spill over your surroundings. The sort of serenity that accompanies the stillness of the later hours are interrupted by your rapidly beating heart, which is amplified by the pulse felt on your left side.

After a few more strides, Geum comes to a sudden halt.

“What’s wrong?” You tilt your neck to look at his face in curiosity. Although he doesn’t appear fatigued, his cheeks only slightly flushed from exertion and a few sweat droplets racing down his temples, you ask anyway, “Are you tired?”

The grip under your legs lower you to the ground and you stand in front of Geum, beginning to worry about losing your advantage over your pursuers. He doesn’t provide a verbal response to your questions, simply shaking his head and causing the tips of his hair to sway back and forth with the motion. The strands cover his eyes when he stops, but he doesn’t bother to brush them aside.

Geum’s shoulders slouch, heavy from the weight of defeat. You’re unnerved at his strange actions, turning to look ahead at the obstacle that’s forcing him to give up all hope.

You two are standing at the edge of a cliff.

Your knees buckle at the length of the drop, which seems never ending from your viewpoint. The tenebrous shadows of the night obscure the bottom, painting the jagged walls with uncertainty at any chance for survival. Your heart constricts as the despondency emanating off of Geum slithers its way into your rapidly diminishing resolution.

“When they get here,” he announces, bravery shining through his firm tone, “I need you to run as fast as you can. I’ll distract them, just focus on getting back to the bar. Tell Joon to take you somewhere safe and trust no one but him.”

You’re baffled at his complete change in attitude as well as his idiotic plan. There’s no trace of humour in his piercing orbs though, simply an obstinate determination that implores you to obey his orders. But you aren’t about to abandon the first friend you’ve ever made. “Are you insane? What do you think you can do against trained soldiers?”

“There’s no other choice.” He nudges your torso to position yourself behind him, both your backs to the cliff, watching the guards get closer and closer. Dread weighs ponderously on your limbs, the adrenaline pumping in your veins with every footstep marching to surround you two. You’re cornered.

The soldier closest to Geum unsheathes his sword and steadily approaches. You slip the rusty pan into his hand and he inconspicuously reaches back to pat your thigh, reminding you of his reckless scheme.

Seeing your defensive stance, the guard rushes forward, thrusting his sword forward to slice through layers of skin. Instead, the clang of metal against metal resounds throughout the empty cliff and your apprehension increases tenfold with your front row seat to Geum’s doomed duel, fending off a glinting sword with your rickety skillet.

Although he’s fighting well considering his enormous handicap, you spot more soldiers creeping their way into the skirmish, unable to stand and watch one of their own be bested in battle. Overall, the odds weren’t looking too great for your pan-wielding knight.

You have to do something. With Geum’s plan off the table, you can’t think of anything other than taking your chances with the cliff. You gather all your faith in the landscape, Geum, and yourself while taking a deep breath. Waiting for an opening within the clash, you cautiously inch towards Geum and when one particularly hard blow jolts both men back a few steps, you snatch up the opportunity.

Before another guard can take his ally’s place, you rush over to snake an arm around Geum’s lithe waist, tugging his back to meet your chest. During this process, he nearly elbows you in the face, writhing around in your tight hold until he recognizes your delicate hands on his stomach.

With the enemy frozen in confusion at your ostensibly desultory actions, you take advantage of their shock to stumble backwards, proving harder than necessary due to Geum’s long legs tangling with your own as you head towards the edge. You’re nearly there when one of the guards pick up on your plan to escape, jumping into action with his razor-sharp sword and waving it in a deadly arc that nearly slices both of your heads off clean.

Thankfully, you lose your footing on a slippery rock and tip over.

While airborne, any air is momentarily robbed from the heavy drop in your gut and a terrified shriek rips past your mouth as you lose your tight grip on Geum, utterly absorbed in your fear. The distance between you two grows, but because of his quick reflexes, Geum is able to fist a clump of your clothes in his hands and pull you into his chest with one hand resting on the nape of your neck.

You don’t have enough time to react to the new position before both your bodies are enveloped in gelid water. All of your nerves fire off, enraged at the sudden change in temperature. A violent shiver overtakes your limbs in a weak attempt to warm yourself up.

Although Geum’s palm on your neck withdraws to wade your bodies back up to surface, the grip around your middle only tightens.

The stream parts as you two float back up to meet the chilly air, greedily filling your lungs as you unravel from one another in order to paddle your way to shore. The current sweeps you along, aiding your furious efforts to reach the ground again.

Geum arrives at the muddy grass before you, swiftly lifting himself out and turning to fish for your soaked form. White puffs of your breath escape your mouths because of the low temperature, yet they dissipate as quickly as they’re formed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” You close your eyes and nod. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

The fire crackles alongside the chirping crickets, forming a peculiar orchestra with the breeze blowing through the rustling leaves. You extend your frigid digits as close to the flames as you dare, desperate for its warmth, yet recoiling from the sting of its heat all the same.

“Might as well stick your whole hand in there while you’re at it.” Geum emerges from the tenebrous thickets of the forest, making his way into the dull glow of the bonfire with a bundle of skinny twigs in his arms.

You’re drained from the day’s events, but you flash him a smile brimming with gratitude, appreciative that he’s intent on keeping the fire alive despite his inevitably numb appendages. You insisted on swapping turns, allowing his body to warm up a bit while you scavenged for wood, although he dismissed your offer multiple times, claiming that moving around was much more effective for him than any flames.

You’d have to disagree with him there. The burning fire feels incredible heating up your skin from the outside in.  

“If you take a second to come and enjoy the warmth, then maybe you wouldn’t be so moody,” You jest, rotating the fish skewers that Geum expertly caught in the river with a sharpened branch. By the slightly burnt edges, you suppose it’s ready. “C’mon, let’s eat before you head off again.”

He grunts his affirmation, depositing his findings on top of the ever-growing pile of wood and taking a seat on a fallen log located a couple of feet away from you. You allow the meat to cool down before separating the fish from the stick it’s impaled on and passing it to him.

“Is your hair dry yet?” He’s too preoccupied with forcibly ripping the fish in half to avoid scaling it, so he doesn’t catch your affectionate, lingering gaze.

You hum, grabbing a lock of your wet strands. “Not quite.”

He places his meal next to him on the log and leans over to take the bulk of your tresses in his grasp. You watch as he lays the blonde strands near the fire, quietly giggling at his strange logic.

“You think the heat is going to make it dry faster?” The appearance of his wide grin elicits the return of the bizarre tightening in your chest, a crushing pain that makes it difficult to breathe. You haven’t had a bite of the fish but nausea swirls in your stomach as your hands turn clammy and you rip your eyes away from Geum in hopes of collecting yourself.

Seeing your doubt towards his surely infallible rationale, his brows scrunch together and he pauses his movements in his perplexity, a distant look swirling in his eyes. He should be completely unaware of the turmoil raging within you, yet all your previous worries dissipate with the smoke of the fire as his face becomes increasingly wrinkled, flashing an expression more ludicrous than the last.

After you beg and plead with him to stop, cheeks aching from smiles and belly throbbing from laughter, he breaks out into his own set of snickers. More than satisfied, Geum grabs his fish again and begins to nibble on the meat inside. “You never considered getting a trim?” he asks between bites.

A few seconds pass as you calm yourself down from your hysterical state. “Never allowed to,” you answer, short and vague to keep the pleasant atmosphere.

“Allowed to?” His voice is laced with his astonishment. “Who’s telling you what to do at your age?”

Fidgeting with your own skewer, you ponder over an answer that’s precise enough to satisfy his curiosity, yet obscure enough to conceal your identity at the same time. Your eyes dart from side to side, following the light of the fire as it illuminates a wet, crimson stain on the sleeve of Geum’s jacket.

“What’s that?” you question, scuttling over to his log and sitting down next to him. To get a better look, you grab his elbow and pull it towards you.

“Nothing. Don’t change the subject.” He tries to shrug off both your concern and your hand that’s clutching onto his arm, which only makes you tighten your grip. At the increase in pressure, a low groan slips past his lips and you instantly release your hold at the sound.

“Does it hurt?” The memory of the guard wildly slashing his sword in the air comes to mind and you realize that although the blow didn’t cost either of your lives, his upper arm must have borne the brunt of the force instead.

“It’s fine.” He attempts to brush you off again, but you’re as clingy as a leech and refuse to budge from his side.

You latch on to the lapel of his jacket and tug. “Take it off.”

Despite your solemnity, his low chuckle sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Already asking me to strip? I’m not that easy, Princess. How about you take me on a date first and I’ll think about your offer?”

“You know what I mean,” you grumble, exasperated that he persists on maintaining his incessant teasing while injured.

When he finishes cleaning off one half of his meal, about to reach for the other, you move to stand in front of him. You dismiss the wild pounding of your heart to focus on slipping his jacket off of his opposite arm.

He puts forth no effort to stop you, although he’s definitely not helping much with his limp, bulky appendages that are a lot heavier than expected. Slowly but surely, you tenderly thread his injured arm out of his sleeve with careful hands.

The white, short-sleeved shirt he’s sporting underneath makes it easy to spot the splotches of crimson dyeing the hem of his sleeve through the dim, orange light. You approach his laceration delicately, treating him like a frightened animal. He snorts at your earnest actions.

Lifting the fabric covering the entirety of the gash, you gasp softly at the depth of the wound, grimacing as though it’s your own limb that’s been hurt. “You shouldn’t be moving around with this, you’re not letting it heal.”

“I’ll endure any pain to keep you close,” he whispers, sweet honey dripping from his words as he loops his other arm around your waist, effectively pulling you in between his open legs.

His chin is a mere few centimetres from your belly button, gazing up at you with a flirtatious wink as he perches his hand onto your lower back. You hold your breath, worried that he can hear the utter chaos erupting within your chest due to the close proximity.

Flustered, you push at his broad shoulders, desperate for some room to breathe. Geum flinches at your touch and you instantly regret your thoughtless behaviour. Your concern at the severity of his wound multiplies tenfold, feeding into a disquiet that nestles into every cell in your body. “I’m serious, it doesn’t look good.”

One hand falls into his lap while the other comes up to ruffle his damp locks. “Don’t get shy now, Princess.”

Taking in the defeated slouch to his back, the distant glaze that darkens his bronze orbs, you think about your hair. You think about how much younger your mother appears after she detangles each strand. You think about all the scars you’ve avoided throughout the years by singing a simple tune.

This man saved your life, and it’s time for you to repay the favour. You consider waiting until he’s asleep to heal his arm, plagued by the distress of being mistaken as a witch. Mother warned you about those kinds of people, who are ready to ruin your life in order to improve their own—anything ranging from taking advantage of your unworldly qualities to selling you for a pretty penny.

Mother always knows best. Right?

You peer into his expressionless eyes that stare holes into the dancing flames, the other uneaten half of the fish still laying untouched. From the limited time you’ve spent together, you shouldn’t feel this distraught at his pain, as though a chunk of your heart is bleeding out with him and leaving you in a puddle of your own misery.

But one look at Geum’s laceration and even a child could tell that the relentless stream would end his life before long. No matter how well he can conceal his shallow, rapid breathing, you begin to make sense of his sweaty, pallid countenance that shreds any remaining skepticism you hold against him—dismissing the wariness brought about by those wanted posters.

“Geum.”

His eyelids shut close at your grave tone. “I know. It’s fine.”

At your hesitant tone, he sluggishly spares you a placid, tame smile. You hate it.

The Geum you’ve come to know is exuberant, taking all his hardships in stride with a sly smirk to boot. He’s brilliant, craftier than any artist, and resourceful even in the face of despondency. He’s compassionate, extending his own neck to save yours, always sympathetic to your plight.

This Geum is hollow, a shell of the person you knew.

The crushed downturn of his doe eyes doesn’t belong to his captivating features. You yearn to watch that classic, mischievous glint sparkle in his irises as he taunts you endlessly, testing how high your pulse can spark when he invades your personal space yet again.

You take a seat next to him. “No, uh,” you stammer, “I got a solution. You just can’t scream or freak out or anything, okay? Most importantly, you can’t tell anyone. Not a single soul.”

Before he can react to your cryptic warnings, you separate a lock of your hair, wrapping it around his wounded bicep. He raises a single brow at your strange antics but provides no further opposition. You’re pleased with the amount of trust he’s placed in you.

You close your eyes, and then you sing.

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine,”

Starting from your roots, a golden glimmer races across the tresses of your hair. Bewildered, Geum recoils in his state of shock but remains rooted in his spot nonetheless.

“Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine,”

He follows the scintillating shimmer in your strands until he reaches the portion wrapped around his bicep. You absentmindedly wonder if he can feel his flesh reconstructing, cells dividing at a rapid rate to close the smooth gash.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fates' design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine,”

Your lids slide open to stare at his wide eyes, his jaw hanging ever so slightly. You’re glad to see that his previously pale complexion has given way to his natural, lively undertone.

“What once was mine.”

When the last notes fade out, eventually overpowered by the lone hoot of an owl, you gingerly untangle your hair from the shell-shocked man. Geum slaps his other hand over the healed skin, his head rapidly darting between examining his arm and making absurd facial expressions that convey his amazement. From his naturally cool composure, you treasure this rare moment of awe.

“Wha—”

Your stressed squeak halts him in his speech. “Please don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.” He looks like he’s trying to convince himself more so than you when he continues, “Not freaking out. What’s there to freak out about? I mean, magical healing hair? Completely normal.”

Your grin is filled with mirth at his nervous tone, and you lift his prodding digits from the site of the wound. Or at least where it used to be. “You feel okay?”

With all of your attention directed towards analyzing his healthy appendage, ensuring that your magic had not screwed up somewhere along the process, you miss Geum’s tender gaze roaming over every inch of your countenance. “Yeah, I guess I’m more than okay now.”

“I promise I’m not some kind of witch or anything like that. Just, uh, was just born with it,” you try to explain despite being in the dark about many of the nitty-gritty details yourself.

“Born with magical hair?”

You giggle at the absurdity of his question, although the validity remains true, it’s rather peculiar to hear it out loud. “Some of us are born with more talent than others. But that’s also why I can’t cut it,” you smile sheepishly, deciding to answer his earlier question now that your secret is out in the open.

“It turns brown and loses its magic.” You gather all your strands into one fist, pulling the mass to the side to expose the short, chestnut coloured strands underneath. You feel vulnerable and exposed with your neck out on display, sharing the fragility of your powers with a man you’ve known for less than twenty-four hours.

But it’s Geum, and he doesn’t feel like a stranger to you. “An overbearing mother is also part of the reason, but that’s a story for another time. Carrying it around can be heavy and the tangles can be brutal, but I guess it has its perks.”

He hums, stretching his torso to throw some twigs into the fire in hopes of enlarging the dwindling flames. “Yeah, I, uh…”

You stay silent, neither dismissing nor pressuring him into voicing his thoughts.

“My name isn’t actually Geum.”

A teasing smirk lifts the corner of your lips as you lean closer and nudge his arm. “You don’t say?”

He scoffs at your playful demeanour and pushes you back with one finger on your forehead. When your upper body is tilted away from him and your head is facing the starry night sky, he retracts his digit and speaks so softly that the noise is almost carried away by the wind. “It’s Jungkook.”

“Jungkook,” you test it out, matching the syllables to the face. It’s a bit strange after getting accustomed to associating him with the name ‘Geum,’ but in a way, it complements him better.

“Yeah.” He pauses and you shift your body to study him, memorizing the slopes and angles of his side profile. His orbs reflect the flickering fire, engulfing the newly added branches in its blaze. “I just thought somebody should know.”

“Is Geum your alias... for when you’re being a criminal?” Although you’re hesitant to delve into the subject, especially right after he’s begun to unveil his true identity, your curiosity outweighs reason and you can’t contain yourself. You can’t say that you’ve never questioned the diadem hidden in his satchel.

Crowns don’t belong to convicts who run from justice.

You wait for his answer with bated breath, unintentionally trapping your lower lip between your teeth in anticipation. Please, Jungkook.

“If you’re trying to ask what I did,” he hisses, knuckles turning white from his clenched fists, “Yeah, I stole it. Those assholes don’t deserve their riches.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, his anger radiating off him in waves. You wish you could eat your previous words because of how furious he’s become, but you’re committed to finishing the job. “Are you talking about the King and Queen?” Your brows pinch together in your discomfort. “Was that their crown?”

“This is your first time out of that tower, right?” You confirm his inquiry with a quick nod of your head. “How much do you know about the kingdom?”

“Jungkook—”

He tuts, fixing you with a strict glare. “Answer the question.”

“Well…” While recalling all the knowledge you picked up from your mother and the few historical books within your collection, you fiddle with a strand of your hair and organize your thoughts. “The castle is located in the middle of the capital, said to loom over the entire kingdom with its height. After it was rebuilt to accommodate more space for the Prince, everyone, from poets to milliners, cried over the beauty carved within those walls.”

He expels a deep sigh, causing you to question the legitimacy written in those pages you recited. “I asked about the kingdom, not the castle.”

His question leaves you dumbfounded. The information you collected over the years is limited to everything inside that grandiose, opulent building. There was nothing about the land, animals or even the common folk.

A gust blows the smoke of your little bonfire towards you, and you blink rapidly to avoid any soot from lodging itself into your eyes. Jungkook plucks a large leaf from one of the plants nearby, lazily fanning the fumes away. “That cozy castle and the royal family sitting on top of it all couldn’t care less about their people. They rake their luxuries from our hard work when even one jewel off that crown could feed hundreds.”

You process the cold truth in silence, a shiver overtaking your limbs in spite of the heat in front of you. “Is that why you stole it?”

“I don’t care if they want to plaster my face all over the kingdom and put a bounty on my head, I’m not going to stand around and watch people die from their greedy hands,” he states, proud and resolute.

You’re torn between the anguish nipping at your heels and the relief washing over your head. Living sheltered in that tower, you had no clue about the perils outside your own stone walls, is this what Mother was trying to protect you from?

However, discovering the true nature behind Jungkook’s crimes restores your faith in him, and your shoulders relax as you crane your neck to peer at the stars again. With your curiosity quenched, you move on to another question. “So, how many people get to call you Jungkook?”

He follows your example, leaning back and revelling in the breathtaking sight. “Nobody knows my real name, everyone calls me Geum.”

Your jaw drops a fraction from the admittance, feeling rather privileged that he chose to share it with you. “Your family calls you that too?”

“Don’t have any,” he brushes off your sympathetic gaze with a shrug.

“Why the name Geum?”

You catch his tiny, forlorn smile in your peripheral. “I grew up hearing all about the royal family’s massive parties, overflowing with family, friends—people. They were never lonely. And since they were parading their money around, I thought that was it, that was the secret.”

The dejected tone in his voice clogs your airways and makes it difficult to breathe, stunning your motionless form into remaining as still as a statue, the magnitude of his sorrow sweeping over you in fatal waves.

“And I hoped that maybe naming myself ‘gold’ might give me some luck with that.” With his shoulders downcast, his eyes flicker over to you, gauging your reaction.

You desperately wish you could turn back time to console the young boy whose heart was too big to fit inside his tiny body. Although he’s grown into it now, you strive to ease his suffering by even the slightest fraction. “I think ‘Jungkook’ is even better for making friends.”

The edges of his lips flip upwards as he navigates his face to halt directly right in front of your own, pressing one hand to the other side of your farthest thigh and caging you in. “Would you be my friend, Princess?”

All your blood rushes to your head, warming your cheeks. In a futile attempt to preserve any of your remaining dignity, you shrink back to maintain some distance. But his smirk grows at the sight of your shy response to his advances, his orbs flitting down to your pink lips before returning to your eyes. He looks absolutely ecstatic over your flustered state.

His hot breath fans over your lips and you gather any rational sense you have left inside your muddled brain to push him back, missing the split second his confident facade cracks and a sliver of insecurity shines through. It’s instantly replaced by a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“No matter what you decide to call yourself, I’ll always be your friend.”

Seconds seem like hours as the two of you stare at each other, seeking to uncover the words left unsaid. Jungkook’s palms press against his knees, pushing off of them to come to a standing position and effectively ending your little moment. “I’m gonna go get some more wood.”

You nod, staring at his retreating backside that ventures into the adumbral forest once more. Even though the perpetrator of all these complex emotions is no longer within sight, you feel unsettled from the mere thought of him, yet your heart yearns for him all the same.

“Oh, Petal, I thought he would never leave!” A distinctly high-pitched cry rings out in the empty space, a voice which you didn’t expect to hear until at least tomorrow night.

Your head whips to the side to confirm your suspicions. “Mother?” Her dark figure emerges from the shadows and your heart drops to your stomach. You fumble for the right words, at a loss from her unexpected appearance. “How did you—”

“The better question is how could you, Petal?” she corrects, continuing to step into the light provided by the fire. The once comforting flames turn harsh, sharp pops bursting forth from the aggressive combustion. She lowers her hood to reveal the disappointment etched into her youthful features—and without fail, the sting of upsetting her burns through your conscience. “Really, how could you betray your own mother like this?”

You stand, determined to explain yourself, “Mother, he’s different from the monsters you told me about. If you get to know him, he’s sweet and caring and kind an-and he isn’t after my magic!”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, my naive, little Petal.” She tilts her chin up slightly, peering down at you. “Everyone is the same out here, all looking after themselves.”

You approach her within a few strides. “Mother, please listen to me, he’s different! Even though he puts on a tough front at times, he’s really considerate on the inside.” You fiddle with the tips of your fingers as you whisper the next part, “And I, uh, I think he might like me.”

The reaction you least expect is her startling outburst of laughter, powerful enough to fold her in half, and you wait for her giggles to quiet down before warily stepping forward. Your mother is acting awfully strange. “You think he likes you? And what makes you think that?”

You blanch at her ruthless words, wincing as though they assumed a physical form and punched you repeatedly in the gut.

Her maniacal snickers abruptly cease and a frown mars her lovely face once again, her expression one you recognized from previous reprimands, whether it was shattering a vase or begging to go outside. Your chin falls down to meet your chest, unable to muster up your faux bravery for any longer.

“I’m asking what gave you the idea that he would like some insolent, unsightly brat like you?”

You can’t open your mouth to respond, frozen in fear.

“Hm, what’s with the silence? You seemed so certain earlier, Petal. This is why you never should have left, look at this pitiful romance you’ve created,” she mocks, rounding your nervous form like a predator playing with their prey. “Let’s put him to the test then, shall we?”

Your head snaps up at her odd suggestion, eyes widening at the satchel she uncovers from behind her slim form. “You found it?”

She tosses the bag to you and you outstretch your arms—only to catch it a second too late. The bag drops to the floor and the flap flips open. You race to collect the sparkling crown that tumbles out, hastily shoving the diadem back inside before Jungkook wanders back, even turning towards the fire to ensure his continued absence.

“Why so scared?” your mother questions smugly, “I thought you said that he’s different from the rest of them?”

“He is!” you exclaim, rushing to defend him.

“Then give it to him, let’s see if he stays once he has the crown back in his hands. But don’t come crying back to Mother when he runs for the hills,” she snarls, lifting her hood over her short curls and withdrawing into the woods.

Your mind reels from your mother’s visit, but your concern lies with where to stash the leather satchel in your grasp. Dead leaves crunch under approaching footsteps and you examine your body, contemplating the best area for your idea.

Hiking the hem of your dress up to your stomach, you loop the strap of the bag through your left foot, twisting and repeating until it’s coiled around your ankle and the pouch snugly rests against your skin. You shimmy the satchel until the middle of your thigh where it refuses to go any higher.

Satisfied, you release your dress, smoothing the fabric down and confirming that nothing is suspiciously sticking out. You violently shake your leg back and forth to ensure there would be no future problems and sure enough, the straps tenaciously cling onto your thigh throughout all your testing.

“Hey, look what I found! He’ll definitely save us some travelling time tomorrow, but I don’t think he likes me much.”

Jungkook appears from the area your mother disappeared with an overwhelming pile of lumber in his arms. You stroll over to lessen the load, but he brushes you off and bypasses you to drop it beside the fire.

A white horse tromps along after him, trying to nip at the crown of his head while he shoos it away with a waving hand. The comical sight distracts you from the dreary thoughts of your mother, although the stiff strap wrapped around your leg forbids you from forgetting about it.

When you snap out of your reverie, Jungkook is cocking his head to the side at your unusually spacey behaviour.

You spare him a weak smile and shake your head.

Rather than sore feet, the next day your entire crotch is painfully numb from riding Maximus, the quirky horse who holds an obnoxious grudge against Jungkook for reasons unknown to you. While Max allows you to rub his cheeks, scratch his neck and run your fingers through his mane, he huffs if Jungkook so much as breathes too loudly.

Oddly enough, the stallion follows Jungkook around like a lost puppy despite his cold attitude. What is with males and their inability to show their appreciation for one another?

Jungkook insisted on being in front and taking hold of the reins even though Max refused to let him mount his back at first. After some caresses and loving words with the sweet animal, Max permitted you to hop on—which Jungkook was not pleased with. It was a nice change of pace to watch the ordinarily suave man lose his cool over a horse’s favouritism.

In the end, the only way Jungkook was allowed on was by sitting behind you, latching onto you for stability. The animosity growing between the two males adds to your amusement, so you remain unbothered by the hostile glares you can feel Jungkook throwing over your shoulder and the aggressive puffs of air that blow through Max’s nostrils every once in a while.

“Tell me how you found Max again?” Skepticism leaks into your tone, courtesy of Jungkook’s thieving habits.

You could practically feel his eyes roll back into his head as his arms tighten around your waist. His built torso is glued to your back, which repeatedly distracts you from the path ahead. “I told you that I was collecting some twigs off of the ground when this guy appeared out of nowhere! I was scared shitless.”

“You mean to say that someone accidentally lost their horse in the middle of the woods?” You glance sideways to peek at his chin, lodged into the crook of your neck. His face is merely a couple of millimetres from your own.

When he insisted on resting his head there, you had thoroughly embarrassed yourself with a flaming face, resembling a ripe tomato ready for the picking, coupled with your inability to enunciate any word properly. But after hours of his head smooshed against the side of your face or leaning against your upper back, you finally relax into his hold, finding comfort and safety in the appendages coiled tightly around you.

“Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?”

You scoff at the impish grin stretching across his cheeks at his own horrible excuse.

The castle comes into view in the ensuing half-hour, the imposing building no longer obstructed by the towering trees of the forest. Your spirits are dampened slightly by the cruel secrets Jungkook revealed yesterday night, although your giddiness at the prospect of living out your dreams makes you vibrate in excitement. You remind yourself that you’re here for the magical lights, not the castle.

The faint pounding against your back picks up speed for a reason drastically different to your own. He is essentially walking right into his own imprisonment—his wanted posters more than likely plastered across every flat surface inside the marketplace with soldiers littered around the premises. You gather the sturdy reins into one hand, freeing the other to hold Jungkook’s conjoined digits over your stomach.

Completely engrossed in Jungkook’s dilemma, neither of you notice Max racing into town until a screech pierces your ears. You apologize profusely for the spilled legumes that begin rolling away from the young woman, and you whip Max into trodding off before she curses you out.

Once you’re satisfied with the amount of space between yourselves and the unlucky woman, you tie Max’s reins to a nearby fence and race to join the festivities carrying on all around you. Spotting Jungkook’s unsure form lagging behind, you dart back to tug on his wrist, flashing him an encouraging smile before lugging him from one stall to another.

You don’t get far before you experience a sharp pain on your scalp. With the large amounts of people bustling around the tiny square, your hair is a tripping hazard that you try to quickly bunch up into your arms. Your hair is way too long to carry by yourself, so you turn to ask Jungkook for help, though he’s nowhere to be found.

Your mind races to the worst-case scenario. The guards must have caught sight of him, capturing him off guard while you were none the wiser and now he’s going to be hanged for his crimes all because you were too stupid to—

A couple of little girls with flowers decorating their braids physically yank you out of your trance, their tiny hands gathering your multitudinous strands and dragging you off to the side. You’re about to protest against their actions, more concerned over Jungkook’s whereabouts than anything, but after catching a glance of said man playfully waving at you from a few feet away, you allow yourself to be whisked away.

The three girls deftly move from left to right, taking locks of your hair with them as they knot it all into one humongous five strand braid. When you stand up to your full height, you’re amazed to see that none of your hair touches the ground. Considering the hefty weight that pulls at the back of your head, you know this solution can’t last too long.

They scatter various fresh flowers all over, the scent of the blossoms wafting around your figure. As you’re appreciating their handiwork, an arm wraps itself around the curve of your lower back, drawing you into a herculean chest while you blow air kisses filled with your gratitude to the snickering girls.

Jungkook maneuvers you into a narrow alleyway, and you get a chance to admire his glittering irises from up close.

“Guards?”

He only grins.

You’re certain to keep an eye out for any wandering soldiers from that point on, with you pulling Jungkook behind crowds or him dragging you into the gaps between small buildings. Despite the situation being rather stressful with your lives at stake, your escapade is thrilling nonetheless and you enjoy being pressed up against his lean frame, carelessly giggling to yourselves.

Although neither of you carries any silver, window shopping proves to be equally as amusing—browsing through homemade accessories, toys and masks that you play around with, flashing ridiculous faces at one another.

The delicious smell of baked goods drifts through the streets and prompts your mouths to fill with saliva. You appreciate the artistry behind their beautifully decorated exteriors, adorned with colourful frosting and sprinkles. One booth catches your attention and you latch onto Jungkook’s hand to drag him along.

Rows and rows of shiny green bottles are positioned in perfect rows on a table inside the booth and plushies hang from the sides, acting as bait to any passerby. You tug on the hem of Jungkook’s dark vest, gesticulating towards the game with awe.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few silver coins that glint in the sunlight. Your eyes widen into saucers at his mischievous grin and you smack his arm, chiding him for his wandering hands as he assures you that he found them on the ground. When he goes as far as to insist that he saved them from being trampled on, you can’t help your tinkling laughter from escaping.

Perhaps it’s karma that prevents your rings from landing on top of any bottle, but the exhilaration of watching the rings soar in midair with a flick of your wrist as Jungkook’s chants fill your ears is priceless. Certainly more precious than any stuffed animal.

You two amble about the streets again, side by side. Long fingers intertwine with your own and your heart flips in your chest, suppressing the raging flush that threatens to colour your cheeks whenever Jungkook is involved. You look around your surroundings, trying to conceal the cheeky grin on your face, resembling that of a toddler with their favourite candy.

Before long, your travelling gaze takes notice of the people hunched over on the ground, concentrated on the stones below them. With a closer look, you discover the sketches littered across the stone pathways—some spanning the entire street and some smaller than your palm.

You bolt over to join them with Jungkook in tow. This whole hand-holding business is proving to be more useful than you thought.

There are pieces of different coloured chalk dispersed throughout the streets, and you pick up an orange one, urging Jungkook to do the same. He searches around for a bit until he decides on a white coloured chalk.

By the time you’re finalizing the tiny drawing you sketched onto the uneven stones, the stub in your hand is half the size of your pinky. Your joints ache from kneeling for so long, but you’re more than satisfied with the bright tiger lily staring back at you.

You stand up, brushing off of any stray rocks that have embedded themselves onto the bare skin of your legs and nudge Jungkook’s arm with your foot. He grumbles under his breath that you ruined the white blob he claims to be a bunny, but you jest that it was doomed the moment he picked up the chalk.

The retort silences him and you stretch your hand out to help him stand, grinning sheepishly at the pout on his pink lips. He accepts your peace offering, although rather than using your aid to get up, he yanks you downwards and your unstable body lands right into his lap. You squeak at his retaliation and wriggle violently in his hold as he curls himself around you, his chin resting onto your shoulder and arms wrapping around your torso to quell your futile efforts of escape.

“You like the nation’s flower?” He questions, nuzzling his face into your upper back.

“Nation’s flower?”

He hums his confirmation and you feel the pleasant vibrations on your neck before he’s nodding towards the purple pennants that dangle off of thin strings, stretching between buildings. Now that you’re actively inspecting the marketplace for the flower, you notice the continuous motif of the orange lily sprouting everywhere from decorations to paintings.

Jungkook seems to have abandoned all hope on his own masterpiece, for he lifts you up by your underarms and leads you away.

As you venture through the rest of the market, grazing through the various stalls, you examine all the knick-knacks depicting the famous tiger lily. It soothes you slightly, recognizing the flower decorating your walls back at the tower.

Lost in your trance, you don’t catch Jungkook slinking away, disappearing into the crowds.

As you turn the corner to browse the next stall’s wares, a massive stained glass window depicting a family of three catches your eye. The man appears stern with his furrowed brows and deep-set frown, and the woman’s forced smile fits awkwardly onto her face. She’s holding a tight bundle of canvas, a tiny face peeking through the layers of fabric in her arms.

Rays of the setting sun pierce through the coloured, translucent material and surround the art piece with an ethereal glow. You’re transfixed by the woman, reminded of your own mother’s delicate features.

You shake off the unpleasant feeling of your last encounter with her and analyze the three squares dedicated to the child’s crumpled face. The only noticeable detail you can make out is his chubby cheeks.

“Interested in the Prince?” A warm breath whispers into your ear, “Am I not good enough for you anymore, Princess?”

You spin around to face Jungkook, barely able to contain your delight as you examine the playful glint in his eyes. “Bold of you to assume there was ever a point where you were good enough for me.”

He scoffs, hands automatically coming to loop around your middle. “I know you’re not suggesting that I’m anything less than stellar company.”

You hum aloud, feigning contemplation by rubbing at your chin and a wide grin breaks his irked performance. He tries to hide his little slip by burrowing his face into the crook of your neck.

His soft cheeks on your bare skin along with his large hands squeezing at your sides elicit all your muffled giggles to burst past your lips. Pure, unadulterated glee bounces around your stomach.

Some of the lilies lodged within your golden strands fall loose and flutter onto the ground with the movement. You intercept one that drops from near your temple, plucking it out of the air and slotting the stem just above Jungkook’s ear.

He pulls away from subjecting your clavicle with his tiny nips in order to rest his forehead against yours. Your head is cradled by one of his palms and you watch as his heated gaze roams down to your lips. Entranced by his overwhelming presence, your eyelids slide shut as he leans forward slightly, tilting his head to the side before a meaty hand encloses around the circumference of your upper arm, yanking you away from him.

Panic seizes your muscles. Your heart threatens to shatter your rib cage with its fierce pounding. The soldiers. You extend your other arm to reach out for Jungkook—the same alarm piercing your flesh is reflected in his blazing orbs. Before he has the chance to rush after you, a dainty woman clothed in a primrose dress sweeps him away as well.

Barely a whole day has passed since you began running away from the soldiers, yet you’re more than certain that the soldier’s attire solely consisted of their royal uniforms, which did not include any flowy, pink garments. You whip back to your own abductor; a stout, jolly man with a cheshire grin stretching from one ear to the other.

He releases you in the middle of a swarming mass of people, moving their bodies left and right to the beat being pounded out on tabors and the sweet melody spilling from a nearby flute.

The man spins you around, encouraging you to let loose and sway your hips to the upbeat song as you’re handed off from one partner to the next. Somewhere within the chaos, you spot Jungkook’s longing stare and you subconsciously inch closer to his side.

The second that you two are within reach of one another, you dart into his arms. Just as you’re about to slip into his comforting embrace, a scrawny boy takes your place while an older woman wraps her arms around your shoulders. She wastes no time before guiding you into a dip, her palms supporting your back.

Upside down, Jungkook’s annoyed countenance is an amusing sight that you gleefully chortle at. Knowing that he is similarly distraught at the prospect of being unable to dance together soothes your aching desire and you savour the thrilling experience of moving as one part of a greater whole.

You prance and twirl your heart out as if it’s your last time. And you’re sure that it will be.

Eventually, both of you are able to slither your way out of the dancing crowds, and the cheers die down the farther you get from the main square. The sun is rapidly falling past the horizon and the capital is shrouded in the deepening twilight. You assumed that he would lead you to see the lanterns about now, but you’re clueless as to why you two are heading away from the castle.

“Jungkook?”

He turns back to you with a breathtaking smile resting on his lips, the dwindling light casting an otherworldly radiance around him. Reaching for your hand, he intertwines your fingers with his own as he leans down to softly bump his forehead against yours. “You’ll see.”

Jungkook directs you towards the moat that surrounds the marketplace, ushering you into one of the many gondolas lined up against the dock. You narrow your eyes at him and he attempts to reassure you with a simple, “We’ll bring it back.”

This man will truly corrupt all your morals.

But you’re so entranced in his spell that you follow along without more than a tiny squeeze at your interlaced digits. You release his hands before he jumps into the boat, the wood swaying back and forth under his weight, worrying you instead of the unbothered man a few feet away. As you take a sharp inhale, about to follow in his footsteps, Jungkook grips the sides of your hips and lifts you into the gondola with him.

You fix him with a reproachful glare at his unexpected actions yet the silent scolding doesn’t last long, for you’re hopeless to the sight of his elation, sticking to him like a second skin. Powerless against his charms, you sit on the thin wooden seat on the other side of the boat and watch him grab an oar, dipping it into the water and propelling you two forward.

You want to admire the unobstructed view of the sparkling night sky, but nothing can beat the galaxies hidden within Jungkook’s eyes, thus you try to seem as inconspicuous as possible in ogling him from your peripheral. However, your futile efforts are rather pointless considering your position, facing the handsome thief rowing the boat at the other end.

You think the title is fitting since he’s stolen your heart without a problem as well.

Once he deems your spot satisfactory, Jungkook strolls over to your side, taking a seat on the bench across from you. His legs slot in between the spaces of your own.

“Now that I think about it, it’s the Prince’s eighteenth birthday too,” he states. “He must be pretty excited, taking over the throne and everything.”

You perk up at the news. “He’s succeeding the King?”

“Mm,” he affirms, wetting his lips with a swipe of his tongue. “King announced an early retirement or something because they’d already found the Prince’s betrothed. His coronation is today.”

You nod your understanding, thinking about the responsibilities bearing down on the poor boy. “It’s kind of weird to think about, y’know, being the same age and even sharing the same birthday but leading completely different lives. He’s about to get married, lead a country and me...” you falter, pausing to string your thoughts into a coherent sentence. “Well, this is my entire dream. Seeing these lights is everything to me.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re living your own life, on your own journey. Comparing yourself to others does nothing but rob yourself of your own happiness.”

You hum with a teasing lilt to your tone. “Suddenly the boy who named himself ‘gold’ in the hopes of attracting some friends is giving me advice?”

He breaks out into a chuckle, doubling over and laying his forehead on your shoulder. His hands reach out for the locks of hair resting on your lap, plucking one of the flowers swimming in your strands. Like Hansel and his bread crumbs, many of the blossoms that fell off throughout your time in the marketplace left tracks of your whereabouts. Only a few flowers remain with you.

With the delicate daisy between his thumb and index finger, he rolls the pads of his fingers against each other, spinning the white petals so fast that they blur together into a splotchy circle surrounding the yellow centre. Once he becomes bored with the flower, he lifts his head and stretches his arm out with a classic smirk that heightens his flirtatious nature. “For you, my lady.”

You huff at the offering. “You act as if it wasn’t already mine in the first place.” Despite your sharp words, you gingerly pluck the stem out of his grasp, fingers brushing against his own. When you raise the daisy up to your nose, the invigorating floral scent startles your senses once more.

With not much else to occupy your time, you decide that now is a better time than ever to dislodge the wilting buds from your tresses. You face the side of the gondola overlooking the water, grabbing onto the ledge and leaning forward.

You muster all the grace you have within your bones to place the ivory daisy onto the water’s surface. The flower drifts along the calm current, painting the atmosphere with a tranquil serenity.

Despite your best efforts to suppress them, your clumsy tendencies shine through when you tip your torso over a smidge too far, losing your balance and diving headfirst for the water. Jungkook is quick to latch on to your wrist, steadying you before you accidentally throw yourself overboard.

You’re sheepish in both your apology and thanks. To avoid any further mishaps, one of his hands remain on your lower back and the other collects the remaining blossoms in your tresses, handing them off to you.

A slow rhythm develops between you two and your raging thoughts come to a standstill, a red light halting the traffic within your mind. In front of you, a garden of assorted blossoms assembles, floating gently towards the ornate castle. One sprout catches your eye.

A tiger lily.

Directly below its long petals, a flash of bright red catches your eye in the reflection of the water. Jungkook’s deep voice cleaves through the soft sloshing of the water. “The lanterns.”

“It’s…” You struggle to piece together proper words to describe the sight before you. One lantern lightens the dark sky, drifting alone in the expansive space before a bunch of others race to join the first. Their warm, yellow glow overpowers that of the moon, painting the landscape in an orange tint that seems to welcome you into its embrace.

“Beautiful.”

You’re too distracted by the enchanting sight before you to notice his eyes trained on your profile, and so you soundlessly agree with a nod of your head. It’s as if time has ceased in its endless ticking, halting in its tracks for another world to open where only you and Jungkook exist.

You don’t mind the idea as much as you think you would.

“I have a surprise.”

You turn over to face him, head tilting in curiosity. He carries a paper lantern in his open palms and your brows furrow at his attentive, considerate behaviour. “Jungkook?”

“We should join in on all the fun, right?” A genuine smile illuminates his soft features instead of the usual smirks he casually throws your way. Oddly enough, despite your inability to operate in front of his flirty personality, you adore both sides equally.

“Kook, wait.”

He perks up at the nickname, reminding you of a dog with its tail violently wagging back and forth—you can’t help but be enamoured by him. You raise the hem of your dress up to the middle of your left thigh and he sputters, looking away. “Hey, hey! I know I’m pretty irresistible but this boat is not the place to—”

“No, you idiot.” You snicker at his unexpected timidity, shimmying the coiled strap down your leg and covering your decency once again with the fabric. “I have something for you too.”

He peeks at you, ensuring that you’re sufficiently clothed before turning to face you. A cold sweat settles over the outer layer of your skin as you watch his brows raise at his satchel in your hands. Keeping the lantern in one hand, and his steady gaze focused on your eyes, he gently pushes the bag down to the floor of the boat, the metal of the crown banging against the wood.

“All I need is you,” he whispers the words into the empty space of the night, the syllables getting lost somewhere within the mellow breeze blowing by. Your heart constricts at the reassurance that this time, Mother is wrong. You fight back the tears gathering at your waterline and grab the other edge of the lantern after he lights the candle inside.

“Ready?” he asks.

You nod and the two of you slowly lift your arms to release the lantern with the masses drifting above you. After a bit, you lose sight of your paper lantern and you glance back at Jungkook to ask whether he was able to keep track of its location, but your voice gets stuck in your throat when you become captivated with the childlike wonder buried within his orbs, roaming over the sky and examining every single lantern at once.

His scouring eventually leads him back to you. He catches you staring, but neither of you care enough to break the moment. His eyes soften and you two shuffle forward on your seats, being pulled toward one another like magnets. Your legs entangle with his in the cramped area and you lean forward until your lips are millimetres from one another.

From this close, you have a perfect view of your reflection within his brilliant irises, the shallow scar that runs along his cheek, the cute birthmark right under his mouth. His eyes are locked on your mouth and you take that as the go-ahead signal to close the gap and slot your lips against his soft ones.

With your evident lack of experience, Jungkook takes control immediately, a hand flying to the back of your head, threading through your hair to keep you in place as he sucks at your lower lip. His tongue swipes at the closed seam that blocks him from your mouth, and you instantly open up to clash tongues, although you shrink back soon after, letting him explore your hot cavern.

You sneak a peek at him every time you two separate for air, confirming that this is indeed reality and not some product of your wild imagination. He invades all your senses and keeps you locked to him like an addict desperate for their fix, his other palm searing through your clothing with its heat and burning a hole through the thin fabric of your dress.

When you finally pull away, you feel feverish and dizzy as a raging blush colours your cheeks. You can’t find it in yourself to look directly into his eyes, but he reaches for your chin and forces you to study the haze of passion in his gaze.

Every part of your body is lit aflame from his touch. Hooked on the feeling of his plush lips pressing against yours with your tongues swirling in tandem with one another, you’re about to lean in for more when his eyes dart off to the side and he abruptly jerks away as if you burned him with your embrace.

His startling jolt snaps you out of your dazed state. With your head out of the clouds, you notice that the lanterns have already moved onto the next town over, taking their warmth with them. The fire within you, kindled by Jungkook, dwindles with the uncertainty of your future together.

Without so much as another word, Jungkook snatches the oar from the bottom of the boat and jumps back to his position at the front of the gondola. He urgently paddles the two of you back to land and you fumble for words. “Jungkook, I—”

“It’s not you.” His statement is reassuring in writing, although his tone is detached, distant in a way that crushes the passages to your lungs. Lost in your dejection, you’re powerless to prod him for any more information than that.

Before the boat can hit the edge of the dock, Jungkook springs out with his leather satchel tucked under his arm, pausing to mutter, “I just—I have to take care of something. Please believe me when I say I’ll be back.” His anguish leaks into his voice and you will yourself to nod, a forced smile on your lips. “Wait for me.”

He dashes off with your heart in his hands. You steady your shaky breath and place your faith in him, the man you have come to trust with your life.

You spend the next half hour struggling to get out of the gondola, craving the flat land to ground yourself. By the time you manage to clamber out, there are a couple of discoloured blotches on the length of your dress that put your many failed attempts on full display. You fan one of the bigger spots to help it dry faster, but the fabric becomes chilly with the extra wind and a shiver slips down your spine from its icy temperature.

Languid footsteps approach your frigid frame and you brighten up, forgetting about the cold. “Took you long enough. Y’know, for a second there I was worried you’d actually lef—”

You pick up more than one pair of feet advancing on you and your eyes widen at the lanky, redheaded twins that stop in front of your path. Cursing your quivering limbs, you cringe at the tremor in your voice when you ask, “What did you do to him?”

They simultaneously snort at your question and the one on the left replies, “Sorry about this, lass, but you’re gonna have to come with us.”

The blood drains from your face and you repeat, louder, “What did you do to him?”

“Aw, don’t get all riled up now. But don’t worry your pretty little head, we’re going to take you right to him.” They corner you back to the dock and you scramble to locate a weapon to defend yourself with. At your wit’s end, you prepare to jump into the murky waters.

However, before you get the chance to move another muscle, an intense pain blooms at the back of your skull, wrapping around to your temples accompanied by a flash of light exploding behind your eyes. Then everything goes black.

Your head pounds as a dull ache nestles itself deep within your bones. Your vision is nothing but a blurry, indecipherable mess of colours, so you opt to keep your eyes closed instead. You’re kneeling on cold tiles that rub your knees raw when you subtly shift into a more comfortable position, discovering the existence of the shackles around your wrists and ankles.

“—nd the girl. We expect you to keep your end of the deal.” The rugged tone that speaks is one that you recognize from before your blackout—one of the redheads.

“Yes, yes, all the charges laid against you have been cleared,” a high-pitched voice meets your ears and you subconsciously grimace, physically recoiling from the sound. Thankfully, your sharp motions go unnoticed. “You’re free to go.”

“What?” You hear shuffling nearby, the rustling of clothes getting farther away from you. The distinct, metallic sheen of a couple of swords being unsheathed follow and the footsteps come to a sudden stop. “You promised us gold.”

The woman scoffs, “Now why would I give you crooked-nosed knaves anything more than a death sentence?”

Many polished boots clamber against the ground with such force that the vibrations can be felt through the flesh of your folded calves. The grunts and garbled screams that ensue are silenced within seconds and two hefty weights hit the floor with a limp, lifeless thud.

“A pleasure working with you boys.”

There’s more shuffling, then something is dragged past your crumpled form. The throbbing across your cranium worsens and you’re incapable of fending off the blissful oblivion of desolation any longer, thus you surrender to the darkness once more.

The next time you open your eyes a harsh light coats your surroundings and the blocks of colour are clearer, sharp enough to decipher the intricate detailing painted on the tiles beneath your knees. Someone chokes on a wet cough, and your eyelids snap shut once more. Your nose crinkles in disgust as well.

“Her tiny skull should have been rolling through these halls eighteen years ago.” The woman’s wretched tone fills your ears, words full of deadly poison.

You remain chained, kneeling against the ground with your head lowered. A numbing sensation lingers no matter how much you fidget in place, bearing down your limbs with the weight of your useless nerves that refuse to fire off.

Another, deeper, voice responds, “Tone it down. Her magic is powerful, the advantage we hold over the other kingdoms is colossal with this kind of sorcery on our side. If she falls, the whole empire will fall with her.”

Sorcery? Although you can count the number of people you met on one hand, you’ve studied heaps of books and drilled your mother with enough questions to know that your magic is unique and rare—a product of alchemy that occurs merely once every millennium.

“I see no point in keeping her around when we cannot access her magic at our will, she is as good as worthless to us. That halfwit of a sister was incapable of locking this churl in a tower for long enough, and look at her now, running around, wreaking havoc with a criminal.”

Your mind swirls with the sudden barrage of information, unsure as to why these two strangers hold deep insights into your life, as well as the knowledge about your unusual hair.

“There is nothing to worry about, Jimin is on the throne. We will simply send her away once again,” the gruff voice states, exasperation clear in his tone.

A deafening thud reverberates throughout the spacious room. Helpless to the dreadful fear swimming in your veins, your body shudders in response to the noise.

The woman shrieks, clearly at her wits’ end, “I want her dead! Guillotine, hang, drown, burn, I could care less. She poses a threat to Jimin’s throne with her existence, and we have gone through too much to have our plans foiled by this knave. We were merciful enough in having my imbecilic sister continue to meet with Jimin throughout the years.”

There’s a long, drawn-out sigh before the man answers, “Have some heart, darling, that is her son you speak of.”

“In the eyes of the people, he is my son and the King,” she seethes. Her enmity is strangely familiar, yet you fail to identify the woman through her voice. “Quit acting as if I am the only sinner here and remember how much we both sacrificed for our blood to inherit the King’s throne.”

“It is not your blood though, is it, dear wife?”

The tension within the room is thick, palpable in the dense air in the way that makes breathing difficult. “You must have enjoyed sleeping with my sister more than I believed. Do you want to call her back here? Play a good husband and wife for the counterfeit King?”

You couldn’t keep the tremours from breaking out over your body as your breaths quicken and an abundance of liquid races to your eyes. It was all beginning to come together, but you wait for the two to confirm your suspicions.

The man chuckles with hollow intent. “Do you fail to recall your own words, pleading with me to follow this foolish scheme of yours? I would have much rather preferred a foreigner rule the kingdom alongside our daughter.”

“Funny, that’s not what you said eighteen years ago.”

You let out a choked sob, unable to repress the sounds of anguish that tears at your skin to brutal shreds. Enraged rivulets stream down your cheeks, and you lift your torso to stare at your legitimate parents. They turn to you, the man distraught and the woman with pure disgust.

“How—” you stammer through your heavy wails, “how could you?”

“So the Princess found out.” Your biological mother raises from her royal seat, storming over the short distance to your trembling form. “Fine, we can strike an agreement.”

She reaches behind your head to grab a handful of your hair, yanking your head up to peer up at the exquisitely decorated ceiling. When you yelp in pain, she crouches down to your level, baring her pearly white teeth as she threatens, “Leave. Be a good little girl and go hole yourself back up in that tower. Don’t worry, Mommy will come get you if we ever need that magic of yours, hm?”

You desperately wriggle around to loosen her hold, but she only grips your strands tighter, pulling downwards to introduce more pain to your scalp. “That thief will stay right here to ensure you keep up your end of the deal, alright?”

At the mention of Jungkook, your heart stutters and your expression morphs to that of despair, momentarily forgetting about the strain to the sensitive skin of your head. “Where is he?”

She smirks and snaps her fingers. The door to the throne room is pulled open with a loud clack, and Jungkook’s weak, bloody form stumbles through the grand entrance, hanging upright with the help of two sturdy guards.

“Kook,” you achingly howl.

“Mopping all his blood off the floor would be terribly tiresome for the maids.” She jerks your head down to bear witness to the sneer stretching across her lips. “It’s all up to you, really.”

“Let me heal him!” you agonize, sobs ripping through your chest, burning through every tissue to the outermost layer of your skin. “Pl-please, please let me heal him. I’ll leave, I won’t say a word, I’ll do anything you want—I’m b-begging you, please.”

The wicked smirk playing on her lips grows wider at your pleading. She shoves your head away, the momentum of the push throwing your whole torso over to the side, bringing about a harsh meeting with the floor. With Jungkook occupying every crevice of your mind, there’s no space to register the pain pulsing through your groggy body.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

You scramble to your hands and knees, disregarding the scrapes and bruises littering your limbs. Despite your tunnel vision directed towards reaching Jungkook, your movements are sluggish from the extended period of time spent kneeling in one position.

The guards supporting him release their hold on his arms, and you scramble to catch his limp frame in your arms, but your depleted muscles can only manage to soften his fall with your body. You detangle yourself from him and hurriedly begin wrapping your hair around his torso.

Your jaw trembles at his damp locks, sodden with sweat and stuck to the side of his head dripping in crimson. The vicious colour oozes out of the deep gashes you locate across his back, peeking through the tears in his shirt and stains the bloody spit drooling from the corners of his cracked lips. Great purple welts fill the rest of his exposed skin, completing the heart-wrenching picture before you.

You pick up the weak croak of your name, and you hiccup from your fierce laments at his red-rimmed eyes. “Guess I was right all along, Princess.”

Your mother’s cruel words follow the nasty glower she shoots his way. “Shut up or we’ll end your pitiful life now, you filthy criminal.”

“Jungkook, I’m here,” you reassure him, beginning to wrap your excess strands around his arms before he stops you with a stained hand. “Jungkook let me—”

“Stop,” he mutters, gripping his side in pain.  

“No! I can’t—I can’t let you die.” You grit your teeth, disobeying his words and going to wrap your tresses around his broken body once more.

“If you go back there,” he coughs, an alarming amount of blood spurting out, “then you’ll—”

“It’s fine, everything will be alright, okay?” You press your palm over his hand and the icy bite that greets you hardens your resolve. “We’ll figure it out.”

You take a deep breath, readying yourself to sing the incantation engraved into the back of your mind when Jungkook’s fingers graze your cheek. You unconsciously lean into his touch, examining every crimson stain marring his delicate features.

His doe eyes soften at your orbs roaming his face and when your gaze settles on his thin lips, he snatches the chance to land a peck against your mouth. The fleeting kiss fills you with greed, and your eyes flutter shut despite your rationale as you dip towards him for another.

You halt, gasping at the gut-wrenching sound of your tresses being severed from the base of your neck, the noise snapping you back to reality. Your eyes widen at Jungkook’s relieved countenance as his torso reclines to the ground, the sharp dagger in his hand rattling onto the tiles beside him. When you reach back to assess the damage, your hand grips onto the short strands that reach no further than your shoulder.

You glance back at the heaps of dead, brown hair sprawled across the palace floor and your mind wipes clean of any coherent thought. Instead, your chest caves in on itself, breathing made impossible because of your collapsed airways and you choke out, “Jungkook, what did you—”

“What an absolute halfwit, does he think he did anyone a favour with that little stunt of his? Without your hair, we have no need for either of you.” Your biological mother laughs, the notes turning ominously maniacal towards the end. “Kill them.”

Guards immediately surround you two, and in a weak attempt to protect him from their pointed swords, you cradle Jungkook’s powerless form to your chest. You prepare yourself to bear the end of their piercing blades.

“What do you roaches think you’re doing?” she seethes, blazing orbs flashing with white-hot fury. “I said, kill them!”

The gigantic doors burst open again, but this time, a lean man strides forward. His blond strands are neatly styled away from his forehead and the regal red robe hanging upon his shoulders elegantly sway after him. The soldiers part ways to make room for the intimidating man and one of his retainers at the door announces, “The King is here!”

You struggle to even out your frantic breaths, thankful for the distraction that grants you a break to rack your brain for a method to escape the dreadful situation you two have found yourselves in. Debating whether you should fight back, sneak away or plead for forgiveness, your eyes dart wildly around the room. A woman donned in a black cloak lingers slightly behind the King, gazing at you with a murderous glare that sends pin needles into the thin lining of your stomach.

“That’s enough,” the King states.

“Jimin.” The former Queen races up to him but is stopped by the retainers that encircle the King.  “What business do you have here? There are more important matters for you to attend to.” Her eyes narrow at the sight of the woman behind him.

“No, I think this has gone on long enough.” He sweeps his gaze over to the two of you, Jungkook barely clinging onto life, nestled within your protective embrace. The woman latches onto his bicep, her head vigorously shaking back and forth, yet you’re uncertain whether her disagreement will relieve your anguish or worsen it.

Despite her insistence, his head nods in your direction and the woman that raised you begrudgingly marches up to you, barely acknowledging your presence in favour of pressing her palms against Jungkook’s open lacerations. He winces at the pressure and just as you’re about to tell her off, you discern the thick gauze that rests between her hand and Jungkook’s side, the sterile white shade expeditiously being replaced by a bloody crimson.

“What are you talking about, dear?” the former Queen asks, a hard edge to her tone. “These two are hedge-born lowlives, simply not worth your time.”

He crinkles his nose in disgust, flicking his hand towards the former King and Queen. “Lock them up in the dungeons.”

Both their eyes widen comically, jaws dropping to the floor. However, you can’t find joy within their despair when Jungkook’s survival is still up in the air.

The woman sputters, recklessly thrashing her body to escape the soldiers’ grip. The man simply lowers his head, seemingly having accepted his fate as he follows the guards without another word.

“Did you forget who put you in that throne, Park Jimin?” the woman screeches, the blood vessels lining her neck about to implode. “How dare you disrespect your pare—”

“How could I ever forget your treacherous actions?” he spits out, disgust lacing his voice, “How could I ever forget how many lives you’ve ruined, dear aunt.”

“We did it all for you!”

“You did it for yourselves,” he hisses. Relief trickles through the tips of your fingers, spreading across your body like wildfire from the King’s aid. “Get them out of my sight.”

“You worthless—” Her shrieks echo throughout the halls, though you’ve long lost focus in their conversation after watching the two wretched souls being punished and put in their rightful place.

Your aunt passes some thick bandages from inside the bell sleeve of her cloak. You gratefully accept the offering, pressing it against his lower back—wishing that it’s not too late, that Jungkook has not lost too much blood yet. The passive stare that your aunt fixes you with crams your head with doubt and you begin to panic, bringing one of your hands up to cradle his face.

Although you’re convinced that you wailed through an entire year’s worth of sobs, the tears sliding down your face refuse to stop, dripping down and landing onto the dirtied skin of Jungkook’s cheek. You press your forehead against his, hoping against hope that some magic remains within your body, that the tiniest bit will reveal itself like a bag trick and heal his wounds.

But your magical hair was extraordinary enough, and this is no fairytale.

“Get those two to the physician’s,” the King orders.

Guards scramble to action, ripping you apart from Jungkook as you unsuccessfully attempt to resist being separated again. You’re absolutely spent from the tiring events of the past couple of days and your weary legs give out as the soldiers lift your drained form into a standing position.

Jungkook is moved onto a sturdy sheet, then carried away past the double doors and out of sight. Your flimsy arms wrap around the shoulders of two guards as they assist you in following Jungkook to the physician, passing the King on your way.

His plush lips stretch into a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile, but the adrenaline from earlier wears off and the sting of your own wounds drains you of your manners, uncaring that you’re facing the King. Thankfully, he dismisses your discourtesy instead of beheading you, and you’re hauled away from the gracious man.

On the way, you’re close enough to overhear what he mutters under his breath. A garbled scream rips through your throat in protest, and you shoot the King the deadliest glare you can muster. He releases a deep sigh at your childish antics, waving as you turn the corner.

“Poor guy doesn’t look like he’s going to make it.”

You spend the next few, rather tedious, days in a luxurious bed, being fretted over by everyone from the maids to the chefs. It was difficult to indulge in the extravagance that the castle had to offer when you were anxiously awaiting news regarding Jungkook, which they refused to disclose until your own condition improved.

After all the pampering, you were permitted access past the confines of the expansive room you were forced to recover in. Your injuries were minor in comparison to Jungkook, thus you were granted freedom much earlier than him.

Not like he was capable of stepping outside of his room anyway.

Although his body is repairing his torn flesh incrementally, he shows no signs of consciousness—not the twitch of a finger, the flutter of an eyelash, nothing. Doubt claws a bit higher up your torso each day, waiting for the moment that the disquiet slithers up your esophagus and suffocates you.

Despite the crushing news of his coma-like state, you work diligently to ensure that neither you nor Jungkook becomes a burden to the castle by picking up various duties. Jimin continuously waves off your attempts to help, but you’re restless and desperate for a distraction from wondering about Jungkook’s condition all the time.

Jimin banned you from performing some of the maid’s tasks once, then sorely regretted it when he had to tend to your nervous breakdown in the afternoon. Since then he has kept his comments on your excessive working habits to himself.

Today you’re in Jungkook’s room, dusting off the spotless shelves that house the many herbs being grounded into powders and rubbed as a salve onto his injuries daily. You organize the rolled bandages for the second time in the past hour and mop every inch of the floor.

You can’t devote yourself to lingering by the unconscious man’s side for too long, otherwise your mind gradually begins to spiral into every possible worst-case scenario and you simply can’t handle the reality of a future without him. It sounds overly dramatic—many of the maids you have grown close to over the months claimed as much when you brought up your journey together.

But they didn’t hear his melodic laughter that followed his teasing smirks when he said something flirtatious, effectively making your heart skip a beat. They didn’t feel his hand always reaching out to make contact with you in some way, craving your touch to ground him to reality. They didn’t see his eyes softening when he gazed at you as though you were holding his entire world in your eyes.

They didn’t know Jungkook the way you did.

You strain the mop of its excess dirtied water before stowing the tool away in the storage room. When you return, a draft filters in through the open window and you race over to close it, worried that Jungkook may catch a bothersome cold that will delay his healing process.

You take a seat on the lavish mattress adjacent from his thighs as you stare out the window in front of you. The air remains stale in spite of the fresh breeze that blew into the room seconds prior, and the dull atmosphere persists due to the lifeless man inhabiting its space.

You’re uncertain how many more times you can handle walking into this room with his weak body lying motionless on these pristine sheets, but you will endure it all without complaint for him. A knock at the door catches your attention, and you twist around to meet Jimin’s friendly beam. “How is he?”

“Same as he always is,” you state, allowing yourself to take in Jungkook’s sunken cheeks and pale face. “Unresponsive.”

“You wanna join me in the gardens for some fresh air?” At your unsure raise of a brow, he convinces you with, “You’ve been cooped up in the castle the whole day.”

The both of you head out to view the lush scenery outside, seated amongst the blooming tulips, although your eyes are drawn to the lilies that border the lilac cosmos. You trace the familiar shape of the orange flower with your pupils, reminiscing on the doodles decorating your room’s walls back at the tower. That seems like forever ago now.

Other than his lack of consciousness, Jungkook’s condition remains relatively stable and yet you still find it burdensome to stray too far from his side. The staff is under orders to instantly notify you should he arise while you’re away, but that doesn’t ease the disquiet that rouses whenever you leave the castle walls.

You’re convinced that the second you wander off, he will wake up without you there; a thought too unbearable to consider. You crave to lose yourself within his molten ember orbs once more, exploring the undiscovered galaxies in his gaze.

“These past few months must seem unfathomable,” he starts, pressing his lips together to ponder over his next words before continuing. “I don’t know how my mom treated you in the tower but, knowing her, I’m guessing it wasn’t too great.”

His casual mention of the affectionate term you pleaded to call your mother for ages—the topic she despised almost as much as you begging to venture outside the tower—stung the slightest bit. From her actions, it was evident that she never cared for you as much as her own, biological son, but it was difficult to dismiss the joyful memories you shared with her, no matter how few and far between they were.

“She started visiting me a few years back, explaining all their horrendous crimes and insisting that she was the only one I could trust. She told me about you, too. Your mother ordered her to lock you away in that tower and ensure that nobody ever found out the truth in exchange for my seat on the throne. ”

Your head lowers at the information, brows furrowing as you contemplate your true relationship with the woman that raised you from birth.

“When my mom caught word of you travelling with the thief, she returned the crown in hopes that Jungkook would run for the hills, and you would be left to come back with her. Her goal was to overtake the kingdom from your mother.” His eyes gloss over with a distant sheen and you sympathize with him; the boy was used as a tool, just like you.

“It’s reassuring in a way.” His strange admittance prompts you to glance up at him, confusion swirling within your orbs. “At least we’re both suffering from our family’s despicable actions.”

Our family.

His optimistic viewpoint hits you like a wave crashing against the shore, sharing his vast fortitude and washing away a fraction of the sombre agony tormenting your heart. Although Jimin’s life was no doubt disparate from your own, you two are connected through the blood running through your veins. Even if those same bonds brought you to a tragic meeting with your own wicked parents, at least you could rely on one person within your family.

The edges of your lips curl into a tiny smile aimed at the blond man across from you, your own short, chestnut coloured hair providing a stark contrast. “I’m glad I can rely on you, Jimin.”

He readjusts his weight on the green, iron chair and leans forward to rest his elbows on the metal table between the two of you. “I think this is the first time you’ve called me by my name without me having to remind you.”

You quietly giggle at the memories flooding your mind, from the hostile attitude you first approached him with, then the days he comforted you over Jungkook’s motionless form, to Jimin demanding that you call him by his first name. You consider yourself extremely lucky to have someone as gracious and compassionate as Jimin to be your half-brother.

“I know we’ve already gone over this,” he starts with a serious edge to his tone, “but this is your last chance.”

You rip your gaze away from the plants to lay a couple of light pats to his hand. Despite the lack of context, the topic is familiar to you, as he has gone over this with you many times. “No, I don’t want the throne. You trained for this position your whole life, so I’m entrusting the kingdom to your capable hands. All I ask is for you to fulfill my request.”

Jimin releases a heavy sigh. “If you really want him free of all his crimes, there’s no way you two can live within the capital.”

“That’s fine with me.” You shrug your shoulders, unconcerned about the prospect of having to leave the busy city. “I don’t think I could live somewhere like this anyway.”

You don’t expand on your reasoning, and he doesn’t question you further, simply sparing you a solemn, understanding gaze. Supposedly, you aren’t supposed to pick favourites within your family, but Jimin is definitely golden in your eyes.

“Deeply sorry to intrude, Your Royal Majesty, but your betrothed is at the door and wishes to meet with you.” A guard inches his way towards your table with his head bowed, hands respectfully gathered behind his back.

Jimin looks to you with an apology on his tongue, but you wave him off before any explanations can spill from his plump lips. “Go get your girl.”

A bright smile enlightens his features as he springs up from his seat, dusting off his uniform before bounding after the guard. When he quirks his head back, you demonstrate your encouragement through a thumbs-up that you wave from side to side until he is satisfied, facing forward with a gleeful snicker.

You inhale the outdoor air, about to head inside yourself to rearrange Jungkook’s bandages again when your eyes wander back to the tiger lilies that caught your eye earlier. Within a few strides, you reach the vibrant buds, stretching your hand out to pluck a few stems. The sweet smell invades your senses.

With a tiny bouquet in hand, you make your way back inside, the metaphorical load on your shoulders a bit lighter than it was before. You expertly maneuver your way through the halls towards Jungkook’s room with the dwindling hope that today will be the day that his honey orbs reflect the sun’s light filtering in the window, filled with the mischief and tenderness that you remember.

When you’re met with his unmoving form instead, another sliver of that faith shatters into tiny shards.

You shake it off and head back to the windowsill, where an empty flower vase rests. The lilies within your grasp are carefully inserted inside and you place the bouquet back onto the tiny platform. Their floral scent wafts throughout the space as you take your place beside his legs.

As part of your usual routine, you use this time to relax. Just for a moment, you give yourself the room to breathe, giving your brain free rein to feel the emotions raging within you and fantasize about your future with Jungkook. You imagine yourself in a tiny cottage, craving a quaint place to live after the immense tower you were raised in.

The two of you would settle down there, adopting a pet to keep you company before you inevitably brought a few children into the world. Their genders didn’t matter, as long as you could raise them with Jungkook, forming a tight-knit family that shared all the love the both of you lacked growing up.

A warm hand wraps around your wrist. Your head snaps to follow the direction of his arm, curving into his broad shoulders, and past his sharp jaw with your heart in your throat. Tears gather at your waterline, spilling over onto your cheeks as you hiccup from the sudden sobs that overtake your body.

The doe eyes that stare back at you carry your whole world in their weight.

+ epilogue.

Tiny footsteps scuttle around the wooden floors, screaming in delight from being chased by a much larger, yet still very childlike, man. “Betchya can’t catch me, daddy!”

Your husband playfully roars at the taunt, speeding up his strides to snatch the little girl up into his arms. She shrieks at the hand that comes up to tickle her little torso.

“Okay, okay, enough playing you two,” you command, calming the baby boy in your arms that becomes far too excited from the chaotic energy erupting within your cottage. “It’s dinnertime!”

“Dinnertime!” your oldest repeats, violently wriggling around in her father’s grip to force him in lowering her back to the ground so that she can run to her spot at the table. She looks from side to side, doe eyes flitting back to you with a pout on her lips. “But where’s Pascal, Mommy?”

You pass the baby to Jungkook, freeing your hands in order to bring the steaming hot food from the stove to the table. The beige chameleon fades back into his natural emerald colour once you grab him by his scaly torso, dropping him into your daughter’s awaiting hands.

Her squeaky voice chides, “You can’t hide from Mommy.”

A boisterous, yet melodic neigh notifies you of Max’s presence in your backyard, and you shamble past the wooden door to hand the carrots you prepared for him. He snorts in delight as he lowers his head to the floor and begins chomping away. At the sight of his dirtied mane, you take a mental note to give him a thorough wash and brush later on.

Before you head inside, you catch sight of a blond man making his way towards you. “Jimin!”

His eyes reduce to two crescents from the wide grin that occupies his face. He swapped out his imposing robe for a commoner’s shirt and slacks, and they strangely suit his lithe form better than his bulky uniform.

“And where’s our lovely Queen?” You tease, elbowing him when he reaches out to ruffle the top of your head.

“Taking care of things that I don’t want to do.” You two snicker, ecstatic to see one another, and you step aside to let him coddle your children. The slight breeze in the air gingerly kisses your face, rustling the leaves on the trees surrounding your tiny house, and you close your lids to relish in the tranquillity of nature.

A pair of familiar arms curl around the shape of your waist and a smile creeps onto your lips as you open your eyes to examine Jungkook’s face, inches away from your own. He brushes your brown strands over your shoulder, leaning in for a quick peck as a loud chorus of disgust is vocalized behind you.

Both of you break out into giggles at your daughter’s behaviour and turn to face your family waiting for you inside. With your hand tangled with his, you walk to a brighter future together.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #btswritingcafe #heartsforbts #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagine #bts au #bangtanscenery #btsgoldnet #ficswithluv #goldenclosetnet #cypherwritersnet #bangtanhq

[justice4harwin]

Light’s Corruption- Chapter V

Pairing: The DarklingxAlina

Summary:With few friends at the Little Palace, Alina must work to win the favour of her fellow grisha and their commander, who makes her feel light headed every time she sees him.

After training in Os Alta for two years, the king grows tired of waiting and demands the Sun Summoner joins a western post near the Fjerdan border along with the rest of The Second Army to test her abilities.

Something happens. Suddenly, Alina wants blood to run down the rivers and those who stand in her and The Darkling’s way will be blinded by her light and swallowed by his shadows.

It won’t be pretty

Rating: 18+

Click here for chapter 4

As usual, tags are in the comments. If you dont wanna be tagged, dont be afraid to let me know. If you wanna be tagged, let me know too. I dont bite...anymore lmao

Chapter 5: Heartrenders

Days went by, and they turned into weeks. The leaves fell off the trees, a crunchy sea of red, orange, yellow and brown, and Alina wanted to pile them all on and throw herself inside.

She'd do it the first chance she got, but for that she had to beat the gardeners before they took the piles and burnt them to depressing ashes.

She talked to Michail some more during they rounds around the lake and had her rematch with Natasha.

She lost. Again. She laughed it off. Again. Natasha said she hadn't been so easy to defeat that second time, to which Alina smiled almost genuinely. Progress.

Baghra refused to see her still, and Alina was too proud to go back to her, so she tried to practice on her own. She'd hide away on the far sides of the gardens where the other grisha rarely went to and try to gain more control. It was a slow process; the temptation to let her power run free and vast was always there and trying to tame that always left her exhausted. She had no trouble falling asleep, yet each day the bags underneath her eyes seemed to deepen, as did her appetite. Alina was pretty sure that summoning should be for the better, but more than once, she had thoroughly considered laying down on the cold grass and take a nap there instead of walking all the way back to the Little Palace.

The General wasn't back yet, and much to Alina's confusion, frustration and shame, she worried. Maybe that too had something to do with the bags underneath her eyes. She tended to dream of him in all kinds of scenarios, each less pleasant than the last. It made her wake up sweaty and choking for air.

More than once, she almost wrote to him, only if just to make sure he was alright. But he had to be. Otherwise, word would've spread quickly…right?

She always talked herself out of it though. His presence was missed, her mind was making up all kind of tricks to make her reach out to him like a pathetic girl begging for attention.

The thought reminded her of Baghra's opinion of her, which only strengthened her resolve to not write to him.

She had had enough of begging, enough of getting scrapes of affection from a man who hadn't even bother to write once; she wouldn't do it again, no matter how much her heart tried to pull her to him.

But then her eyes would drift back to the black, shadow rose that laid on her nightstand, the little bit of gold on its inside long dead, and her heart would race and some form of reassurance would fall gently over her, like a blanket shielding her body.

She'd reach out and take it in her hands. It had no thorns. Her fingers would run through its petals, as soft as those of a real rose, but with something deeper in there. There was something more alive inside that rose than in any flower in all of Ravka; it was deep, powerful, and dark. It scared and alluded to her in the same measure, and she'd stare at it fascinated for an unfathomable long time.

She wondered if The Darkling could feel her caressing his shadows; and how he'd feel about it.

Besides Michail and Natasha, Alina didn’t seem to be progressing very much. They exchanged niceties and some jokes, even paired up during training, but there was not much more to it.

She told herself to be patient. These things took time.

One early afternoon, Genya showed up on her room unannounced. Alina hurried to hide her rose inside her nightstand; she wasn't sure why, but she wanted it to be her little secret.

"The Queen just left Os Alta." the redhead smiled. "As did the king. They'll be gone for two days on a hunting trip."

"A hunting trip?"

"Yes, where they kill animals for the fun of it. Like one of those brutish size competitions men seem to like so much."

Alina snorted.

"So?"

"So…"there was a gleam to her friend's eyes, and the summoner leaned back and frowned slightly, almost scared. "I could sneak you into the Grand Palace and into Her Royal Bitch's wardrobe."

"We'll get in trouble, Gen."

"Oh, please; have some faith in me." she placed her elbows on the desk and her chin atop of her hands, almost looking angelic. "Do you really think I'd get you in trouble?"

"Yes."

"Well, then you're wrong." she straightened up and tugged on Alina's arm. "C'mon; there's so many gowns and habits: she rarely wears them twice. We're not stealing; no one will know."

"How many gowns?" she asked, genuinely curious. She had seen the queen on two official occasions, the first time when she arrived from the camps near Kribirsk, and the second when she was invited to her ridiculous tea parade. Still, she had seen her in passing a few times as she strolled the grounds. A part of Alina felt ashamed of the jealousy she felt upon seeing her beautiful clothes and jewels.

There she was, living in a palace, wearing a kefta and being pampered, yet she dared to want more.

"Hundreds!" the Tailor whispered excitedly. "And they'll look much better on us anyway."

She gave in a little to temptation. They would just try them on and leave them again. No one would know, and maybe she'd be satisfied then.

"Alright, alright. But we better not get caught."

"Don't worry, we won't."

They left the bedroom and ran down the stairs, Genya holding onto the blue sleeve of her friend as she rambled about all the different fabrics and patterns and accessories while Alina tried to keep up with her, listening to every word while watching her step. The last thing she needed was to trip down the stairs.

That'd be a sad way to go for her.

"You'll love it. I promise!" Genya turned to give her a smile, but Alina's eyes drifted to the looming figure appearing in her line of vision.

The Darkling walked into the Little Palace accompanied by Ivan, Fedyor and a third heartrender.

It was a woman, a little bit older than Alina probably, but only for a few years. She was tall, with long, brown hair cascading down her back. Her kefta, which hugged her rounded figure nicely, gave her away as a fellow heartrender.

The Darkling noticed them approaching. Alina tried to search something in his eyes, anything that gave away any sort of emotion that could cause in him to see her again, but she saw nothing but his usual coolness.

The Summoner and the Tailor came to a stop and bowed.

"Moi Soverennyi." they bowed respectfully.

"Miss Starkov, Miss Safin; it has been some time." he looked from one to the other. "May I inquire as to your present activities?"

"Nothing we're not supposed to do." Alina spat out, earning herself a dainty elbow to the ribs.

General Kirigan rose an eyebrow.

"I see. See to it that it stays that way."

"Of course, sir." spoke Genya, serious all of a sudden.

The man turned and contemplated the strange woman for a moment, then gestured at Alina with a gloved hand.

"This is Alina Starkov, our Sun Summoner." he looked at her, those pools of grey catching her breath. "Miss Starkov, may I introduce you to Nina Zenik. She is one of my best agents and has just recently returned from an assignment in Shu Han."

The woman's green eyes settled on Alina, taking her in. Something glittered in there.

"So, she is real after all."

"Would I lie to you?" was The Darkling's reply.

"You forgot to mention how pretty she is." Nina ignored him, taking a long, stealth step towards her and catching a tendril of Alina's dark hair in her fingers.

"Um, it's a pleasure to meet you." The Sun Summoner managed to say, nervous under the woman scrutiny.

"Oh, a pleasure indeed, sun bean." Nina smiled, amusement shining in her eyes as Alina's face heated up. "I can't wait to make your acquaintance."

Before Alina could even think of an answer -for the woman's pretty eyes were too distracting- The Darkling cleared his throat.

"Not for some time, I am afraid." he said. Alina finally turned her gaze to him. There was something dark and intense in the way he was staring at Nina's back, his jaw tense. "Miss Starkov has quite the busy schedule."

Alina felt Genya tensing beside her. Nina's eyes slid momentarily, as if she could see The Darkling behind her, and nodded, winking at her before receding.

"Certainly. I can only imagine." she turned a charming smile on him. "Should we discuss my mission in private?"

"Of course." he answered almost, almost too quickly. He made a gesture for her to go in first.

"See you around, sun bean."

Alina choked on her own saliva as she struggled to say her farewell.

Ivan left with them without even glancing in their direction; Fedyor was kind enough to give them each a courteous smile.

Genya was giggling like an idiot.

"Shut up."

Now she was laughing. 

During their training one day, Alina decided to pair up with her. Many grisha gave her a myriad of odd looks, and for a moment, Alina feared she might be about to face another Zoya.

Nina seemed to not to notice them and beckoned her forward.

People seemed to like Nina, Alina observed. The woman had charm and wit; the Sun Summoner really had to try to not get jealous of those traits. She reminded herself that Nina had been at the Little Palace for years, not one season and a half.

They circled each other, taking their measures.

Alina didn't want to be the one to strike first. That always had seemed to go wrong thus far, so she waited.

The heartrender went to the left, so Alina turned, only to be tricked as she received a blow on her right. She winced and stood back, more alert. She didn't want to make a ridicule again.

"You're small and skinny." the heartrender whispered. Alina arched an eyebrow. "I'm bigger and stronger, so your best option is to tire me out."

"I'm not exactly the fastest person."

Nina threw a punch and, luckily, Alina blocked it successfully.

She shook her head.

"Speed and resistance don't need to go hand in hand."

Alina didn't dare to look around to see if anyone else could hear them. She hoped not. Botkin would most certainly disapprove of his students giving each other advice on how to defeat them.

So, with Nina's words in mind, Alina did her best to block and recede. She tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to punch and kick, and received a wince and an "ouch" as Nina rubbed her calf.

The Summoner could feel everyone still watching, Marie and Nadia cheering her on; Sergei and Michail more reserved since she was fighting a fellow red sporter.

Then, Alina caught a glimpse. It was a second, and before she even knew it, she was taking a chance.

Nina was placing her foot down, twisting it as if to test it, and the next she was laying on her back, Alina having all but hurled herself at the woman, grabbing her middle section with all her strength and pushing.

They landed on the ground, and in the disbelief, the Summoner almost forgot to fully immobilize her opponent the way Botkin had taught her.

"You know," Nina gasped, the breath having abandoned her lungs. "There's better ways to get on top of me, sun bean, but if you like it rough-"

Alina blushed in embarrassment, both for having potentially hurt her and for the path those words were leading to.

"Are you alright?" she interrupted hurriedly. "Did I hurt you?"

Nina tried to laugh and cried instead.

"Shit, sun bean. You do have some strength in that tiny body after all."

"Alright!" Botkin clapped his hands twice, coming over toward them. "The little girl wins again, …finally."

Alina was almost offended. At least Marie and Nadia were cheering, as were some others Etherealki. She noticed Sergei and Michail exchanging some coins and scowled.

"Healer." she called, and one hurried to Nina's side.

"It's just a broken rib." the woman said, setting herself to work.

Nina raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I'm impressed, sun bean. I didn't actually think you'd win."

Alina found a new hiding spot where to practice her summoning. It was a most secluded corner, surrounded by old trees, an unkept stone bench and a dirty sculpture of a woman.

She really wanted to be offended.

With eyes wide, she forgot all about her practice, raced and jumped in, laughing childishly to herself.

She looked up and took in the warmth of the sun with pleasure, her face basking in it as her hands ran through leaves and sticks. It was actually a little uncomfortable, but fun.

She almost wished she could sink in and stay there forever, with the sun warming her body and the crunchy leaves all around her.

There was a big pile of leaves.

"Did you fall?"

A shadow took the light from her face, and she found The Darkling standing over her, looking down with something akin to curiosity.

"No. I just jumped."

"Into a pile of dirt?"

"It's not dirt. Besides, it's fun!" she extended a hand. "Wanna try?"

He huffed. Her cheeks heated up. She should've known better.

He took her hand and pulled her up, the mere contact making everything about him feel more intense as usual.

She held onto him.

"How did you find me?"

"You are my Sun Summoner; did you really think I would let you wander about the palace grounds unguarded?"

"Do you have me followed?" she had never noticed.

"For your safety."

"I thought this was the safest place in all of Ravka."

"I am not taking any chances with you, Alina." he replied, eyes guarded, face soft.

"Well, I've never noticed them."

"It means they are doing a good job. I would not want you to live scared, looking over your shoulder all the time."

"I might as well start now that I know."

He opened his mouth and then closed it, thumb rubbing the back of her hand. Alina wondered if he noticed what he was doing.

"You are right." he stepped closer, pulling a leaf off her hair. "But you need not fear, especially while I am on the palace grounds."

"Because not even the dumbest drüskelle would dare to cross paths with you?"

"Nor would the boldest noble."

Alina frowned. The nobles of Os Alta?

She nodded slowly.

"I have scared you." he stated, studying her face. "I apologize."

"No, no." she let go of his hand. "You just made me wearier."

"That is just how life at court is." he offered, not unkindly. "This is not just an army sometimes, especially for you and I."

Alina looked at him, questioning.

"There is no one else like us, Alina." he said, approaching her once more. The calmness, the facts were gone, replaced by a fire she wanted to step into. The vehemence in his voice made her shiver and want to take refuge in his cloak. "There never will be."

She thought about it. What exactly did he mean by that?

He reached out again and plucked another leaf from her hair, then took her face in his hands. She tilted her head up, desperate for a look into those eyes.

Her heart drummed on her ribcage, wanting to break free.

"I-" words failed her as he studied her face, like she was something unique he wanted to memorize.

His thumb ran over her lips, and she exhaled heavily at the feel.

"I forgot what I came here to tell you." he whispered in confidence, his eyes on her parted lips.

"I don't care."

One of his hands left her face and wrapped around her waist, pressing her against his hard chest. Alina almost gasped, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, hiding the conflict she had briefly witnessed there.

Alina made a choice.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

He reciprocated immediately, holding her tighter and pushing his tongue inside her mouth, demanding a dominance she was more than willing to give him.

She had been kissed, but never like this. It was a first kiss that felt like the last; its intensity so beautifully crushing and chaotic. It was like he was a missing part of her, long searched for and finally found. It was like she was the most precious, addictive treasure, something to be cherished and corrupted at the same time.

Alina was willing to let him do as he wanted with her.

Her hands pulled at his hair, earning a growl. Their eyes met briefly, the desire in them fighting to see whose was grander, before kissing again.

It was like he wanted to pull her closer still, the barrier of clothes too much. Something told Alina that the lack of them wouldn't satisfy either of them anyways.

He kissed her jaw, travelling his way up to her earlobe.

"You make me weak." he whispered harshly, only to proceed to ravish the parts of her neck that were exposed.

"You make me strong." she answered, craning her neck to give him better access.

Growling, he gave her ass a hard squeeze and pushed her back against a tree. She could feel the tug and crunches of the leaves as he buried his hands in her hair but didn't care.

She wanted more.

And more.

She drew his lips back to hers. He reached for the belt which held her kefta closed.

"Sir!"

The next thing Alina knew was that she was standing against a tree, her back aching and her body cold, yet her face hot.

She looked at The Darkling, who seemed almost unperturbed as he smoothly fixed his hair and clothes, standing at a respectable distance from her.

Ivan appeared, seeming to be in a hurry.

Alina narrowed her eyes at him. As if she didn't dislike him enough already, the little shit.

"Moi Soverennyi, you are needed in the king's counsel immediately."

"Tell that grump I shall be there shortly."

Ivan bowed and left, not even acknowledging Alina's presence.

The Darkling cleared his throat. She turned her dark gaze on him, cheeks burning against the cold air, lips probably bruised.

What had just happened?

She wasn't sure, but she wanted to do it again. The Darkling, on the other hand, remained stoic as he stared into her eyes, as if nothing had occurred between them.

"I understand that you have been training on your own;" he said, as if he were talking to any other grisha, ever polite and smooth, voice reassuring yet commanding." I shall speak to Baghra so you may return to your lessons."

"But I don't wann-"

With him gone, the early winter sun felt cold.

"Miss Starkov." he bowed to her respectfully and marched away, disappearing from view within seconds.

Click here for chapter 6

#shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone #Alina starkov #the darkling #aleksander morozova #darkling x alina #alina x aleksander #alina x darkling #genya safin #nina zenik #fedyor kaminsky #fanfic

[majorluz]

this is my blog and i get to make the posts so im going to take this time to be reasonably upset over something i stumbled across on youtube by chance that felt like it was trying to antagonize me on purpose

so charles barkley used to have a "joke" he would make every time he appeared on tv in one of those dumb 'the view' style shows but For Men and it basically boiled down to 'lmao women from san antonio are fat and that makes them gross and ugly' and it just made shaq fuckin laugh and laugh. and he just kept making it. over and over. sometimes he'd put a spin on it, saying that women's underwear are cute and dainty when they're small but gross and grandma-like when they're made for fat women.

and eventually, he was told to stop because guess what? fat women were rightfully upset that he was saying such hurtful things about them, and he did. i dont think he had a change of heart and still sees fat women as inhuman but he did stop. people were upset that he wasn't saying it anymore. Like legitimately upset even though it was the same stupid "joke" over and over. my fucking god.

even though he stopped doing it i can still find compilations of him making this "joke" online and even though i only saw a couple clips and clicked away really fast, i've felt kinda shitty about myself these past couple of days lmao

like i dont think i'm gross. it doesn't really matter how i look because i'm still a person who deserves respect. and yet there are people who take every opportunity to bring me down a peg just because i'm not like them and thats just. so pathetic lmao.

but sometimes i do feel bad because my body is different and moves in different ways and there are people who legitimately think that's the peak of comedy, that i wear a different size of clothing than them. like this shouldnt even matter to me because who tf cares about charles barkley anymore he's just some guy. but like the fact that he used his platform to try to punch down and laugh at fat women for the longest time makes me. sick to my stomach

#fatphobia

[dainty-whore]

‼️TW MEANSPO ‼️

Lmao my name on here is ‘dainty whore’ WHAT A JOKE cause I’m actually a FAT WHORE WHO CANT EVEN RIDE HER OWN BOYFRIEND AND BE ON TOP BECAUSE IM SO FAT WE CAN’T EVEN “get it in” when I “try” to go on top 😂😂😂 pathetic bitch. You better starve yourself. I know you want to take the easy way out and just end it but starve yourself. End your life slowly. If you can’t be beautiful just die. Die trying. At least die beautiful

#meanspo #anamia #ana #thinspo #just ed thoughts #just ed shit #just ed things #meanspa