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greta-flanveet · 1 year

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at your service j.t.k.

Summary: In the middle of the Great War, the King orders that all subjects must open their homes to unhoused soldiers as an act of service to their country. Your guest, however, is an unexpected pleasantry.

Warnings: creepy knight who can’t take a hint at the beginning, knight!Jake, mentions of war, awkward tension, ye olde language (sort of), I think that's it

Word Count: 2314

A/N: Alright so I know knight Jake has been done before but I wanted to try my hand at it bc the recent shoots have got me panicking. If you want to be added to the taglist, please let me know! Thank you so much to @way-to-go-lad for helping edit this! You’re a ray of sunshine!

masterlist // taglist

The day the King’s Paige rode into your town, it seemed that the whole world fell silent. Everyone gathered in the square to hear the news, expecting it to be of a joyous victory or even a shattering defeat in the years long war. What he announced, however, was more perplexing than anything you were prepared for.

“Here ye, here ye!” He shouted from atop an empty crate. “Your King asks a favor of thee on this day of our Lord. To assist your King’s army in their efforts to a just victory, the whole Kingdom is required to provide quarters for at least one unhoused knight if and when they are passing through your town. They will stay for however long they wish. Thank you for your sacrifice and loyalty to the crown. God save our King.”

As the Paige stepped down from his podium, the crowd erupted into confused chatter. A quartering act? What did it all mean? The King’s army could stay here as long as they desired? It was so much information in such a brief amount of time.

Later that afternoon, as you fed your animals, you began to think again about what the King’s order meant for you. You had been living alone for a few years now. Your mother and father died of old age and disease respectively, your sister was married off and moved away, and your brothers all left years ago to serve as knights in the King’s army. You were left with the small farm and cottage house all alone.

At first, you missed the company. The house was too quiet and the lack of companionship was eerie. You couldn’t bear to be home alone. Now, the silence has grown on you and the animals have become your friends. You’ve been providing for yourself quite well, but could you afford to take on another person? A man? A stranger? It all felt wrong and you were more than a little displaced by all of this.

When you were a little girl, you used to dream of being married off to a kind working man, not a knight. You imagined that he would do the labor for you and you would tend to the house. When you imagined living with another man, you pictured it being someone you loved, not a complete stranger who showed up on King’s orders.

“What am I going to do, Masie?” You asked your favorite piglet.

She snorted back in response, making you laugh. You fed the last of your animals and decided that tomorrow morning, you would stop dwelling on the orders and start practicing your hosting skills, starting with preparing another bed.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

The next morning came with the crow of your rooster. You stood up, stretched, and got dressed as you normally would, following the standard routine until it came to breakfast.

You refused to waste food, but you did pour an extra glass of water and set out an extra plate and chair for a mystery knight to be seated. It all felt so silly. It reminded you of playing pretend with your sister as a young girl, leaving space for an invisible friend who never seemed to manifest. After breakfast, you put the spare plate away and headed towards the extra rooms left to you by your parents.

First, you went to their old room, restuffing their mattress with fresh hay and putting the now full sack back where it belonged. You dusted the furniture and opened a window before leaving. Then you went to your brothers’ old room, repeating the process. When you were satisfied with your work, you joked “Fit for a king.” Before leaving to tend to the animals and resume your daily duties.

Another night passed and there were no visitors.

In fact, there were no visitors for about four days. Slowly but surely, your townsfolk started to talk in the market place about how they’d been quartering three, four, or even five knights at a time! Though you had yet to see one, you believed their stories and prayed that you would only have one or two, for that is all you had room for.

On the fifth day, just as you were making lunch, a knock came to your door. Your heart sank. Alas, it was time for you to make room for God knows how many strange men. You wiped your hands on your apron and walked to the door.

“Hello, my lady.” Said a deep, gruff voice. “I am requesting quarters at your house. In alignment with the King’s orders, you are required to provide me with a bed and nourishment as long as I wish to stay.”

“Hello, sir.” You responded quietly, curtseying to the stranger. “Please come in. Are you alone?”

He nodded, walking in and observing your home.

“Is there a man in the house, my lady?” He asked.

Something about the question felt wrong, but you decided to brush it off.

“No, there hasn’t been for some time, sir.”

“Oh.” He cooed, turning to you. “You must be very lonely then.” He prodded.

“I suppose.” You said, staying by the door and observing the knight in your kitchen. “What is your name, sir?”

“Andrew.” He responded curtly. “Are you married, my lady?”

“No.” You said.

“Why not?” Andrew questioned moving closer to you with every step. He had very unkind eyes.

“Don’t you think that’s an odd question to ask me, sir?” Your response seemed to upset him.

“No I don’t. Are you questioning a King’s Knight?” He posited.

“Sir-“

“I could have you tried and hanged for treason and insubordination. Do you know what that means?” He was too close for comfort now and you tried to reach for the front door. Andrew snatched your wrist. “Hmm?” He demanded.

“Yes sir, I understand.” You said.

“Are you going to give me any trouble?” He whispered.

“No sir.” You said.

Pleased with himself, Andrew paraded through your house, tearing into every cabinet and dresser he could find. When you finished preparing your lunch, you set the table as you practiced and called out to him.

The two of you began to eat in silence and eventually he requested more.

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s all I have until dinner.”

This was the wrong answer.

“This measly plate is all you have until dinner?” Andrew spoke, raising his eyebrow.

“Yes.” You said. You watched as he stood, took a deep breath, and turned back to you.

“Well, that’s not going to do, is it?” He pushed his chair in a little too aggressively for your liking.

“Sir, please understand-“ you started.

“Do you think this meal was a sustainable act of service for a member of the King’s army?”

You stayed silent, watching as he scoffed at you.

“These living conditions are not fit for me. I’ll be leaving at dawn.”

“Yes sir.” You replied.

Your lip started to shake as you fought tears. Andrew stomped off to his room and you fled to the barn. As soon as you closed the barn doors, you slumped into the hay and cried. How could someone be so mean and cruel? You were doing your best.

In the midst of your crying, you didn’t notice that Masie escaped her pen and snorted her way over to you.

“Masie, is this as pleasant as it can be?” She oinked at you in response.

You sat on the floor of the cold barn for what felt like hours before tending to the animals. You fed the pigs, checked the hens for eggs, and brushed the horses and cows. Spending time in the barn made you feel much better. You felt soothed by this little piece of normalcy and felt confident enough to walk back to the cottage house.

When you stepped outside of the barn, the sky was dark with clouds. Making note of the approaching storm, you ran to the pile of firewood behind the house and brought some of the wood inside. You were able to successfully start a fire.

After a few moments of warming up, Andrew emerged from a different room.

“There’s a storm outside and I’ve decided to leave early.” He said plainly.

“Oh,” you started to speak, but no words came out.

“Farewell, my lady.” Andrew said, nodding in your direction before walking out of the door.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Two days later, this time around breakfast, you heard another knock at your door. You almost missed it, due to the rain falling on your house, but you listened carefully. Sure enough, the sound came again moments later. You sighed and walked over to the front door, praying that it wouldn’t be what you thought it was. Cautiously, you opened the door.

“Hello ma’am.” A gentle voice said, bowing to you in the rain. “My name is Jacob. I am a knight in the King’s army. May I seek quarters at your house, ma’am?”

He lifted his head to look at you and you almost gasped. His brown hair was curled and sticking to his face in the rain. He had kind eyes and a slight mustache. He looked at you patiently, waiting for a response.

“Hello sir.” You curtsied. “Please, come in.”

Jacob smiled to you and stepped inside for a brief moment. His face contorted as if he’d forgotten something before he spoke again.

“Ma’am, is there somewhere I can keep my horse? He won’t cause any trouble, he just needs somewhere to stay so I don’t lose him.” Your smile seemed to be a reassuring sight to the knight in your doorway.

“Yes sir. I have a barn, actually. I can take you there if you’d like to bring your horse.” Jacob nodded and waited for you to meet him outside.

The rain started to pick up on your walk to the barn. Your hair and clothes were becoming thoroughly soaked. Jacob tried to ask you a question, but it was hard to hear over the sounds of sloshing mud and pouring rain.

“Pardon me?” You asked, turning to face him.

“I asked if you enjoy the farm, ma’am.” He repeated.

“I do.” You beamed. “Quite a lot actually. The animals are so sweet and I do my best to take care of them.”

You finished your sentence and cracked open the barn doors. The chatter of the animals rang in your ears. You heard Jacob chuckle at the noise.

“This reminds me of my home.” He said. “My father owned a farm. I would have taken over if I wasn’t serving the King.”

“Oh!” Your eyebrows raised in excitement. “Did you like it?”

“What, ma’am?” He asked softly, leading his horse to an empty stall in the back.

“The farm! The animals!”

“I did! My brothers and sister and I had the most fun as children. My father knew how to run our land so well it was hardly work.”

As Jacob continued to talk about his childhood farm, a look of melancholy painted his features. You quietly observed it and didn’t ask questions.

“Sir, if you’re ready to eat, I was preparing breakfast as you knocked on my door.”

“Pardon me!” He exclaimed. “I’ve been so rude keeping you from eating. Yes, let’s go back to the house.”

Jacob followed you back to the house, walking behind you. When you returned, the warmth of your fireplace was comforting.

“You can stand by the fire and stay warm. I’ll just finish up breakfast!” Jacob grunted in agreement and you set the table and finished making the food.

When you called him over to the table, he smiled at the humble plates.

“Thank you ma’am. It looks splendid.”

“You’re welcome, sir. This is all I have until lunch, unfortunately.” You cringed slightly at the memory of Andrew as you politely explained yourself.

“Please, call me Jacob. Don’t worry over the food, I grew up on a farm, remember?” He smiled at you across the table and began to eat.

You quietly finished your meal and stood up to clear off the table. You took his plate and apologized again for the small meal. When you returned to Jacob, he was drinking his water and reclined against the chair.

You would be silly to deny that he was handsome. Perhaps that was why you opened up to him so quickly. He seemed to be very gentlemanly and as a farm boy, you had similar upbringings. Jacob had strong hands, that much you could tell. He seemed too kind to be caught up in the bloodshed of the current war. It made you think of your own brothers, who left you behind to serve their king. You wondered briefly about Jacob’s sister before he opened his mouth to speak.

“Ma’am, where is your firewood?”

“It’s at the back of the house. Can I start another fire for you?” You asked, suddenly aware of the lack of heat in the room.

Jacob raised his hand and stood up, chair scraping against the ground.

“I’ll do it.”

Your heart squeezed slightly at the act of kindness and you peered around the corner to make sure he found the pile. Your eyes lingered a bit too long when he bent over and lifted three logs at a time.

He walked carefully to the fireplace and started another fire, dusting off his hands in the process. His eyes held yours for a moment before you cleared your throat.

“I think I’m going to tend to the animals, but you may put your things in one of the rooms and settle in.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He said softly. “But if I’m going to be staying here, can I please get your name?”

“Rose.” You responded, unable to fight the smile pulling at your cheeks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jacob.”

“Rose,” he breathed. “The pleasure is all mine.”

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msfbgraves · 6 months

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Knights and Pawns: Irish Intermezzo

Daniel has been wondering when she'd come to talk to him. Amanda shares Terry's keen sense of observation, and she's been watching them all week, asking no questions and offering up very little information herself. It feels like home, like Pop, Nessa and Michael, but he prefers the warm chattiness of the actual Irish people he's met. He can see, in them, a part of Terry that never really fitted anywhere but the Stallion. It's from here, and at times, his mate looks happier than he's ever seen him, taking him on day trips Olivia's car.

He's shown Daniel the graves of his parents, of Katie – he'd not ever seen them himself, but paid to get them all 'home'. And Daniel feels for his mate, he does – but he also feels manipulated. He knows about the pain of lost family, he can see it in the way his Ma's eyes cloud over when the subject is breached; with her parents and brothers all taken by poverty, illness or vendette. Does his mate really think they're in this mess because he, Daniel, is somehow feeling too little?

His sister-in-law stands next to him now, bathing herself in the beauty of the grounds, or so it would seem. She looks like one of the Fae; her smile is intensely familiar.

“You stay here much longer, my Anna will never let you leave,” she says. “Or Eleanor.”

“They're darlings,” he says, “and -”

Amanda smiles down at her belly. “Don't worry, Daniel,” she says sweetly. “I'm not beta.”

He looks away. “Sorry,” he says. “I simply know Terry would panic if anything happened.”

“I'm glad to see him,” she says, and she closes her eyes as if to will away pain.

He reaches out. “Amanda?”

She looks at him, her brother's fierce power in her eyes. “Thank you,” she says. “For giving me the opportunity.”

He turns back. “No.”

“Daniel -”

“No,” he says. “I'm not gonna pretend that that's a normal thing to say to anyone!”

“Daniel I wanted to thank -”

“I'm not gonna whack your brother, OK? Forget about it, alright? That's what you wanna hear?”

“It seems you could have had reason to.”

He feels an anger bubbling up, an anger so great he hasn't felt it since before even meeting Terry. “What's the matter with you people?” he says, “Talking about whacking people as if that is not a grave sin, or crime or... There are people who don't talk about these things, Amanda, don't you want to be like them?” He stares at the sky. “Why does everything always have to be life and death?”

Her smile is very sad. “Comes with the territory, or so I remember.”

“I don't want it to be like that!” And now he's shouting, which is definitely inappropriate in a place that is fancier than even a lot of his schoolmates were used to. “I want to be safe, Amanda, it's all I ever wanted, I just want to be safe!”

“And you're not n- ”

“He's in my bed!” Daniel hears himself scream. “Amanda, he's in my bed!”

He looks at her, and sees the same shock that he feels on his sister-in-law's face.

Her answer is very soft, her movements constrained, as if not to frighten off a deer...

“...and he's still alive?”

Daniel can't speak, simply lets himself crumble into Amanda's arms, so much like his mate's.

“Oh, Daniel,” she whispers. “You sweet, good man...”

“I miss him,” he whispers against her chest, as she drops a kiss on his crown. “Amanda, I miss him so much.”

When he pulls himself together, she takes his hands. “Daniel, he's the only one I have left. I've already lost one sibling, and I never want to feel that again, so you must believe me when I say this.” She stops, a very short time, for emphasis. “He does that again, you kill him.”

He feels cold. “No.”

“Yes.” She's utterly serious. “If he's one of those, you'll never be safe, and there's too many of them around.” She is ashen faced. “But if you don't...”

“I told you –!”

“No, he won't leave you,” she tells him, and her voice nearly breaks. “Daniel, I see what you're doing, and it is so clever, but it won't work. He won't leave, not unless you kill him, and I know it's not fair. I know you should be able to end this, or leave, but he won't let you, Daniel. And he'll never go himself. I've known him a bit longer than you, and if he wants something, he will not stop.”

He grimaces. “I'm not that special, he can get anyone -”

“And he wants you, for good or ill. You'll only make yourselves miserable like this. I'm begging you for his life, but if it is you or him, I don't blame you for doing what you have to do. But those are the only choices you have, unless God takes him first.”

He loosens himself, walks around the garden, the beauty and the fragrances almost mockingly surreal. “Do you think I've sinned?” He can barely hear his own voice.

Amanda takes a breath. “How?”

“At school, I had a girlfriend,” he says. “Kumiko. And I don't think I've ever loved like that again. But she was promised to an Alpha. And I tried to come between them.”

Her smile is very brittle. “Why?”

“I loved her, and I didn't care about any vow she may have made. I loved her. I coveted her.” He crosses his arms. “Do you think I'm being punished?”

“No, of course -" She stops. "Did you do anything you regret?”

“No,” he says. “Not at all. I've always thought that you can love more than one person. But maybe – if I'd loved Terry better...”

She comes to him, wraps her arms around him from behind. She's so lovely. Like Terry. Could be him, if he closes his eyes. “I don't think there is anyone in the world who could have loved my brother better than you, Daniel.”

“Then how could he?” He feels himself shake. “I don't understand. Not, like – not with my heart.”

“Because you could never,” she says. “That is a gift, Daniel.” He just wants to stand there, breathe in her scent. “Sometimes I look at my Olivia,” she says. “And I feel, that under it all, she's the same way. I can see it in Eleanor already. And sometimes I think, I may have been sent, to bear the brunt for them both. Because without Olivia, so many people would be so much worse off.” He looks her in the face. “I am not that kind of person,” she says. “I try to be, God knows. But I know that without you, there would be pain in the world that Terry wouldn't give a fiddler's fart about, and now, he's fighting it. For you.”

He looks at her, a challenge. “It still hurts. I had dreams too.”

“Then you have to fight for them.” She chuckles, and he turns around. “I'm sorry, I tell my Liv that too. She's not used to it, you see. Always had everything. That grunt work, only to see others get twice as much with zero effort.”

He looks askance. “You think I'm spoiled?”

“Daniel, all the omegas I know are spoiled,” she says. “But you, you have grit. And heart. You can do it. They'd collapse.”

They hear a door open, and a young servant comes walking into the garden, gives them both a short bow. “Telegram for Mr. Silver jr., my lady.”

“Thank you, Cormac.” The young man stands back so Daniel can read it. It's very short.

“It's Michael. He wants me to call. May I...?”

“God, please,” she says. “Cormac,” she waves him over. “Have a call placed to Siciliy for Mr. Miguele LaRusso, and hold until Mr. Silver is ready to have his conversation.”

The man turns, and Daniel gives her a look. “What?” she says. “Operators can be busy, and it takes a lot of time on the Sicilian end to get the right person on the phone.”

“And you think I'm spoiled!”

She smirks. “Arranged marriages come with some perks, too. Let's go in, though. But don't run.”

“Yes, Ms. Belfort,” he says. “I did have etiquette class.”

Amanda grins. “Could have done me a whole lotta good.”

She takes his arm, and as they walk in, a melody drifts out. It sounds beautiful on a grand piano. Terry has been spending a lot of time on it. “This Irish?” he asks Mandy.

“No, nothing old anyway,” she says. “Would be a bit hokey here, honestly. Terry always liked playing the newest hits too.”

He lingers a moment, then picks up the pace, and arrives just as young Cormac seems to have his brother on the line.

“Ciao, Michael,” he says, his throat dry. “What's wrong?”

“You need to come back, Piccino,” he says. “Take the first ship out. Or fly. Do they have airports?”

“Nowhere close,” he says. “Why, what's going on?”

“She said yes, caro,” he says, and Daniel may not ever have heard him this happy. “My Appollonia. Daniele... I'm getting married!”

#knights and pawns #omegaverse #mob au #silverusso #r*pe tw #rape tw #marital problems #amanda larusso

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pixiemage · 2 years

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Domino Effect - Part 1

[ ---- | Next ]

(I kept note of the voices that Martyn kept hearing during Third Life, and something about the final line they said inspired this story. I've never tried to write anything quite like this before, so if anything about it seems confusing please let me know so I can write it in a clearer way! Thanks!)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When he died at Scar’s hands, Martyn had thought that would be it. He had thought it would be over, that the game of death and betrayal and chaos he had been trapped in for weeks would finally be over. He had thought - perhaps foolishly so - that when he lost his last life and entered spectator mode, all he would have to do was wait until someone was crowned the victor before everyone would respawn in the server hub and things would go back to normal.

It was all a game after all, wasn’t it?

True, there were alliances and battles and deaths on all sides, but amidst it all there was laughter and jokes and the occasional poorly-kept secret that another player pretended not to hear for the sake of continuing a bit of roleplaying. There were moments in-between sieges when Martyn would run into Grian or Jimmy or Cleo out alone in the wild, and instead of taking up arms and starting a fight, they’d chat about something funny that had happened the day before, or jokingly vent about how chaotic their partner was, or ask if he planned on signing up for the next MCC Tournament. Grian would follow Scar’s every whim only to dramatically whisper warnings to everyone not to trust him the moment Scar’s back was turned, and Scar would pretend he hadn’t heard a thing even though everyone knew he was fully aware of Grian’s antics. And then Martyn and Big B would make jokes about “saving” Grian from Scar’s clutches, and they’d all share a laugh, and the next time they crossed paths they’d be raring to fight again.

It was all a game.

It was just a game.

…wasn’t it?

But then Martyn died, lost his final life, and instead of respawning in spectator mode he found himself smothered in nothingness, darkness pressing in on all sides and voices whispering in his ears. They spoke of failure, of unworthy victory, of things going wrong, of plans being torn asunder. They spoke of fixing things and making things right and rewriting and repairing and changing it all–

“We are not pleased. Change is in order. Our will be done.”

By the time the voices had risen to unbearable levels, Martyn was jerking back to awareness with a sharp gasp, his lungs burning and his head pounding as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Littlewood? Man, you alright?”

Martyn jolted at the voice and his eyes landed on Ren, whose face was hovering in front of his and whose expression was one of concern. There was something off about his appearance, though Martyn couldn’t quite put his finger on what. There was darkness behind his head, stars painting the canvas of the night sky, and it was only now that Martyn felt the hands that were gripping his arms and keeping him upright. Ren was keeping him upright.

“I–”

“C’mon, down here,” Ren interrupted, his words rushed, and he was dragging Martyn down below ground before he could really protest. (Not that he thought he would have been able to even if he wanted to, his thoughts still too jumbled to think straight let alone speak.) “We can wait out the phantoms for a bit.”

There was digging, and water, and the placement of torches and blocks, and then Ren was pushing him down to sit on a block of solid stone. Martyn blinked away some of the fuzziness from his eyes and looked around - and he went stiff.

He knew this place. He knew it, but it…it was wrong. This was wrong. He hadn’t seen it like this since the first days on the server, since the first day he–

Martyn felt as though all the air had been knocked from his lungs.

He hadn’t seen it like this since the day he first met Ren. The small cave was familiar but still untouched, the walls natural and the floor partially flooded with water. It held none of the things that had eventually turned it into their safe haven below Dogwarts, no villagers and no storage and no beds and no door. A small dirt staircase led back to the surface from which they’d come, and he was sure if he set foot aboveground he’d find himself staring at the very beginnings of Renchanting.

It wasn’t even called Renchanting yet, back then, he reminded himself, and he had to close his eyes and take a few slow, shaking breaths to keep himself from going into a complete panic. He felt as if he was going insane. It wouldn’t be the first time he had time traveled, but Evo was years ago by now–

“...Martyn?”

Martyn’s eyes flew open and he found Ren watching him from across the little cavern, looking more concerned than he had been outside. (He realized now what was so off about Ren’s appearance. The grayed skin and crimson eyes and bloodied crown he had grown so used to were missing, replaced by the lively and colorful complexion and attire that Ren had long since abandoned back when his name had gone red by Martyn’s hand.) Ren was still watching him, growing ever more concerned, so Martyn rushed to find a response.

“Y-Yeah boss?”

The confused look that flashed across Ren’s face for a second made Martyn want to slam his head against a wall. Shit. Shit. That nickname wasn’t even accurate yet. They’d only just met, hadn’t they? Martyn had just finished sneaking in some enchantments on his gear and Ren had just appeared out of the forest with phantoms on his tail, and both of them had just run for cover together despite having just met. There was no friendship here, not yet, only friendly acquaintanceship and maybe a short-term alliance for the sake of survival through the night. Ren wasn’t his friend, his boss, his king, his…anything. The thought made his throat go tight and he looked away, unsure how to go forward without a basis for how to act around someone who now saw him as little more than a stranger.

“...are you alright?” Ren asked. He crossed the cave with sloshing steps and sat on another outcropping of stone near Martyn, watching him all the while. “Ya seem a bit spooked my dude.”

“Yeah–” Martyn cleared his throat and shook himself mentally. He forced on a grin. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Just tired. Can you believe how many phantoms are spawning every night? It’s mad!”

Ren seemed to consider him for a long moment, but he either didn’t know Martyn well enough to know if he was lying or Martyn was doing a damn good job of pretending to be perfectly alright with his current situation (which he certainly was not, thank you very much). Much to Martyn’s utter-fucking relief, Ren smiled back with a quiet chuckle.

“You said it, man.” He leaned back again the cave wall behind him and let his eyes slip shut. “We should ask Grian…there’s gotta be a bug or something. I got swarmed out there in the forest. I’m just glad I was close to home, you know what I’m sayin’?”

“Don’t I ever,” Martyn agreed, forcing cheer and relief into his voice to cover his frazzled nerves. He could panic later when he was alone. “I was lucky to find your place not too long after dark.”

“Good thing you did,” Ren grinned and tipped his head to the side to glance at Martyn from behind his blue shades. “You’ve actually stumbled across the greatest place on the server right now: Rendog’s Enchanting Emporium!” He held out his hands in front of himself as if framing the title, and Martyn had to withhold a chuckle at the sound of the old name.

“I have!” he agreed, sloshing to his feet in the water and meandering across the cave to get a bit of distance between himself and his (not) friend. He cast a cheeky grin back over his shoulder “I’ll be honest, I did partake in a little bit of enchanting - you know, before my day was ruined…”

He gestured toward the surface and the phantoms, but the words carried far more weight than that. There was something familiar about them too - his words, that is - as if he had said them before. As if he was reading from a script. It was as though he knew, instinctively, what he needed to say…was this what he had said the first time around? Was this some form of enchanted memory? Was he able to recall the original timeline on instinct alone? Or was there a greater power at play here? If so, he couldn’t help but wonder what the voices in the darkness were playing at, sending him here and demanding change if they were only going to feed him the exact same words he had used the first time around. What was the point?

Or perhaps the better question was, could he deviate from the script?

“Uh, what?” Ren demanded, now standing and staring at Martyn incredulously. “Excuse me?! That was - that was enchanting before prices were set!”

“Oh!” Martyn spun around, playing innocent and smiling all the while. “Well, that means it was free then, right? Like - it’s - I mean, the shop was open…there was no doorway…there was no threshold to block customers–” He sing-songed his way through the list, and when he felt as though he had reached the end he pushed one step further and threw out something he knew would be new: “...I mean I could have very well stolen the whole enchanter, but I was respectful enough not to touch another man’s goods. If I had been Scar, he would’ve sold it to the highest bidder.”

Technically, Martyn didn’t know Scar very well yet at this point in the timeline, but Ren wouldn’t have known that. He supposed that - at the very least - he had just proven a hypothesis. He could deviate from the set path if he wanted to, but he would instinctually know how to respond if he wanted to keep things the same. Good to know. Very good to know.

And so he grinned his way through the rest of the conversation, through his offer of being a spokesperson, through Ren’s acceptance and offer of more enchanting in return, and by the time Martyn had reached the focal point of the conversation - “Elevator pitch: make it shorter. We’re gonna call it…Renchanting.” - he had some sort of a handle on the present moment, even if it felt like everything else was spiraling out of control.

Of course, the moment he left the newly-dubbed Renchanting to begin (for the second time) his job as a marketing manager, it took everything in him not to drop everything and run. There was nowhere he could run even if he wanted to anyway. He slipped between the trees until he was out of sight and leaned back against a trunk, sliding down to the ground and clutching his head in his hands as he forced himself to breathe. He was back at the start. He was back at the start, and he had been put here for a reason…a reason that hadn’t been made entirely clear to him. All that was clear was that he had to change things.

The question was, what exactly was he even supposed to change?

The second time around, Martyn did his best to stick to what he remembered from the first timeline. He wasn’t sure why exactly he was sent back or what the voices wanted from him, so he played it safe. They had said he could change things, but he didn’t want to change much. There wasn’t anything he really wanted to fix until they reached the final battle at Dogwarts, after all, and he suspected that the more he deviated from the original path the more the path would change…and the less he’d be able to rely on his memory to anticipate what would happen next. He wanted to save Ren - needed to save Ren, needed to help him win and survive and escape - and the only way he knew how was to save him directly during that final battle.

Having to cut off the king’s head a second time was just as difficult and gut-wrenching as it had been the first time around. Calling him “my lord” and “my liege” came more easily, more naturally. Ren didn’t seem to notice. Martyn was grateful.

Weeks passed and battles waged and alliances formed and shattered, just as they had the first time. Enough time had passed from the start of the first run of Third Life that past conversations were fuzzy and certain moments had been forgotten, but not quite enough time had passed to avoid the major déjà vu Martyn got every time he spoke to someone. Jokes fell a little flat and smiles were a little forced and deaths of his friends were only slightly less startling.

It was a game - it was still just a game - but it felt a little less like one with the ever-present voices whispering in the back of his mind when he was on the edge of sleep.

And so time carried on.

Martyn did attempt, briefly, to stop Skizz from doing his kamikaze sprint into the Crastle a week or so before the big fight, but Skizzle had been too far gone in the red rage to be stopped by anyone. And then it wasn’t until the Final Battle of Dogwarts that Martyn got the chance to try and save his king. He saw Scar going after him out of the corner of his eye as he rounded Renchanting and he moved without thinking, diving between the War Profiteer and the Red King to block Scar’s blow with his shield.

When Martyn lost his third life for a second time, he lingered in spectator mode long enough to watch Ren get killed near the Black Heart Altar - falling to Scar anyway despite Martyn’s sacrifice - before the voices and the darkness swallowed him again.

“Change is in order. Our will be done.”

The third time, Martyn was only slightly less unsteadied by his arrival in the past, Ren’s hands on his shoulders and the sound of phantoms in the air making him bite back a groan of frustration in favor of shaking the dizziness from his head.

“I’m good,” Martyn told Ren before the other player could even ask if he was alright. “I’m good. Bit dizzy. I’ll be fine.” He looked around, pretending to search for shelter. “Where should we–”

“This way.” Ren tugged on his arm, not quite letting go until he had to use both hands for his shovel, digging away dirt blocks to clear the way to the cave below. Renchanting’s foundations sat above it, nothing more than a wooden floor and the start of a few log pillars at the corners…and the original enchanting table sat at its center. Martyn let his eyes linger on it for only a moment before following Ren down to safety.

The third time went similarly to the second, though Martyn managed to kill Scar seconds before Impulse pierced his chest with the arrow that finished him off. This time when Ren died, Martyn wasn’t sure if it had been at Grian’s hands or Impulse’s, because he looked away the second before it happened. He didn’t want to watch his own failure.

The fourth time, Martyn was foolish. He lingered too close when Scar blew up the desert base atop the hill, and he lost his first life long before the battle at the sand bunker. He acted impulsively and recklessly and desperately to try and reach the end of this unending loop and he made foolish mistakes. By the time he went tearing after Scar to get the Red Army banner back for a second time he was already down to red, and his own stubbornness killed him long before they even lost Skizz or found out Impulse was a spy.

He wasn’t sure what became of his king in that timeline, without Martyn at his side. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Change is in order. Our will be done.”

The fifth time he was clever. He made note of his mistakes and he learned from them quickly. If dying early would do him no good, he would have to get better at not dying at all. He blustered about wanting the banner back when they reached the sand bunker - as he always did - but when push came to shove he let Scar go in the resulting chase. He rounded back to Dogwarts and dug beneath Renchanting, diffusing the minecart bomb the Crastle folks had left at their door before anyone else returned home. This time when Skizzle tried to rush the Crastle, Martyn was ready. It took himself and Etho to hold him back, Skizz’s strength amplified by the red rage that overtook him at Impulse’s betrayal, but they managed to retain one extra member of the Red Army that day…for all the good it did. When Impulse and Skizz took up arms against each other behind Dogwarts’ walls, it was Skizzle that died first to his once-best-friend’s blade.

Ren fell at the Black Heart Altar at Scar’s hand and Martyn was still on his yellow life. He took down Scar in an act of heated revenge, ignorant to the cries of protest from Grian on the other side of Dogwarts, and he barely felt the arrow that buried itself in his spine. When he awoke on his final life he sought out Impulse himself, a sword through the heart of the betrayer, before going after the two remaining members of the Desert/Crastle alliance. Surely they were at odds now, right? Surely with so few players on the board, Bdubs would be wary of his not-so-consistent ally? And surely Big B was out there somewhere, willing to aid Martyn if he asked…right? Surely?

But Grian had sealed Bdubs’ loyalty with the gift of a clock, and the King’s Hand fell as the fourth to the last, and the voices were once again calling for change.

“We are not pleased. Change is in order. Our will be done.”

By the eighth run through the same horrid game, Martyn was getting frustrated with the lack of clarity from the voices commanding him. They demanded change, but never told him what needed changing. They spoke of displeasure, but never specified what was displeasing them. They wanted him to do as they willed him but never told him what their will was. It was aggravating.

Martyn wanted to strangle their nonexistent necks until they stopped whispering in his ear altogether.

Something though…something told him that these nameless and faceless beings were much more than disembodied voices, and much more dangerous to boot. They had a name, he was almost certain, and he had the strangest feeling he knew what that name was - but no matter how hard he tried to remember it that name seemed to elude him. There was something he was missing, something he was forgetting. He was sure of it.

The twenty-third time Martyn died - most recently by the end crystal he had blown up as a means to kill Grian, which he was fairly certain hadn’t done its job - Martyn began to wonder how far he could deviate from the original timeline before the voices told him off. He had been sticking to the usual script up until now, and even when he deviated a little now and then the pattern of events tended to happen in a similar manner. But he was also aware that he was able to change small things here and there and alter crucial pieces of the puzzle.

Dissuading Ren from trusting Impulse earlier on in one timeline had led to them being more prepared to fight without him when his betrayal came to light. Offering Joel more than just their allegiance in another had granted them another ally in the final days, his sword and his dogs taking down Scott before Martyn or Ren even needed to step in. (Joel had died after one last hit from a poorly-positioned skeleton after the fight, but it had been beneficial all the same.) But what else could he change? How far could he go?

That last thought was one that lingered as he started his way across the map at the start of run thirty-seven, having taken up his usual role as a marketing manager for Renchanting. He was on his way to the village to spread the word, as he always did. The village…where other players usually formed alliances in the early days of the game.

Who said Martyn and Ren had to start alone? Who was to say they couldn’t gain allies earlier? In all the runs of Third Life that Martyn had lived through, he had been so focussed on changing the endgame that he had never considered changing where they began. What if they gained and kept the trust of Team Crastle? What if they didn’t have to fight against the Hobbits? Or what if, against all odds, Martyn and Grian could manage to keep Ren and Scar from tearing each other’s throats out, could get them all to work together? The last one seemed far-fetched at best, but still…

Was that the ending the voices had been seeking?

Would that satisfy the Game Masters?

(And the voices surely had to be the ones running this game, they had to be. There was no doubt in Martyn’s mind that they were the ones behind the curtain, the ones pulling the strings.)

There was only one way to find out, only one way to try and pursue a different ending. Martyn had to play the game.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[A/N: And so it begins! This is shorter fic than Through a Crack in the Void will be, namely because it's written almost poetically in some places as opposed to a scene-by-scene retelling of each turn of events like I would usually write. Plus a season of Third Life is far shorter than a season of Hermitcraft as it is lol. Like I said, let me know if anything I've written gets confusing, because even though I've brainstormed over the layout of each time loop nobody else has. Things that are clear to me might make ZERO sense to everyone else. Hope you enjoyed reading, and I'll try to get the next part out soon!]

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#3rd Life SMP #3rd Life fanfic #martyn inthelittlewood #inthelittlewood #time loops #trafficblr #traffic life smp #3Lsmp #watcher lore #listener lore #3rd life listeners #3rd life watchers #watcher!grian #pixiemage writes #Domino Effect

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mirisss · 2 years

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The Love of My Life

Hyungwon x afab reader

Summary: Change is normal. Change is inevitable. We cannot stop anything from changing, it is natural for change to happen. Even if we do not always like the consequences of the change, we must accept them for we cannot change them again. Some say that time will change a person, however, I disagree, it is not time that changes them, but their choices.

Genre: Angst but not too angsty, some fluff

Wordcount: ≈ 2.1k

Looking out the window of that old house I grew up in, the world outside was grey: a mundane Thursday, a mundane life. People pass by going back and forth like a clock moving around even if time doesn’t pass by. I sit in that chair, wondering if my life could ever be memorable. Nothing about me or my life feels extraordinary, I am simply that character that is mentioned once or twice as I go in or out of my house or perhaps I am collecting my mail. I am not the protagonist who saves someone or finds the love of my life. This is the picture I have had of my own life for the last couple of years. My days are just waking up, working, eating, and then going back to sleep. Destiny and Fate had made it very clear that I am nothing more than an extra, a side character at best. There was only one person in the entire world who didn’t make me feel like an extra. No, he made me feel like the main character. Like that girl who has nothing at first but then she has everything in the end. The girl with the kindest heart, the girl that wins the guy.

Chae Hyungwon.

Chae Hyungwon. My Prince in shining armor. My childhood best friend. The one person who makes me feel special, the one who makes me feel like more than just an unnecessary detail in a book or a movie.

Hyungwon has always been beautiful, blessed from birth. He looked just like the main male character in all those stories we were told as children. He still does. A prince without a crown. As small children, around the age of 5 if I remember correctly, Wonnie and I caused quite a bit of trouble - what can I say? We were rowdy children. We were both quite smart as children, we figured out how to start the water hose in the backyard of Hyungwon’s house so we started it and then sprayed each other down with water until there wasn’t a single dry strand of hair or a dry millimeter of skin. This would have been quite alright if we had done it during summer… however, it was in the middle of the winter when we did this the first time. Yes, you heard me correctly - the first time. We did this more times than I can count on my own fingers and Wonnies. One would have expected our parents to hide everything but they blindly trusted that we wouldn’t do it again, however after the twenty-fifth or so time, we decided it was time for a new game. When we were 13 our favorite hobby was sitting on a bench in the park pretending to fight if we saw someone our age to see their reactions - most guys just kept walking while most girls came over to help me. Or we pretended to be a couple if we saw elders, many elders complimented us on looking so cute together, and others simply gave us admiring looks from afar - no bad comments from the elders. Around this time when we pretended to be a couple, my first feelings for Wonnie arrived - like an unwanted letter in the mail. I just pushed the feelings aside because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship and perhaps I didn’t actually understand those feelings at the time. When we were 15, my parents got a divorce. I didn’t take it too well. I wanted to run away from home, I felt like I didn’t have one anymore. I packed a bag and left in the middle of the night, I didn’t even tell Hyungwon. I walked for an hour before I arrived at the beach where Wonnie’s family and my former one always went in the summer. I sat down in our usual spot, finally letting my tears stream down my face. I felt so alone. I didn’t like it. Suddenly someone sat down beside me. “It’s okay to cry. I might not have been through what you are going through but I still understand the pain you know,” Hyungwon. Of course, he knew. “What are you doing here Wonnie?” “My best friend is here crying so I am here to comfort her, duh” “I’m running away Hyungwon. You should go back home. Because you actually have one,” “Hey! I’m your family too you know. You can’t leave without me, I will be really sad if you do. If you’re running away then I’m going with you,” “You can’t run away from home Won,” “Yes I can,” “No you can’t. I am leaving because my parents don’t want to live with each other or with me, I am making one thing easier for them,” A loud sob escaped me and I was once again back to crying hysterically. Hyungwon moved closer to me and put his arm around my shaking body. “Don’t worry, you will always have me. I’ll never leave you. I’ll always be here… Now let’s go home, it’s cold and everyone will be worried if we are gone when they wake up,” I don’t know how he could persuade me so easily when I had been so determined to leave. Perhaps it was the promise of eternal companionship that got to me. At 15, my feelings for Hyungwon resurfaced for the first time. But once again they were pushed back for the sake of our friendship. At age 16, I had my first heartbreak while Hyungwon got his first girlfriend. He didn’t spend as much time with me anymore as he used to, but I always said that it was fine, that his girlfriend is more important than me. I see why he fell in love with her - she was so kind, so beautiful, and they were the perfect match. My heart broke knowing I could never have him because he would never want me. They broke up close to their one-year anniversary, I was secretly happy but of course, I was concerned about my friend too. At age 17, Hyungwon learned how much a breakup can hurt, while I learned how it felt to be someone’s last choice. That year we were supposed to have a prom, and everyone needed a date to be let in. The closer we came to prom, the more I began to realize that no one wanted to go with me - not even my own best friend. Hyungwon went around asking other girls to be his date, the only reason not all of them said yes was that most of them already had a date or couldn’t go to the prom for different reasons. With only a week left until prom, I had completely given up. I had gone around in shame asking any person I came across if they would want to be my date to prom but they either laughed at me or quickly declined - some with nasty comments and others with a simple NO. With 3 days left, I was ready to tell my parents that I was feeling sick and could not go but I did not dare to let either of them down. They had been so excited about this prom for me. Now with only 3 days left, Hyungwon came knocking on my door just as I had come home. I let him in, expecting him to announce he had found his date. I did not expect him to ask if I wanted to be his date, at first I was very happy that he asked me. But later that night I came to realize that he probably asked every girl in school before me and when none of them could he decided I would do. I was his last choice. I am his childhood friend but I meant that little to him. And we did go to that prom together and we did have a good time so all was forgiven and forgotten. At age 19, I realized that he did not treasure our friendship like he used to. We were now in different universities and we barely texted anymore. I was lucky if I received a text a month from him, he was too busy hanging with his new cool friends. This was the first time that he made me feel like the side character that is just there to fill a void until someone that actually fits will fill the void. Like an extra who is nothing more than someone that you mention no more than once. At age 20, I had not spoken to Chae Hyungwon for over 8 months. I had made 2 new friends, they were all I had now. Previously Won was my only friend so for a while I was completely alone. I never told my new friends about Hyungwon. Why should I? I know he for sure never speaks of me to his friends. At age 21, I ran into him one day. I was surprised that he recognized me, but I guess I hadn’t changed much. “Hey (Y/n), how are you? It’s been quite a while since we hung out last time” He acted as if we were still friends like a few years ago. “Hey, I’m good. Yeah-” I hesitated for a second, contemplating whether it was worth it laying a comment on it being his fault or not. Fuck it. “ Yeah, because you stopped responding to me, you stopped hanging out with me,” “No, you stopped messaging me, don’t try to blame this on me,” “Hyungwon, I messaged you every day, like 10 times a day and you responded once a month if I was lucky - how is that my fault. You didn’t even send happy birthday when I turned 19. You went from being someone I know to someone I knew. You went from being my best friend to a stranger,” And then I turned and left… however that didn’t happen. I chose to bite my tongue. I chose to cherish the kind man I once knew. “Yeah, I guess it has,” “Hyungwon!” “Oh, well I have to go. See you around!” And then he left after some guy, one of his friends, had called for him.

At age 23, I walked with my friend when I found my eyes falling upon an all too familiar face. As I passed you on the street, my friend noticed how I stopped to look at you. She asked if you were someone I know. All of our memories played in my head, one by one. Like that time we sat by the water as I cried and you said “Don’t worry, you will always have me…” that’s funny, considering we are nothing but strangers now. More memories wanted to surface closer, but I shook them away. And I answered her: “No, he simply looked like someone I used to know,”

Because that is all you are to me now in my mundane and boring life. You’re a stranger. I dare not blame time for your change but I do blame you. You always had the power to choose our friendship, but you didn’t. You choose someone else over me because I am nothing more than an extra in the story about you. I am not even a main character in my own story, because I do not have one. I am just that character that is mentioned once or twice as I go in or out of my house or perhaps I am collecting my mail. I am not the protagonist who saves someone or finds the love of my life.

#monsta x imagines #Monsta X #monsta x hyungwon #monsta x x reader #monsta x oneshots #hyungwon #hyungwon x reader #chae hyungwon #chae hyungwon x reader #fluff #angst #friends to strangers #lovers to strangers #mirisss #mirisss.writings #mirisss.stories #mirisss.favorites #mirisss.writing

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dreamingsushi · 11 months

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Till the End of the Moon - Episode 8

Last episode ended on a pretty dark note and not much hope for a future where Tantai Jin doesn’t become a demon lord. Hopefully, we’ll get him to become normal and rid of his evil bone, but I doubt it. I’m still thinking that I’m not going to be able to ship him and Susu together, because of the dynamic between them right now. As much as i love the ennemies to lovers trope, he’s threatening her of death right now so yeah... No, this can’t be a healthy match, sorry.

Anyways, he tells how Yingxin went crazy. He just swapped the poisoned food, but she didn’t use a killing poison, so she ended up going crazy. He says that everyone who wants to harm him, he won’t let them be, including her. And then he leaves. And I thought maybe he had a soft spot for her. Well, it might have changed when she went in between him and the fox lady to protect her rather than him.

The king is very mad and punishes Ye Xiwu’s father by sending him to jail a few days. Ye Qingyi must bring Tantai Jin back, he doesn’t care if he’s alive or dead, but he mustn’t reach Jing (Jin?).

The Yueyi people captured monsters for their prince and he can absorb their core. So they knew all along of his capabilities? Or did he ask them for it? He sent Nian Baiyu (if I’m not mistaken, there are way too many characters in this drama), Lan An’s right arm, to feed Ye Wuxi. She pretends being all weak and tricks him into bending down to knock him out. Oh... So she could escape because Lan An wrote a spell on her hands so she could escape the ropes tying her down. I don’t understand this lady’s motives. Also, Tantai Jin gives her a hairpin that is usually given to one’s mother. She seems moved. I think is entrapping her. This guy can’t be genuine.

Lan An didn’t only take with her some soldiers, they also brought a group of young ladies for their prince. She invites them over to perform for him. Susu ended hiding in their quarters and now must perform with them. She has trouble with her instrument, it’s different from the one she usually uses and it shows. Tantai Jin notices her right away. As he wonders how did she get away, Nian Baiyu reports that she escaped. He asks for further instructions, but Tantai Jin says that they should enjoy the performance for now, since she can’t escape anyways. Once the dance is finally over, he asks for Susu to dance, solo. Haha, she thought she was alright. She uses that dance to get all flirty, until she puts her garments around his neck and threatens to choke him to death if they don’t send her down by boat. However he orders his men to cut the ties to the boat and they rescue him before she chokes him. He tells her to follow him to Jin, but she would rather jump in the water. He runs after her, but he’s too late and she dives in the river, leaving only rags of her clothes behind. Lan An orders to either bring her back or her corpse. I guess he didn’t really want her dead. At least not yet. But I don’t know if it’s because he wants her by his side or because he wants to toy with her. Probably the latter, right?

So Tantai Minglang is actually the one who killed his father. And he’s jealous of Tantai Jin. Well, at least he hates him and his mom and blames Tantai Jin’s mom for his own mother’s death. So it seems also he believes that if Tantai Jin’s mom didn’t die in labor, he would have chosen Tantai Jin as Crown Prince. Welp. Say goodbye to any hopes of brother love here. Pretty sure he’s going to have to fight for his life back home too.

Lan An tells Tantai Jin that they found Ye Wuxi, alive. But it’s not her and that lady throws a dart to his eye. It has a second dart inside, so he’s hurt even though I managed to grab it. So the guy in charge of finding Ye Wuxi was actually teaming up with Tantai Minglang. And so did Lan An, since Tantai Minglang has her daughter. Wow. Tantai Minglang is something else. He blames it on Tantai Jin and his mom that he has a burn mark on his face, because he fell in the fire when he was younger and his dad wouldn’t come because Tantai Jin’s mom was napping. Tantai Jin wasn’t even born. That child is irrational. But honestly, it’s totally believable. I’ve been with someone that suffered from bad burns when he was a child and up until the last time I spoke to him, he still blamed his parents for everything he suffered. I guess that kind of injury is actually really painful and gives a lot of post traumatic disorders. Anyways, so now he wants to burn Tantai Jin’s face as pay back. Lan An says that between her daughter and him, she would chose her daughter’s life and that no one would ever chose him. She knows how Yingxin went crazy. She blames him for not treating those who were nice to him differently. Hm... I do agree that he’s going a little too far. However, no one ever showed him real kindness. Yingxin has always been scared of him. He has always been betrayed by the people closest to him. How could he think differently? Why can people betray him and promise to kill him, but he can’t do the same? That’s some double standard.

I knew it. The hairpin was a trap. He uses a spider on top of it to kill Lan An. No wonder there are that many characters since he kills so many people, damn. He tells Tantai Minglang that from now on he’ll never have a peaceful night after slicing his wrist open, wondering which one would kill him faster: the poison or the cut. Then he jumps in the water.

And that’s it for today’s episode. I would say... this drama is getting pretty violent as some moment, it’s a little hard to watch for me to be honest. I’m a very sensitive soul. I hope gore scenes aren’t going to increase so much. I understand it’s not an all cutesy drama, but I like to limit the amount of violence I watch. Simply to avoid nightmares at night.

#till the end of the moon #luo yunxi #bai lu #deng wei #chen duling #xianxia #xianxia drama #costume drama #chinese drama #c-drama #cdrama #drama review #drama recap #drama reaction

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fics-n-stuff · 3 years

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A Nice Christmas

Thanks to @gayhistorynerd for the prompt, see here (I kind of deviated from it a little maybe a lot but the story still stemmed from this prompt)

Pairing: Wilhelm × Simon

Summary: Wilhelm may have denied being in the sex tape, but that doesn't mean that the world has forgotten. The Christmas break proves to be difficult for both Simon and Wilhelm, one suffering from ongoing harassment and the other feeling completely isolated, and they find that they can't help but be drawn back to each other.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: This took me so long to write because I got writer's block right after I started it. This doesn't have a super happy ending because I wanted to try and keep it pretty realistic, but it is pretty sweet and wholesome.

Taglist: @probablyprocrastinatingrightnow @rika90 @angelwilhelm

Wilhelm had never felt more alone than he did being home for Christmas break. He spent as much time as was physically possible holed up in his bedroom, not wanting to see or talk to anyone, especially not his mother. He hadn’t turned his phone on for three days, he had bitten his nails down to the nailbeds and he hardly had any appetite. The ache in his chest was constant and unyielding.

He lay in the dark most of the time, his curtains closed throughout the day and only sometimes opened at night to let the moonlight in. Besides that, he didn’t have much idea of how time was passing.

He did know that it was Christmas eve though. And it must be the morning because nobody had come to drag him out of his bedroom to join the celebrations. A cursory peek around the curtain confirmed that, as Wilhelm saw that the sun hadn’t even fully risen yet.

A deep breath settled the stone in his stomach, and he reached for his phone with a shaky hand.

When the device turned on it immediately started going crazy with notifications, and Wilhelm felt his heart rate increase with every buzz.

5 messages from August

Ignore.

10 messages from Mamma

Ignore.

2 missed calls from Felice

Wilhelm paused in swiping away the notifications. Felice had called him twice and sent him three messages. He clicked on the message notification, sitting back against the wall and holding in a breath without realising it.

Felice: Hey Wille, how are you feeling being home?

Felice: I just wanted to check in but I can’t get a hold of you, I hope you’re doing alright

Felice: You probably don’t want to talk but you can call or text me whenever you do

Wilhelm sighed. Of all the people that he thought that he could depend on, Felice was the only one that he still had. He swallowed the lump in his throat and called her back.

It rang for a while before she answered, and he’d almost decided to hang up the call when it stopped ringing.

“Wille, good morning.” Felice greeted, cheerful but clearly tired. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, merry Christmas Felice.” Wilhelm replied feebly. His voice was hoarse from disuse.

“Are you alright? Do you want to talk about something?”

“Uhm, I- I don’t know, I just... I don’t know.” He stuttered, wrapping his free arm around himself.

“Okay, well, what are your plans for today?”

“I’m not sure, I haven’t really been talking to anyone. What, uh, what are your plans?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual. We’ll watch Kalle Anka's Jul and play some games before dinner, then we’ll open presents.” She explained. The tinny sound of her voice through the phone was actually quite calming.

“What about for the rest of the break?”

“Um, I’m going to New York to see Maddie for New Year, so that’ll be fun. And I’m going back to Bjärstad on Boxing Day to see Sara. I’m gonna stay there just for one night.”

“So you’ve been talking to Sara a lot then?” Wilhelm questioned, moving to bite at his almost non-existent nails.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Has she said anything about Simon? Do you know if he’s alright?” His words came out more rushed than he had intended. Clearly, he was more eager for some sort of information on Simon than he had thought.

“Um, she hasn’t said much but I think he’s pretty okay.” Felice replied, but it was followed by a small sigh that let Wilhelm know that there was more to the story. “Sara says that things have mostly gone back to normal, but Simon goes out a lot less and she’s had to make her Instagram private. I think they’ve had a few people show up at their house.”

Wilhelm swallowed hard, a feeling of guilt crawling under his skin. Simon’s Instagram account had been private ever since the video had been leaked, so it seemed that now people had found Sara’s too. They had attention on them that they had never signed up for, and Wilhelm knew that it was his fault and he felt terrible for that.

“Okay.” He replied shakily. There was a short silence before Felice spoke again.

“How are you, Wilhelm? Really?” She asked.

“Lonely.” He answered. “Listen, I have to go. I need to take a shower before someone comes demanding that I take part in the Christmas celebrations.”

“Alright well, call me back whenever, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Bye, Felice.”

“Bye, Wille. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Wilhelm ran a hand over his face, letting out a groan of frustration and sadness. Why couldn’t he just be a normal kid?

He stared down at his phone in his lap, gnawing at the nail of his right thumb in contemplation. With a shaking breath and trembling fingers, he picked it back up, opened his conversation with Simon and typed a short message. He dropped his phone in mild panic as soon as he hit send, and rubbed his hand over his chest as he took a deep, steadying breath.

+ + +

“Simon, wake up. Rosh and Ayub will be here soon.” Sara’s voice stirred Simon from his sleep and he rolled over to look at her. She was already dressed.

“What time is it?” He asked with a yawn.

“Nine o’clock. Get up and come help with breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m getting up.”

Sara rolled her eyes and left the room, and Simon reached out to his bedside table blindly until his hand landed on his phone. He squinted at the screen as he sat up, faltering when he saw the notification on the screen.

Wilhelm: Merry Christmas Simon

He felt his heart race as he stared at the screen, only snapping out of it when he heard Sara shouting at him from downstairs. He blinked, dropped his phone and set about getting dressed.

Every Christmas eve since they were ten, Simon, Sara, Rosh and Ayub would have breakfast together and then go for a long walk. It was tradition for them at this point, but Simon found himself unable to feel excited for it this year. It was all well and good to pretend like life was going on as normal, but it was hard not to feel uncomfortable when people stared at him everywhere he went.

Rosh and Ayub arrived just as he and Sara were finishing up making breakfast, and they exchanged Christmas well-wishes as they sat down to eat.

“You’re being real quiet over there, Simme. You alright?” Ayub asked after a while, and Simon realised that he’d been completely zoned out.

“Sorry, just thinking.”

“About Wilhelm?” Sara questioned. Simon pushed a bite of food into his mouth and shrugged.

“You have to move on, Simon.” Rosh said. “I know you care about him but he’s not worth all the trouble that he comes with.”

“I know. That’s why I ended things.” He replied. “It still sucks though.”

“You’ll get over him eventually.” Sara told him, putting a comforting hand on his for a few seconds before going back to her food. Simon smiled slightly.

He didn’t tell them about the text.

Despite all of that, he was in high spirits when they set out for their walk, happily joking and laughing with his friends, and they made it half an hour before he heard the first comment.

“That’s the guy from the sex tape.” Muttered a girl to her friend as they passed, and Simon felt the smile fall from his face.

“Just ignore them.” Sara told him, wrapping an arm around one of his. He nodded, but it had gotten to him. For the rest of their walk from that point, Simon felt like every person that they passed was looking at him and judging him.

They walked both Rosh and Ayub back to their houses before heading back to theirs just a bit past noon. They had almost gotten home when they were approached by a group of teenagers probably slightly younger than them.

“Are you the guy from that viral sex tape?” One of the boys asked unabashedly, the group coming right up in front of Simon and Sara and blocking their path.

“Uh, I don’t want to talk about that.” Simon replied stiffly, still trying to be polite.

“Oh my god, it is him!” A girl exclaimed.

“Was it actually the crown prince in the video?” Another chimed. Simon felt lightheaded.

“He already said that it wasn’t.” He deflected, trying to sidestep the group.

“Yeah, but there’s a lot of people that don’t actually believe him.” The girl laughed; actually laughed, as if this hadn’t been an earth shattering event for Simon.

“If it wasn’t Prince Wilhelm then who was it in the video?” A boy asked, and that was when Simon spotted the phone filming him and his stomach dropped.

“I’m not discussing my sex life with a bunch of strangers.” He scoffed in disbelief, shouldering his way past the group with Sara close behind him. “Please leave me alone.”

“You could just tell us if it was actually the prince or not.” One of them pressed, the group now following after Simon. “If it wasn’t him then you don’t have anything to hide.”

“Oh my god, did the royal family pay you off? Did they make you sign an NDA!?”

“Were you, like, boyfriends? Or was it just a hookup?”

Simon kept walking, keeping his head down and not answering any of the questions being hurled at him. He could sense that Sara was just as tense beside him. The group followed them for a full block before Simon finally lost his cool and came to a dead stop, turning to face them.

“I’m not going to answer your questions. The fact that you’re following me is not going to make me answer your questions. I’ve had my privacy majorly invaded once already and now you’re invading it again. I’m trying to enjoy Christmas with my sister and you’re chasing me with a camera, I’m sick of people harassing me.” He fumed, making sure to meet the eye of every one of them at some point. “Whatever you choose to believe is not my problem. It doesn’t matter whether you think that the crown prince is telling the truth or you choose to make up some type of theory, I deserve my privacy.”

He didn’t wait for any type of response before he turned around and walked away, thankful to find that they weren’t going to follow him anymore.

“You handled that well.” Sara said quietly once they had turned the next corner. Simon didn’t reply.

When they got home, he went straight upstairs without a word. He slammed his bedroom door shut and buried his face in his pillow, unable to hold the tears back any longer.

By that same evening, the video was viral.

+ + +

I bet that girl was right and the royal family made him sign an NDA

If he didn’t want people to think it was the prince he would have just said that it wasn’t so either the prince was lying or this guy is seeking attention

He’s literally a kid why can’t people just leave him alone??

I don’t care if it was the prince in the tape or not, this guy is hot

The way he said that people are making up theories makes me think that it actually wasn’t the prince in the video

I feel bad for this guy, getting followed around like that must suck

Wilhelm scrolled through the captions and comments on the seemingly endless posts of the video of Simon, feeling like somebody had a vice grip on his heart.

The first time he saw the video had been right after Christmas Eve dinner. He’d had a full blown panic attack and locked himself in the bathroom for half an hour. When he came out, his mother had tried to talk to him about the politics of the situation and he had immediately retreated into his bedroom once again. He missed Erik desperately.

He hadn’t been able to sleep, he'd only gotten about three hours of broken, fitful sleep all night, and now he couldn’t pry himself away from his phone. He knew that it was bad for him, he knew that it was making him feel terrible, but he wanted to know what people were saying.

He had been hesitant to text Simon, especially since he hadn’t received a reply to the merry Christmas text that he had sent in the morning, but in the end he mustered the courage to reach out. He had asked how Simon was doing and apologised for getting him into this situation. He wasn’t surprised when no answer came.

Christmas day was proving to be probably the worst day of Christmas break for Wilhelm. His chest felt like it was bursting open and like it was an empty chasm at the same time. He didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, he didn’t respond to the knocks that came at his door. He felt like he was trapped in a glass box and someone was shaking it.

Wilhelm didn’t know how long he had been scrolling through multiple different social media platforms when his phone buzzed in his hand and an incoming call appeared on the screen. He faltered, sitting up and almost dropping his phone, when he saw that it was Simon. He ran a nervous hand through his hair as he raised the phone to his ear.

“Simon?” He croaked.

“Hi, Wilhelm.” The reply came through the phone, and Wilhelm felt his shoulders relax at the sound of Simon’s voice.

“Hi. H-how are you.” He fumbled, and Simon sighed on the other end.

“I’m okay, I guess. As okay as I can be after... well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry for putting you in this situation.”

“This wasn’t your fault, Wille.” Simon muttered. “I just wish things were different.”

“Why, um... why did you call?” Wilhelm asked. There was a short stretch of silence that rung in his ears before Simon answered.

“I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess.” He confessed, and Wilhelm couldn’t help the soft smile that pulled at his lips. “Honestly, I was kind of surprised that you didn’t delete my number or something.”

“Why would I have done that?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just thought that you weren’t supposed to have any ties with me since you said that it wasn’t you in the video.” Wilhelm winced at that.

“It's not like my contacts list is available to the public.” He replied, trying to keep his tone light. “I’m not gonna let that kind of thing get in my head again.”

“Is your mum mad?” Simon asked, and now it was Wilhelm’s turn to sigh.

“I’m not sure, I kind of shut myself in my room so that I wouldn’t have to deal with her.” He answered tiredly. “How is your family?”

“Uh, shaken. Sara’s off in her own world with her sketchbooks and mamá can’t go for more than an hour without checking on us both, but we’re handling it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise.”

There was a silence again. Wilhelm ran his hand across his leg, back and forth in a soothing motion, not sure what he should say but not wanting the conversation to finish. In the end, Simon spoke first.

“Did you mean it, what you said before you left for the break?” He asked softly.

“Yeah, I did.” Wilhelm answered without hesitation. “I know it wasn’t a good time to say it, and you probably didn’t want to hear it, but I just had to say it out loud. At least once.”

Silence again. Wilhelm heard Simon sigh, and pursed his lips nervously.

“I miss you.” Simon said.

“I miss you too.” Wilhelm replied with a nervous yet relieved chuckle. “I miss you a lot.”

Another pause.

“Where do we go from here, Wille?” Simon whispered.

“I don’t know.” Wilhelm mumbled. “But I... I want to fix this. Or at least just try to fix it. You don’t deserve to be harassed like this, and it’s my fault and I feel terrible.”

“It’s not your fault.” Simon reassured with a sigh. “It was everything else. We still didn’t do anything wrong, and that includes you.”

“No, I did. I promised we would be in this together and I broke that promise.”

“I understand why you did it. And I’m not mad at you. Honestly, having thought about it, you probably made the best decision for my sake too. I mean, I’m getting harassed enough as it is already. I can’t imagine what it would be like if you had told the truth.”

“I’m still sorry anyway.” Wilhelm said softly, and Simon chuckled. “So, um, Felice told me she was visiting Bjärstad tomorrow.”

“Yeah, her and Sara have gotten close. It’s nice, you know, that Sara’s made friends. And Felice is cool.”

“Yeah, she’s great.”

There was silence again, and Wilhelm bit at his nails thinking that Simon was done with the conversation.

“Are you alright, Wille?” Simon asked after a while. “I know this is your first Christmas without Erik, and I guess things with your mum might be a little... well, I just hope you’re okay.”

Wilhelm swallowed. He could lie, pretend he was fine and wave away Simon’s concerns, but he knew the lie probably wouldn’t hold up. Or he could tell the truth and admit how painfully lonely he was, how much he hated being home because the palace felt empty without Erik and how much he longed to be with Simon with every fibre of his being.

“I’m coping.” He sighed, settling for a middle ground of vagueness. “It’s lonely here. The ceilings feel too high.”

“Have you had stuff to do?”

“No, not really. I haven’t really been in the mood for Christmas, but I guess none of us are particularly festive this year anyway.”

“Would you - I mean, if you would even be allowed to, but maybe if you could – would you want to come down here for a day?” Simon asked, and Wilhelm could just picture him fidgeting nervously as he stumbled over his words. The image brought a smile to his face.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” He answered softly. “I’ll try and convince my parents.”

+ + +

Going to Simon’s house had been an absolute no go with his parents. “Just too risky” his mother had said. However, with enough persistence, he managed to wear them down to a compromise.

That was how he ended up in a car on his way back to Hillerska the day after Boxing Day. While Simon’s house had been absolutely off the table, it would be easy enough to get back to Hillerska without being seen. The only people who were there during the break were security and the people who came to take care of the horses.

He had been worried at first that the inconvenience of it would make Simon not want to bother, but when he texted to ask if it was okay he had been met with a quick agreement.

A security guard unlocked the door for him when they arrived, sworn to secrecy of course, and he headed up to his room to wait. He didn’t realise he was biting his nails until there was a knock at the door and he was knocked out of his anxious thoughts.

The door opened slowly, and Wilhelm felt like all of the air was knocked out of his body when he saw Simon step inside, dressed in his beloved purple hoodie under the coat that he took off and draped over the back of a chair that was within reach. The door clicked shut behind him, and silence hung in the air.

“Hey.” Simon greeted finally, and Wilhelm took a deep breath as if he was just remembering how to breathe at all.

“Hey.” He echoed. “How are you?”

“Better.” Simon nodded. “Did you get into a fight with your parents?”

“Yeah, kinda.” Wilhelm muttered. “It’s fine though.”

Simon crossed the room and took a seat beside Wilhelm on the edge of the bed, a good few inches of space between them. It felt like miles.

“You look tired.” Simon commented.

“I’ve been having a hard time sleeping.” Wilhelm replied weakly, eyes downcast, fidgeting with his hands. “I get that way sometimes. It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

He looked over to find Simon watching him, and he practically crumbled under his gaze. He took a very unsteady breath and shook his head.

“No, it sucks.” He mumbled. His hand drifted back up to his mouth and he gnawed on the nail of his thumb nervously.

“Wille, you’re bleeding.” Simon said, gently grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away from his mouth. Wilhelm looked down at his thumb and saw a bit of blood pooling in the side of the nailbed, becoming aware of the taste of it on his tongue.

“Oh, I didn’t notice.”

“How much have you been biting your nails?” Simon questioned, pulling Wilhelm’s hand towards him to get a look at them. Every nail was jagged and uneven, bitten down to stubs. The skin around them had been bitten at too.

“I don’t know, I do it without realising.” Wilhelm shrugged. “Probably a lot.” He resisted the urge to curl his fingers around Simon’s hand and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.

“You shouldn’t have to bottle everything in, you’re destroying yourself.” Simon murmured.

“I don’t have anyone to talk to.” Wilhelm’s voice broke halfway through his sentence, a single tear managing to fight its way from his eye. “I used to be able to talk to Erik about at least some of it but now he’s gone and I don’t have anyone, and sometimes it feels like the ground is falling out from under me and I just don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t notice that he was hyperventilating until Simon pulled him into his arms. Wilhelm’s chest was tight, rising and falling rapidly against Simon’s body. Simon's arms were wrapped around him tightly, and Wilhelm was suddenly overwhelmed with how much he had been craving a hug as his hands grasped at the back of Simon’s hoodie and he hid his face in the crook of Simon’s neck.

Wilhelm had always been told not to cry. Ever since he was a child, whenever he began to cry he was told to stop. The seed had planted itself in him when he was very young, but the fear of letting himself cry didn’t truly grow until he once saw an article in a tabloid. He was barely eleven and he had fallen and hurt himself at an event. He had hardly cried, just a few tears and red cheeks, but the tabloid had had plenty to say about it. He hadn’t let himself properly cry since, except for when Erik died. Even then, he had waited until he was completely alone before he let his weakness show. But now, with Simon, he felt an overwhelming need to let his tears fall.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered into Simon’s shoulder. He could feel the tears coming out of his eyes but they weren’t falling down his face, instead absorbing into the fabric of Simon’s hoodie.

“It’s okay.” Simon soothed, a hand moving up to stroke over the Wilhelm’s hair.

“I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a prince.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted to feel normal. Just for once.” Wilhelm said through his tears. “You made me feel normal.”

Simon furrowed his eyebrows, sympathetic. He loosened his hold on Wilhelm and leaned back, sliding the hand that was on the back of Wilhelm’s head forward to rest against his cheek.

“You made me feel normal too.” He replied softly. “At school I was a social outcast because I’m not rich, and at home I have to take care of my mom and Sara. When I was with you, I didn’t feel like I had to take care of anyone or watch where I was stepping. Well, except that one night.” Wilhelm huffed a slight laugh at the comment, lifting a hand to wipe the tears off of his cheeks. “I’ve never seen you cry before.” Simon commented.

“I’m not supposed to.” Wilhelm replied with an awkward chuckle, his head tipping forward in embarrassment. Simon sighed through his nose and lightly touched his forehead to Wilhelm’s.

“You have to cry sometimes, Wille. Everyone cries.”

“I’m not supposed to be everyone.”

“Okay, but sometimes you need to stop worrying about what you’re supposed to be.” Simon told him. “I know you know that.”

Wilhelm took a deep breath. This close to Simon’s face, he could feel his breathing too. He wanted to kiss him, but he didn’t know if that would be okay. He nodded slightly, covering Simon’s hand on his cheek with his own.

“Yeah.” He breathed.

When Simon leaned forward and connected their lips Wilhelm responded automatically, though it took his brain a few seconds to catch up. Once his brain did catch up, his hand took hold of the back of Simon’s neck and pulled him impossibly closer, holding onto this moment like it was his last. Maybe it would be the last time he got to kiss Simon; he couldn’t know. He hoped it wouldn’t be.

“Thanks for coming to see me.” Simon said when they broke apart.

“Thanks for wanting to see me at all.” Wilhelm replied. “I really missed you.”

Simon hummed, a faint smile playing at his lips. He watched Wilhelm for a few moments before kicking off his shoes.

“Come here.” He said, shuffling over the bed towards the wall. Wilhelm followed suit and allowed himself to be guided down to a lying position, Simon’s chest against his back and arm around his waist. “You need to sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day.” Wilhelm protested, weak as the protest may have been.

“People have naps all the time, and you know that you need it.” Simon said firmly, adjusting the pillow under his head with his free arm and finding Wilhelm's hand to hold in the other. “It doesn’t have to be for long, okay?”

“Okay.” Wilhelm nodded, feeling suddenly very relaxed. He took a deep breath settling into the comfort and warmth of Simon’s body around his as his eyes fell shut. “This is nice.” He mumbled after a while.

“Yeah.” Simon agreed softly. “Go to sleep, Wille.”

It wasn’t long until he felt Wilhelm’s breathing change, signifying that he had fallen asleep. He smiled, fondly but with an edge of sadness to it, and pressed a light kiss to Wilhelm’s shoulder before closing his own eyes. They would deal with the rest of the world when they woke up.

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ashasmonsters · 3 years

Text

The Middle Prince

Male reader x Male Tiefling (Amon)

Citrus rating: Lemon

Content: Detailed wet dreams, alcohol

Words: 8k

Note: Some MLM goodness for Pride Month! This took me longer than I intended, but only because I wrote it way too long and had to break it up into parts! Expect more in this series.

The dreams started assailing you a little over a month ago. During the first week, you couldn't remember anything. You would awake in your bedchamber covered in sweat and panting as if you had just finished a sparring session. These nights, a name danced on the tip of your tongue, escaping just as you attempted to sound it out and make it real. Confused and alone you would promptly go back to sleep after flipping over your pillow. As time passed, the dreams grew both in intensity and clarity. Though still more mysterious than normal dreams, little details here and there coalesced in your waking memory: a soft touch followed by a rough one, the smell of lavender, your fingernails gliding over shallow ridges, the color of aquamarine gemstones. These dreams visited you every night without fail.

The determinations made by the court oneiromancers were limited in scope. After spending the night in the care of one such dream diviner, they found these dreams to be coming from somewhere else. The dreams were not your own, at least not fully. Beyond this, they had no more revelations. Anything more was conjecture; one stated that if magick was involved, it was either massively strong, thus able to conceal its origin, or so fleeting and ephemeral that even the oneiromancers couldn't trace it.

Your father's concern waxed but mostly waned. Perhaps if you were the eldest crown prince instead of the middle one, the answer would have been willed into existence by his command. He simply asked that the oneiromancers track your condition and report any findings to him, but no more than once each week. Though dismayed that little was being done to solve this mystery, you were used to being far from priority. Even years ago when an attempt on your life left one of your legs still and unresponsive, a leg brace allowing you to stand at public appearances was issued and the problem was declared solved. You vividly remembered the look on the assassin's face when he realized he had accidentally struck third in the line of succession rather than first. His reaction was not dissimilar from your father's when you mentioned your dreams: a mildly amused but primarily disappointed visage. The spot where the dagger had pierced your spine no longer ached but your discontent was as raw and fresh as the day the realization struck.

With the oneiromancers essentially told to only report something unquestionably threatening to your life or the family's honor, you shared very little with them. Several times you had dismissed them with little more than a hand wave. None of them ever protested. To their knowledge, no new developments within these dreams came to light. It was just another little curiosity that came with the court.

To their knowledge, anyway. In truth, there had been a quite substantial development that you withheld from them.

The night air was cool and crisp. From your bedchamber's veranda, you let the gentle sound of the garden's fountains below soothe your nerves. This had become your regular nighttime ritual; your last chance to feel relaxed and cool before waking up overheated and frantic. You enjoyed the last of it before sliding under the sheets and waiting for the dream to visit you.

This was the clearest dream to date. The scattered sensations and feelings from prior episodes came into focus: the touches came from smooth, tender hands, the smell of lavender from purple cups of herbal tea. Your fingers played over short, filed horns. That bold aquamarine color like a burning emerald belonged to a pair of eyes, their pupils narrow and catlike. The overall plot of the dream remained unknown to you. What came next, however, was new. Very new.

A pair of hands caressed your body as whatever clothing you had dissolved into the air. Your mind reeled from the realization of what was happening, yet you were relaxed all the same. Though surprised, you didn't wish for it to stop. Even as the tender hands had you at their mercy, one playfully pinching a nipple as the other reached lower in between your legs, you welcomed their touch without knowing why. You just did. It felt right. The hand between your legs started confidently stroking your shaft; making you moan. Their touch was expertly coordinated as if they knew everything about you. Not long after, the building pressure within you was too much to bear, then...

"AMON!" You cried out, the name that had eluded you all those nights finally woven from syllables into a complete utterance. You were no longer dreaming, your own hands reflexively covering your mouth in a futile attempt to take back the exclamation. In the dead of night like this, you most certainly alerted someone.

"My Prince, are you alright?" Your chief courtier, Petra, had burst through your bedchamber door. Guards with polearms at the ready had her back.

"I'm alright," you caught your breath, "it's the dream again. No cause for alarm." As usual, you bore a sheen of sweat and your heart was thundering in your ears.

"You've never called out like that before," Petra noted, not yet dropping her guard.

"I called out?" You lied, wincing as you felt something viscid and slimy on your groin under your dressing gown. Deep embarrassment came to the forefront of your mind, your face helpless to hide it. "Bring me my washbasin, please," you quickly uttered.

"At once, my Prince." Petra left the room as the guards resumed their posts. You peeled back your dressing gown to inspect the damage by moonlight. It was worse than you thought. Undoubtedly this gown would have to be thrown out. You groaned, disappointed in your own body for betraying you like this.

"Your washbasin, Prince." Petra returned and you hurriedly covered yourself up again. The moonlight was too dim, or perhaps she pretended not to see, but she was soon at your bedside without pause, brandishing a sponge and towel.

"I can do this myself," you said, taking the implements from her. She looked at you with intent to interrogate.

"Prince, if there have been changes with your dreams, you must inform the oneiromancers."

"No need," you said, eager to fully clean yourself. "You are dismissed, Petra."

Petra held her tongue. Her eyes told you she only did so because she was eager to return to bed. When she departed your bedchamber and closed the door, you finally discarded the soiled gown and did your best to cleanse yourself of your nocturnal emission. You donned a new gown and welcomed an ordinary slumber.

When morning came, so did Petra and a bevy of assistant courtiers. From the accoutrements they wielded you identified them as the "fashion corps," your nickname for the hairdressers, wardrobers, clothiers, and makeup artists whose arrival portended a formal event you were required to attend. As the squad of aesthetes communicated amongst each other, Petra drew you a bath. While the tub filled, she came to your side and took your shoulder on hers to help you hobble into the bathing chamber.

"What's the occasion, Petra?" You unfolded a privacy screen, dividing your bathing chamber in half. As you stripped and entered the balmy water, you heard Petra pull up a chair on the other side of the screen.

"The biannual alliance gala, Prince."

"The alliance gala?" You asked. Your appearance had not been required at one for quite some time. "Why me?"

"Your father has requested that the entire court attend. From what I've heard, there is quite the number of fiefdoms and baronies joining the kingdom at this one."

"Grand." You sighed and resigned yourself into the water until it met your chin. You imagined the great hall of the palace, teeming with strangers from far-off lands all speaking in such meaningless platitudes that they needed alcohol in hand to tolerate it.

"If it makes you feel any better, Prince, most of the night depends on your elder brother and your father. You have the freedom to do whatever you like once your father's opening speech is concluded," Petra said with a mild tone.

It didn't make you feel better. Your father built a kingdom that, apparently, smaller domains were scrambling to join. Your elder brother was the crown prince with hordes of suitors seeking his heart. Even your elder sister, with no direct claim to the crown, was quite sought after. Then there was you, with permission to get as drunk as you like at the gala. You seriously considered exercising that privilege.

Your ruminations were interrupted by the clatter of hammered metal and leather straps from beyond the screen.

"I've got your brace ready, Prince. Let me know when you're dry," Petra said. You reluctantly finished scrubbing and soaping yourself before heaving your body onto the lip of the bath and toweling off. Sat there, damp with dripping hair and a towel round your waist, you permitted Petra to attach the brace to you. She respectfully averted her eyes as she affixed the contraption to your immobilized leg. With it attached, you traded comfort for the ability to limp and stand unassisted.

Next came the gauntlet of clothing, hair styling, and makeup that the fashion corps employed. Even for today, which was merely a rehearsal for the true event tomorrow, they gave no mercy. They encircled you and passed you around as they worked like a knight being suited by his squires. The process was grueling. Your hair was tugged and the breeches squeezed your brace into your leg. With the freedom to choose your own clothes removed from you, there was no choice but to deal with the feeling of metal biting at your skin.

Bound in the tight, ceremonial clothing, Petra took your arm for the long walk to the great hall. It was full of palace staff and buzzing like a beehive. The ceiling, high as a cathedral's, let in beams of sunlight through its many massive windows. Tables were being arranged with the intent to give each attending guest a view of the stage: the stage where your father and elder brother would be giving their opening speeches tomorrow. The two of them were behind a podium, your brother reading a piece of parchment over your father's shoulder. Behind them towards the back of the stage was a row of ornate seats; not quite thrones but just as uncomfortable. Your elder sister met your gaze as she sat on one. She beckoned you over.

"That will be your seat for the rehearsal, Prince," Petra said.

"Rehearsal for sitting?" You quipped, walking towards your seat anyway. Resistance was futile no matter how silly this all was.

"I'll undo your hair and get you into more comfortable clothes as soon as I can, Prince," Petra said apologetically. "Bear with it. I must attend to the other staff now."

With that, Petra disappeared into the crowd of scrambling staff arranging the great hall into order. You limped to your seat, your brace clicking all the while.

"You look excellent, little brother," your sister said. She was attempting to alleviate your sour mood, but she still hadn't figured out how. Neither had you.

"I look like an idiot. And my leg is killing me," you snapped.

Your sister merely sighed and leaned back in her chair. Her hair, in a high bun, bumped the bejeweled headrest and made her curse.

"You used to love these events when you were smaller. You had perfected waving to the crowd before you learned to talk," she said.

"That was a long time ago. Things were different; I was naive, none of us had official duties, the assassination attempt hadn't happened, I wasn't bedeviled by these dreams... mother was alive." You cast your gaze downward, examining your buckled leather shoes. You heard her sigh.

"Not all change has to be bad. And to be fair, you still don't have any official duties to worry about." She placed a hand on your shoulder.

"That's a polite way of saying I'm useless." You looked up at your father and elder brother. They were discussing something about their speeches, annotating and marking the parchment before them. A small audience of pages stood in front of the stage, listening to them run through portions of their speeches. They hadn't yet paid you any heed.

"It's a blunt way of saying you're free," your sister said firmly. "Every week I'm fielding suitors from all over the world, and not one of them has proven to be anything but repulsive. I'm terrified that one day strategy and diplomacy will land me with someone like them."

Your eyes widened at her open disdain for the matters of the court.

"I'm sorry," you said, reconstructing your vision of who your sister truly was. "I had no idea you felt that way... I thought—"

"You thought I was traipsing about with handsome men from far-off lands every day?" She smirked.

"...yes." You blushed.

"Hah! I wish!" Your sister flinched at her own exclamation, then relaxed when she realized the monarch and the crown prince hadn't noticed. "But you don't have to wish for that. You're free to traipse with whomever you please."

You blushed harder. Turning away from your sister, you saw your brother and father finishing up their speech revisions. On cue, Petra emerged from the throng of staff to conclude this "rehearsal."

"Looks like Petra's coming to get you," your sister noted. "I know you'll be free to retire to your bedchambers as soon as the speeches are over, but I want you to try and enjoy yourself tomorrow night. It's what I would do if I could." She gave you one final smile before getting up from her seat.

"I will," you said, finally cracking a tiny smile in return. Petra had your arm soon after.

"Your presence is no longer required, Prince." Petra helped you up. "Shall I take you back to your chambers?"

"Yes, please," you said, giving your sister a thankful glance. She returned a similar expression as Petra whisked you away.

When you had finally returned to your chambers and changed into less constrictive clothing, you asked Petra to stay awhile to converse. Your sister's advice had forced you to re-evaluate your approach to the gala. Your priorities had shifted just as much as your notions of her personality had.

"You mentioned there were many newcomers to the kingdom? Quite a few tables were being set up in the great hall," you quizzed Petra.

"Yes, from what I've gathered, it's expected to be the largest event we've hosted all year. We're expecting guests from as far as Ankara and Nubia," she answered matter-of-factly. Perhaps she was a little proud, too.

"Are there any specific guests I should know about?" You asked with the grace of a war elephant. Courtship had crossed your mind for the first time mere minutes ago. "Anyone of high repute?"

Petra picked up on your clumsy intent immediately. She knew you too well.

"Prince, it would be quicker to list the attendees not worth approaching than those with stellar accolades. If it were me..." she drew in air through her teeth as if expecting to be reprimanded, "I would consider tomorrow's gala an excellent time to court someone."

"I'll try to take that advice to heart, Petra," you said.

"I'm pleased, Prince. Your matters are your own, but if I may speak unequivocally..."

"Speak your mind." You gave her permission. She hesitated, then sighed.

"You strike me as lonely, Prince. Ever since the Queen passed, your social life has suffered." Petra paused again, considering her words carefully. "You deserve love of that measure once more, whether from a partner or a good friend."

"Thank you," you sighed as if she had given you permission to use your heart. "I appreciate the advice, Petra."

"Of course, Prince." She glanced out the window towards the setting sun. "I recommend you retire early tonight to be invigorated tomorrow, lest the dreams strike again."

You nodded.

"They will." You avoided her eyes as you remembered what happened last time. "Have a washbasin ready. For the, erm, sweat."

"Of course, Prince," Petra said, her face remaining unmoved. You didn't bother trying to discern whether she was oblivious to last night's gown-soiling or if she merely extended you the courtesy of pretending. "I'll leave you be. Get some rest."

You watched her exit your chambers without another word, finally exhaling the breath you held. The idea of having to clean yourself up again was hardly appealing. Standing on the veranda and enjoying the cool night air was only prolonging the inevitable.

The aforementioned inevitable reared its troublesome head as soon as you surrendered to sleep. Your consciousness materialized somewhere, a location unidentifiable but still more detailed than you had ever encountered before. You glimpsed kaleidoscopic carpets, hammered brass, and vines growing freely about the place.

"Welcome back." A man's voice like sweet honey floated through the warm air.

"I missed you." The words left your mouth without you knowing them. You were merely an observer to your own actions. "Amon."

"My sweet prince." Lips on your knuckles. The smell of lavender tea. "Tea?"

"No thanks. We must keep this quick," you uttered again, breathless and surrendering to a desire that was both yours and unknown to you.

"Tut, tut. What's gotten into you, my prince? I've never seen you so impatient," the voice teased. Your head spun.

"I need my energy," you gasped, something warm and wet lapping at your member. "For tomorrow." The ministrations paused.

"Of course. Tomorrow will be very special indeed." The tongue on your shaft resumed, making you squirm. You reached out into the nothingness, your fingers grasping at frayed carpet tassels. Your other hand reached in between your legs and found a head of hair. You grasped a smooth horn that curved neatly behind an ear. It bobbed up and down at a tantalizing pace.

"Amon, I... I shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what?" Another pause in the pleasure. You caught your breath. Those eyes again, burning into yours with the hue of warm ocean waters. "Say no to me, my prince. I implore you to try."

Caught in the stare you were helpless. You quivered with need, your manhood twitching and drooling. Only a high whine left your lips.

"Thought so."

You shot up in bed, crying out and spasming. Once more you had spilled yourself into your gown, your entire body slick with sweat. As a small victory, your cries remained nondescript rather than referential to this "Amon." In the dream, you had felt a sweet warmth in your breast each time you spoke to him and even warmer when he responded. In your waking memory, this name was empty. There was no connection and no feeling of belonging. If you hadn't heard your own voice leave your mouth in the dream, you would have had no way of knowing those experiences were your own. Your dreaming memory and conscious recollection were severed, at odds with one another. What did he mean when he said tomorrow would be special? Did he know about the gala? You didn't know how much you knew.

"The washbasin, Prince," Petra uttered as she carried it into your chambers. She stowed it at your bedside. "Shall I leave you like before?"

"Yes, please... but would it trouble you to return afterward?"

"Not at all, Prince. I'll return at your word." She slipped out of the room. You took the opportunity to cleanse yourself of the evidence before permitting Petra to return.

“Petra, would it be possible to acquire a guest list for the gala?” You asked.

“Possible, yes. However, it will be quite long without any qualifiers. As I mentioned previously, this is one of the largest events of the year.”

You considered simply asking her if the name Amon was among the attendees, but Petra would likely alert the oneiromancers and in turn, your father. You doubted anything would happen at all if she did, but this was a matter you wanted to confront on your own. Like all other decisions made for you at your father’s behest, your own interests would unquestionably be cast aside if he decided to involve himself.

“I’d like to know the first names of all the male guests scheduled to attend,” you said. Petra raised an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t narrow it down much, Prince,” Petra answered. The sweet, honeyed voice from your dream remained in your mind. It was the voice of a young man, one likely of your age.

“Only the male guests around my age, then,” you specified. Petra raised her other eyebrow, making her expression one of surprise rather than skepticism.

“Ah. That kind of list. I see...” Your cheeks burned; though you didn’t know where this inquiry would take you, you also felt the conclusion Petra came to was not wholly inaccurate. “Shall I make, erm, other arrangements as well?”

“Arrangements?” you asked. It was Petra’s turn to blush.

“The standard things... extra pillows, oils, skins—”

“Yes, of course, Petra,” you cut her off, not wishing for her to extend the list of amenities any further. Searching for a suitor was a favorable charade. If nothing else, if this search for the mysterious Amon proved fruitless, then you would at least have the means, motive, and opportunity to bed somebody... if you had the audacity. The look on Petra's face said she didn't think so.

"I’ll have the list and the... goods brought in before sun-up,” Petra said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, Petra, that will suffice.”

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Morning arrived and so did Petra's promises; the chief courtier herself was nowhere to be found, but a neatly transcribed list of names and a box tied with a bow sat atop a chaise lounge when you awoke. You already knew what waited inside the box, so you went for the list. Though only containing the names of guests that fit your qualifiers, the parchment was both long and double-sided. Your eyes began to tire just as they fell across what you were looking for:

Amon II - Eparch of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia

You were puzzled. Makuria and Elodia were names you hadn't heard since you were tutored. Even your father's kingdom with its diplomats venturing far and wide rarely mentioned them. You only knew they were small kingdoms far away from this one. There was not one but two oceans between here and there, they spoke a language no tutor in the palace taught, and both titles of "Nobatian" and "Eparch" were unknown to you.

Then the fashion corps arrived. You dropped the parchment and pondered the new information as they manhandled you into the appearance they had crafted for you yesterday. Perhaps due to more practiced hands or being lost in your thoughts, the process seemed to go much faster than previously. You almost didn't believe it when they told you they were finished, but the shifted sun and your appearance in the mirror confirmed that the gala would soon begin. Your hair was fashioned into an unnatural shape, your face was dusted with powder, and your clothes were so form-fitting that you appeared sewn into them. The bulge of the leg brace through your breeches peeked out at the ankle; the leggings were so tight that your overcoat preserved more of your modesty than they did.

With Petra absent and likely scrambling to put last-minute touches on the gala, you walked to the great hall with the assistance of the fashion corps, who likewise made hasty repairs to your appearance as your gait jostled things out of place. When you arrived, the great hall was even busier than at the rehearsal. It seemed there was a member of palace staff for each seat at every table, all of them fastidiously arranging cutlery, plates, decorative vases, placemats, and myriad other things you didn't know the names for.

“Little brother!” You turned your head and spotted your elder sister within a parade of her own fashion corps regiment. She waved at you from one of the great hall’s entrances.

“Sister,” you responded with a nod, your own cavalcade parting to allow her approach.

“Have you given tonight any consideration?” She asked.

“Yes, actually...”

“You’re not going to retreat to your chambers?”

“...not immediately,” you said, noncommittal.

“I’m glad.” She smiled gently. “I’ll likely be busy most of the night, though if you’d like me to send anyone your way, let me know. Who’s on your list?”

“My list?” you sputtered. “Petra told you?”

“Petra? Goodness, no,” she chuckled. “I just figured you’d have one. It’s standard practice for these sorts of things; I’ve a list as well. So... who’s on yours?”

You lowered your head and examined your shoes.

“Well... it’s quite long.”

“How scandalous!” she gasped exaggeratedly.

“I’m just casting a wide net is all! I don’t intend to bed every single male my age!” Your cheeks burned again. You considered dropping the charade if it meant this level of humiliation.

“I expected my mild little brother to have a rebellious phase eventually, but this...” she said, ignoring your cries.

"Sister, please," you pleaded. The tone of your voice convinced her to return to normal. She extended a hand to ruffle your hair but stopped herself when your fashion corps hairstylist glared at her.

"Apologies, little brother. I had to jest a little," she smiled at you, this time without intent to tease. "They're going to start letting in the guests soon. We should take our seats."

You nodded and followed her to the stage. The fashion corps fell away from you and went to help elsewhere. You sat in your uncomfortable pseudo-throne and waited, eventually joined by your other siblings save for your eldest brother. They greeted you as they took position at your side, but there was very little to talk about. This was the first time you had seen them in a while.

Then came the guests: the table-setters had cleared out some minutes before the floodgates burst and more staff escorted groups of people to their tables. The cathedral-like great hall was full in mere moments. Sorted by table, there was a sea of people in colorful finery all conversing amongst themselves and giving you and your siblings the occasional glance. You tried to pick out Amon from the crowd but quickly realized half-remembered fragments from your dreams wouldn't be enough to pick him from a sea of hundreds. Even finding his name on the list took a considerable amount of time.

Then the hall fell silent, or something close to it. A lively conversation between hundreds of people dropped to hushed whispers. Your father and brother had entered the hall and begun their walk to the podium, silencing the crowd with nothing but their appearance. When your father reached the podium, he extended both arms palms up and the previously subdued crowd erupted into cheers. If not for the applause, he would have heard you groan. Your sister said nothing, only giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

When the speeches started you practically willed your ears shut. Perhaps you would have built a tolerance to them if you had appeared at more of these events, but you couldn't bear to listen to your father and elder brother boast of their achievements to a sea of complacent, nodding heads. It was like a reminder that within the kingdom your father built, you served your purpose by distracting that assassin some years ago and now outlived your usefulness. At this gala, you were decoration only a few ranks higher than a potted plant.

You thanked any and all higher powers when the speeches were over. Father and his crown prince had left the stage to begin their targeted commingling with VIPs, prompting you and your siblings to stand from your seats. They all dispersed before you could look to them to follow their lead. When you stumbled off the stage and distanced yourself from it by leaning against the wall as you walked, hardly any attention came your way. Thankfully, the attention you did receive was from Petra.

"Prince, are you alright? You look troubled," she said, sidling up to you.

"What do I do, Petra?" you asked, intimidated by the sheer size of the room and the attendees within it. Each table was like its own little kingdom with strangers you didn't know and faux-pas to stumble over.

"See how each table has an empty chair or two?" She pointed to the tables nearest you, one full of scaly Sāmm-abraṣ emissaries and another with human diplomats bearing the flag of Bavaria. You nodded. "All the guests are expected to stay seated while dinner is served. They won't get up to dance and drink until the meal is concluded. Right now, only people from the host kingdom— like you, me, your siblings, and other members of the court— will be walking around."

"So I just sit at whichever table and introduce myself?"

"If you even need to. The fact you're walking will show them you're hosting. They'll pay you proper respect without you saying anything at all."

"Hm," you mused. That sounded like a lot of work, especially since you weren't aiming to meander. Finding Amon would be immeasurably more difficult once the crowd was disorganized and inebriated, though, so now was your best chance.

"I've a copy of your list, Prince. Shall I help you navigate it?" Petra asked, holding up parchment.

"Yes, let's," you said. The lengthy document threatened to touch the floor. "Let's begin alphabetically."

"Alphabetically, Prince?"

"By first name."

"Of course, Prince. That means we should visit Aariyeh, Sardar of Anatolia, followed by Abdul II, Knez of Smederevo—"

"Any Eparchs on that list?" You winced at your own forwardness. The charade was wearing dangerously thin.

"...Eparchs?"

"I'm in an Eparch mood at the moment," you explained weakly. Petra looked at you as if checking for signs of illness.

"I see. There's one: Amon II of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia."

"He sounds splendid. Take me to him."

Petra, either from exasperation, deference, or both, folded up the list and took your arm without another word. She led you through the clusters of gala attendees. You could feel every one of their eyes watching you as you caught their attention. Just as the scrutiny was starting to become too much, your eyes found a target of their own. A warm shiver ran through your spine, a sensation the French would call déjà rêvé: a dream made real.

His verdigris eyes locked onto yours. They peered at you from behind short, white curls of shiny hair. His skin reminded you of the bluebells in the gardens, and his pert, curled horns were a shade darker. He flashed something between a grin and a smirk at you, revealing pearlescent teeth with canines that could be mistaken for fangs.

Amon was breathtaking and he knew it.

If your arm wasn't in Petra's grasp already, you never would have made it to the chair. She struggled a bit as she plopped you into it, your leg brace protesting with clicks and creaks. The other tieflings at the table, all varying shades of azure, stopped what they were doing to acknowledge your arrival. You gave them a weak nod while you regained your composure.

"Greetings, delegation from Lower Makuria and Elodia. I'd like to introduce you to our Middle Prince," Petra said from over your shoulder, upon which she planted a firm hand. She squeezed hard.

"I'm pleased to meet you all," you managed to get out. Your audience of tieflings nodded and muttered.

"As am I, Middle Prince." Amon set his cutlery down and rested his chin on interlaced fingers. His voice was high and carried a boyish, scheming air; you envisioned him stealing lumps of sugar from a pantry. "I didn't think my kingdom warranted such a visit. What brings you to my little exclave of Nobatia?"

"A whim."

"How quaint," he said, still smirking. His gaze shifted as he eyed his all-tiefling entourage. The intent was to communicate something, though you didn't know what.

"I am the middle prince, after all. I've few obligations. None, actually," you said.

"Hm," Amon said, looking decidedly amused. "We may have more in common than we thought." His retinue nodded along with his observation.

"Surely you are a busy man? You are Eparch of not one, but two territories."

"Do you know what the title 'Eparch' entails, Middle Prince?" Amon said, more as a targeted quip than an actual question.

"I... am not familiar, I admit," you ceded.

"An Eparch is a figurehead. Makuria and Alodia have long been ruled by invaders and rebels, respectively. I'm kept in a symbolic position to preserve what's left of Nobatian culture," Amon sighed. "In fact, I was sent here in place of the true rulers since they thought it so unlikely that you would have anything important to say to us. Anything other than absorbing us into your hegemony, of course."

You averted your gaze. He clearly was not happy with his status, and while his discontent wasn't targeted at you, it hovered about him like a cloud. He picked at the remainder of his meal while the cloud dissipated and you plucked a topic from the clearing air.

"How was your journey here? You've come a long way," you said.

"It was pleasant enough. Your trains and... horseless carriages are quite impressive," Amon said, pausing. "What's your name for them again?"

"Automobiles," you answered.

"Yes, automobiles." He rolled the word in his mouth as if tasting wine. "Though you have such a fine river and only use it for cargo. A felucca would have made my journey quite enjoyable."

"A felucca?"

"Ah, it's my turn to inform you." Amon smiled. "A felucca is a sailboat we use on the Nile. It's built for comfort, with carpets instead of hardwood decks. Some even come with a kitchen, and it's unheard of to sail without finishing a pot of tea."

"It sounds lovely," you said. "Lavender tea, I hope."

Amon raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, my favorite," he looked amused. "How did you know?"

"A whim," you answered. "The same one that brought me over to your table."

"I see." His eyes locked with yours for a lengthy pause. His retinue shifted in their seats at the uncomfortable silence. He was thinking hard about something, but the subject of his thoughts remained unknown to you. If he truly shared the dreams with you, surely you must have gotten the point across by now?

"It was lovely chatting with you, Middle Prince." He broke the silence and straightened his posture. "But I would hate to keep you when you have other guests to see."

"I really don't—"

"Nonsense, my prince," he interrupted, "go on and mingle. Perhaps, if we're lucky, our paths will cross when the festivities begin in earnest."

You couldn't believe your eyes. Did he wink at you?

"Of course..." you said, slowly realizing he was scheming. "Enjoy the gala." He locked eyes with you again.

"Oh, we will."

You had resumed hovering with Petra on the edges of the great hall. More staff had filed in to take away dirty dishes and the remains of the guests' meals. The dance floor had been opened, the musicians were in position, and staff bearing silver trays readied drinks for the merry and hors d'oeuvres for the peckish.

"How was your visit with the Eparch?" Petra asked.

"Enlightening," you answered cryptically. The need for secrecy hadn't passed, but now you were unsure of what charade to uphold. You only knew Amon was in on it as well.

"I trust that means it went well?"

"Yes, I think so." You scanned the crowd of attendees, which had now gotten up from their seats and begun to mix and intermingle. Amon disappeared like an ace into a shuffled deck. Petra flashed you an impatient expression.

"Prince, do you want me to help you get with him or not?" She said with folded arms.

"Petra!" You gasped. "You're rather forward."

"It's quite literally my job to make sure you end up with him if you wish it, Prince," she assumed a stern tone as if you refused your vegetables. "Give me a yes or no."

You stewed under her gaze. It seemed the pressure and time-sensitive nature of the gala had started to affect her as well, though for different reasons to you.

"Yes." You muttered. She didn't ask for confirmation, instead slipping away into the crowd with nothing more than a nod. Was this part of the charade, still? You had no idea what Amon even wanted, or frankly, what you wanted from tonight.

The musicians started and the small groups that had formed on the edge of the dance floor produced couplets of dancers. They were eager to begin the waltz, a somewhat contentious dance that had only recently come into popularity. You hadn't been practiced in it, instead learning of court dances like the cotillion. As you watched it take place, the dancers seemed awfully close. They were practically pressed against one another!

While you tried to discern the intricacies of this new style of dance before you, that familiar azure face peeked at you from the crowd. Amon smiled and raised his drink in your direction. It was a small gesture but you were helpless to do anything other than join him. Before you knew it, you were at his side in the sea of people and some sort of libation had been thrust into your hand.

"You know, I'm starting to grow partial to this stuff," Amon said, sipping on a duplicate of the drink you held.

"I was under the impression your faith disallowed the consumption of alcohol," you said, watching him finish the glass.

"An easy mistake to make." He handed off the glass to a roving staff member. "Modern Makurians and Alodians don't drink. Nobatians like me do. It's one of the holdovers of my dead culture."

You looked at the glass in hand; it was a clear, cold drink with a slice of lime. As you expected, the taste was bitter and unwelcoming.

"You like gin?" You asked, one taste enough to identify it.

"As I said, it's starting to grow on me," Amon chuckled. "It's not good enough to stop me from missing home, but it'll get me through the night."

"Speaking of home..." you started, looking around. You were unable to spot any other blue-skinned tieflings in the crowd. "where has your retinue gone?"

"I told them to enjoy themselves. As my courtiers, that means they're likely hovering by the exit, waiting to escort me out of here when I leave."

"They seem like a serious bunch."

"They're overprotective," Amon hissed. "As I said, my culture is long dead. They see it as dying. They think they can save it by putting me in a glass case for future generations to study."

"You've given up on Nobatia?"

"Pah! Of course I have!" He deftly procured another drink from a passing waiter. "Nothing will bring the old country back. Nobatia is a minuscule region; I can say with certainty I'm the youngest one left. When I'm old and infirm, Makuria and Alodia will reject the idea of a royal family entirely and I'll finally be allowed to be forgotten."

"That's quite a bleak outlook, Eparch," you gently chided. "Perhaps in war, things would be on a fixed course, but matters of diplomacy are more malleable."

"Perhaps," Amon said, sipping his gin. "But that's enough about me. I'd like to know more about you."

His eyes looked into yours as if he would magick the information he wanted straight out of you. No incantations were uttered, though, and you took a pragmatic sip of gin to fill the pause.

"What would you like to know?" You said.

"I'd like to know about this 'whimsy' you have," Amon probed. "To be frank, my prince, I expected to be out the door by now. Instead, I'm here, conversing with you. It doesn't make sense."

You finished your gin. This was as good a time as any to explain yourself.

"What do you know of oneiromancy?" The question left your lips and slapped Amon across the face. He chuckled.

"The school of magick so vague and unmeasurable it's not even officially recognized?"

"It seems you know the same as most," you said. "Oneiromancy is real. At least, real enough to give me the same dream night after night."

"I see..." Amon was mulling something over.

"In each one of these dreams, though my waking memory is hazy, I remember one thing they all had in common." You took a deep breath. "You."

"We should discuss this in private," Amon interjected, gently brushing your hand against his. You had been so caught up with telling Amon that you forgot you were in the middle of a crowded gala. Concern crept into the corners of his face. "Do you have a place we can go?"

You nodded and grasped his hand in earnest. The spot you took him to was one of the many balconies that overlooked the palace gardens. The sun had set fully at this point, and waltz music lazily floated out of the great hall. A few revelers who had over-indulged caught the fresh air in the hedges below. You and Amon rested on the cool marble balustrade, momentarily admiring the mingling of crickets, music, distant conversation, and the night air.

"I've been having the dreams as well. All of them involving you in some... capacity. I wasn't sure it was you at first. The dreams were so vague..." Amon kept his gaze fixed on the gardens below.

"Were the dreams... um, did you wake up... well..." you stammered. He looked at you knowingly.

"Yes, a few times," Amon answered. He didn't seem nearly as embarrassed as you. "You suspect oneiromancy is at play?"

"The court oneiromancers determined the dreams are being intentionally created. They're not a coincidence."

"Court oneiromancers?" Amon nearly spat out his drink. "My, you do have everything in this kingdom."

"Yes, we have court oneiromancers, but your surprise is beside the point." You had finally found the mysterious Amon, and you didn't want to waste any time on tangents. "Surely you're just as curious as I? Do you know anything about these dreams?" Amon drained the remainder of his gin in response.

"When I was a child..." He paused and shook his head. "When I was a child, my mother told me folk tales. The standard stuff: damsels in distress, slaying horrific beasts, that sort of thing. But she also told me tales of lovers who met in dreams. She said that was how she and father met."

"Something tells me you don't believe in that."

"When I grew too old for fairy tales, I saw it as her way of helping me keep hope that the one would be out there. With Nobatia falling and no suitors left..." he trailed off, setting his empty glass on the balustrade.

"So what if she's right?"

"That's a rather large 'if,' my prince. She was the only one that believed in that stuff... Aside from an uncle who would tell more dreamers-to-lovers tales, but only after drinking too much boukha, and always with a sarcastic tongue. They're just that: tales."

You felt Amon's cloud of discontent precipitate once more. His words were scathing, but not towards you; they spoke to a painful past and familiarity with disappointment. He saw something hopeful, happy, and promising, then cast it down in order to never feel the pain of losing it. You rarely had such clear insights about people, but with Amon it was different. It was as if you had known him for a long time and learned the language spoken by his brow, posture, and eyes. You knew what you had to do.

"Amon," you sighed, placing a hand on his, "even fairy tales originate from some truth, even if only a little. Don't be afraid to entertain the notion that your mother might be right."

You tried to look him in the eyes, but he cast his gaze down to the gardens below. His quick tongue failed him and silence ensued. His hand had reluctantly surrendered itself to your grasp, resting warm and limp.

"Look at me," You commanded with a firmer tone than expected. Reluctantly, he swiveled towards you and his aquamarine eyes found their way to yours. "Think about what you truly want. Don't be afraid to take it."

He swallowed. After a pause of a few heartbeats, his free hand grasped the back of your head, entwined his fingers in your hair, and pressed your lips to his. Your hand that held his grasped even tighter. The two of you were entwined in your own scandalous waltz. You could feel his hunger just as clearly as you felt his discontent when he parted your lips with his tongue. You reciprocated, catching fleeting impressions of his sharp teeth. He tasted like gin and figs. Short, passionate gasps and moans escaped the two of you and joined the chorus of crickets. You pulled away only to catch your breath.

"Amon," you gasped, his name sweet on your tongue. He looked at you with a bewildered expression and flushed navy cheeks. Neither of you could believe what just happened, yet surprise gave way to familiarity. Kissing Amon made your heart race but your shoulders relax. Being breathless and panting in his embrace was as recognizable to you as Petra's morning wake-up calls, or the smell of the gardens, or the feeling of your bedchamber floor on your bare feet. Déjà rêvé.

"I..." Amon sighed, "I shouldn't. I've had too much gin. I've been foolish." He released you from his arms and took several steps backward. Your jaw hung agape as he jogged inside and disappeared from view. Too shocked to try to catch him, you remained outside and alone on the balcony with only the sound of crickets and distant strings to keep you company. Just as silently and perceptively as a cat, Petra crept from the doorway a short while later.

"I saw Amon run away and came to check on you." She looked at your expression and reciprocated with a downtrodden look of her own. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. Probably not." You sighed and buried your face in your elbows until all you could see was the balustrade. You sensed Petra take a few steps towards you.

"What happened?" She asked delicately.

"We kissed, passionately. Then he said he was foolish and ran away," you mumbled into your self-embracing arms. Petra rested a hand on your shoulder.

"Some people just can't handle the fast pace and the pressure at galas like this. I'm sure it wasn't personal."

"I know..." you sighed. To Petra, your attempts at flirting simply failed to land. She didn't see the dreams. She didn't see the look in his eyes. She didn't hear the fear of hope in his voice. There were not enough hours in the night to explain to her the true extent of your sorrows.

"There's always tomorrow, Prince."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tonight is only for the Gala," Petra explained, her tender tone turning slightly optimistic, "anyone attending will be staying at least until tomorrow night for the treaty signing."

"So Amon is still here, then?" you asked, finally pulling your forehead from its resting place on your folded arms.

"He was likely running to the guest wing of the palace, where all the other dignitaries will be. If you truly wish to meet with him again, breakfast tomorrow morning would be an excellent opportunity."

You considered things for a moment. If Amon were to stay one more night, then that was one more dream to share. Tonight, you and Amon would spring awake in bed at the same time after another shared dream, but he would be only a few corridors away.

"Petra, get me an oneiromancer." You commanded.

"An oneiromancer? At this time of night? They're probably attending the gala with the rest of the court."

"Petra, this is important," you said. "I haven't exactly been forthcoming about everything in these recent days, and I'm sorry for that... but I need an oneiromancer before I sleep tonight. If you can do this for me, I promise to explain everything soon."

Petra looked at you silently, deciding whether or not to press you for details now rather than later contingent on your promise. She chose the former, nodding and silently fast-walking inside.

Alone once more on the balcony, you leaned on the balustrade and studied the stars. The moon's halo of illuminated night sky was the same color as Amon's lips. With any luck, you'd be seeing them again soon in tonight's dream.

#exophilia #monster x reader #monster x human #romance #male reader #tiefling #male tiefling x male reader #monster love #mlm #monster romance #monster fic #mlm romance

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sunnyville36 · 3 years

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Mamihlapinatapai {part 1}

See {overview} for more info!

Pairing: Bang Chan x Female Reader

Themes: royal au, medieval au, court intrigue, arranged marriage, original characters, mutual pining, slow burn

Warnings: mentions of death/war, emotionally abusive parents

Rating: Mature

Word count: 4.2k

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Mamihlapinatapai - (noun, Yagán origin) a silent acknowledgement and understanding between two people, who are both wishing or thinking the same thing (and are both unwilling to initiate)

Bond | Kingdom of Gu, present day

“Good morning, Your Highness,” you called, entering the prince’s room and walking to open the curtains, revealing the cloudless sky behind them. Of course a beautiful day like today would have to be ruined by the very event you were here to collect Chan for.

Chan’s head peeked out from around the dressing panel, smiling softly as you pressed the shirt he’d clearly been looking for into his hands. “Good morning Y/n.”

“Your father’s in quite the foul mood this morning,” you said, leaving Chan to finish changing as you tidied up his dresser and prepared the many pins and beads bearing the royal crest that would adorn his formal attire for today.

You could hear the scowl in his voice as he grumbled, “Only he could manage to be upset during an event solely orchestrated by him and his insufferable band of so-called advisors.”

You nodded your head, indulging him in his ranting. Better he get it all out now with only you here to hear than cause a scene in front of the court. The prince took his responsibilities seriously and hardly ever openly clashed with his father, no matter how much they disagreed. But this had been an exceedingly upsetting matter for him, and, by extension, you as well. You’d spent the majority of the last week attempting to keep the peace between him and his father, as well as show your support for your friend as best you could.

Chan stepped out from behind the screen, and you had to stop yourself from doing a double take at the man in front of you. A far cry from his normal outfit of loose breeches and dirtied, tattered tunics, his cleanly pressed white shirt was tucked neatly into snug fitting black trousers, accentuating his broad shoulders and trim figure. You were sure he hated the confines of such an ensemble, but you were equally sure he would turn every head in the kingdom during today’s events, and you smiled at having the privilege to see him here first as he struck a nonchalant pose and asked, “So, how do I look?”

“Very handsome,” you replied, stepping up to pin his bright red cloak around his shoulders and set to work attaching the fineries to the outside.

“You do as well. Look very nice, I mean,” he corrected sheepishly, pose all but forgotten and head tilting forward as a blush formed on his cheeks.

You glanced upward, smoothing his hair that had gotten tousled from his rushed dressing. “Thank you, Your Highness,” you replied quietly. You decided to throw in a humorous quip, hoping to lighten his mood as you finished decorating the course, red fabric. “We couldn’t have the prince’s personal attendant looking like she’d just had a spar with a knight and lost, now could we?”

“Certainly not,” he laughed, then quieted as he continued, “And you’re still wearing the flower.”

You reached your hand absently up to the flower that was perched behind your ear, and you felt his fingertips ghost over yours as he gently pushed your hair to sit behind it.

“Of course, Your Highness. Is it not our tradition that I wear it until it is completely bare of petals?”

“Mhmm… our tradition,” he hummed, his hand lingering next to your cheek.

“We really must be h-heading out.” You cringed at the unsteadiness of your voice. You needed to get out of here, needed to get him out of here. You straightened the clasps of his cloak and tapped your hands on his chest.

“There. Now you look like a real prince charming,” you said, forcing a smile to your lips that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

He shook his head as he half chuckled, half grimaced at your words, lips forming into a straight line. “Then I suppose we must go meet my future wife.”

You Have My Bow | Kingdom of Gu, 19 years ago

“Mama, Mama, look what Papa made for me!” you squealed, bounding into your tightly-packed cottage and nearly crashing into your mother’s legs as she stood boiling soup at the stove.

Your father had taken you to the woods that morning, your favorite place to go with him when he had a rare spare moment away from the castle. You had thought he was taking you for your usual ritual: fishing by the river’s edge in the hopes of catching something to use for dinner. Instead, when you reached the riverbank, your father knelt down and pulled a tiny child’s bow from his knapsack, small enough to fit in your four-year-old hands.

“I’m going to teach you how to use this bow Y/n. Not many girls will know how to, but you need to be able to fend for yourself and your mother if anything should ever happen to me.”

“Why would anything happen to you Papa?”

“Well, Papa helps the king to keep our home safe, and there are some people who might want to make it unsafe.”

“Like the Lajorans? Or the Mirohans? The ones with the missing princess?! Or the Sillans? I heard old man Jerrald talking outside the tavern, and he said Lajorans like to ...”

“Yes, just like those,” your father interrupted your enthusiastic babbling, “though you shouldn’t believe everything old man Jerrald says, alright?” You nodded as he continued, “The king does everything he can to keep the peace, but sometimes our peoples get into fights. Really big ones, where people use swords and bows like this. And I want to make sure that if that ever happens, if one day a fight should come here, that you can keep yourself and your mother safe. Do you think you could do that for me, Y/n?”

You’d agreed of course, your little body bouncing with excitement as he pulled you in for a hug then took the bow and began to show you the basic principles. The two of you had spent the rest of the day practicing, and you couldn’t be more excited to show your mother what you’d learned.

“Y/n be careful,” your mother admonished, kneeling down to your height as she gave you a tight squeeze. “Now let’s see what that father of yours has cooked up for you this time.”

“It’s called a boo!” you all but shouted, whipping the bow out from behind your skirts and drawing back the string in a mock archer’s pose.

“A bow, Y/n, it’s called a bow sweetheart,” came your father’s voice from the doorstep. He crossed the small space to pull your mother into a tight embrace as he said, “And be careful with that in the house, or your mother will have my head.” You nodded back at him and he sent you a mischievous wink over her shoulder.

Your mother turned to face him with a wary smile as you started galloping in circles, pretending to ride an imaginary horse. “Giving our already rambunctious child a deadly weapon, Minhyuk? You want to get her into trouble, I see.”

“Julietta, you worry too much,” your father whispered, pressing his lips to her temple in a gentle kiss. “Besides, I’d be more concerned about the trouble she’d be in if she didn’t know how to take care of herself.”

Little did you know that everything you learned that day would soon come crashing into your life, taking many precious things with it when it left.

All That Glitters Is Not Gold | Kingdom of Gu, present day

You struggled to keep up as you walked behind Chan, the two of you heading to the throne room where you were sure a very short tempered King Bang would be waiting to reprimand you for your tardiness. Sure enough, when the guards opened the doors, you saw the king pacing in the small space in front of the raised thones, his head snapping up as he heard your footsteps approach.

“You’re late. I told you to have him here 20 minutes ago Y/n, did I not?”

“It’s not her fault,” Chan defended. “Besides, they’re not here yet, are they?” He gestured around to the otherwise empty hall, save for the usual servants and guards, then slumped into his seat at the right hand of his father’s.

“You would do well to lose that attitude before they do arrive. I will not have you embarrassing yourself or this court because of your petty feud with me.” Chan gave a hollow laugh at that, eyes closing to block out the mere presence of his father.

You took your place behind Chan’s throne, hands coming up to rest on the ornately upholstered back. You liked keeping your hands there; it made you feel like you were supporting Chan in some way, the closest you would ever come to being able to actually hold his hand the way you wanted to right now.

After a few moments, you heard the telltale sound of trumpets and the growing shuffling of a group of approaching footsteps. Chan straightened in his seat and his father took his place at the head of the room.

The doors opened, and you were greeted by a small party of what appeared to be political ministers and guards, in the middle of whom stood a woman clad in a yellow gown. She was beautiful, golden hair spun up into a twist and a delicate silver circlet resting above it. You would know she was a princess from a mile away.

The Gu herald spoke first, gesturing towards the two men seated at the thrones. “May I present His Majesty, King Bang Geun of the Gu Kingdom and his son, His Royal Highness Bang Christopher Chan, crown prince of the Gu Kingdom.”

The gaggle of people gave a quick bow, then parted to allow the woman through. She stepped to the front, then dipped into a low curtsey. “I am Princess Korenna Dormio of Lajor,” she spoke, her high, clear voice ringing in the chamber. “It is a pleasure to meet you both.”

The king stood up, walking towards Korenna with you and Chan trailing behind. He took her hand and kissed the top of it, his voice exclaiming in a fake bright tone, “We are honored you could join us in our kingdom! May I present my son, Christopher.”

Chan stepped forward at that, hand outstretched to take hers. “I prefer strangers to call me Chan.”

You could feel the icy gaze King Bang was sending to his son, but he pressed on, ever the politician.

“This is Y/n. She is Chr- err Chan’s personal attendant, and will be at your service during your stay. Go to her with whatever you may need.”

Korenna eyed you with a curious look, and you knew why. It was unusual, though not entirely unheard of, for a prince to have a woman as his personal attendant. Not only did they complete duties for him in the domestic sphere, but they also served a professional purpose, a sort of squire, scheduler, and strategist all in one, roles typically reserved for men. The unique circumstances surrounding the time of your’s and Chan’s upbringing had made having you as his attendant a logical choice, but you could understand her concern about the man she was supposed to marry spending most of his time in the company of a woman she knew nothing about.

You knelt into a curtsey, head leaning forward as you heard Korenna’s voice. “A pleasure to meet you Y/n.”

“You as well, Your Grace,” you responded. Glancing up, you saw that Chan was not even looking in her direction, gaze apparently trained on a fascinating branch just outside the rightmost window. Well this was off to a wonderful start.

“Very well,” King Bang said tentatively, “I will let you two become acquainted. Y/n, I believe you were given their itinerary for the day?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

As the king made his way to mingle with the rest of Korenna’s visiting party, Chan turned to the both of you, eyes almost glaring at the princess.

“I don’t want to be here, and I doubt you do either, so let’s just get all of this shit over with so we can go back to our normal lives.” With that, he stalked towards the door, leaving you and a highly affronted Korenna to follow in his wake.

***

The next few hours only got worse.

The pair were thrust immediately into making a multitude of decisions about the wedding ceremony: What kind of flatware did they want? Which cakes were their favorite? How should the shrubbery around the edge of the garden be trimmed? And all the while you stood between them, relaying information to the various servants charged with these tasks and corralling the two royals between each of their stops.

Your latest one was with the palace groundskeeper, to determine what flowers would adorn the wedding canopy.

“We can always have tulips brought in from the highlands, Your Grace.”

“Tulips are fine, but I was thinking something more along the lines of white roses or lilies.”

Chan’s annoyed huff at her words was impossible to miss.

“Can you at least try to give some input about this?”

“We’ve barely met and they have us making all these asinine decisions about something weeks away! What do you even care what I have to say about flowers anyway?!”

“I don’t want to fight with you about this.”

“Isn’t that what your people are good at?! Picking a fight with someone who never asked to be involved in the first place?”

You hated seeing Chan like this. His normally kind, generous, and thoughtful demeanor, that you knew to be his real self, not just some facade put on to impress the nobles or win ladies’ affections, was being replaced by this antagonistic attitude, intent on ruining any chance of finding common ground with this woman. You knew he was doing it to protect himself, both from his father’s antics and from his own fear of being open, of letting someone in and risking actually wanting to keep them there. But under different circumstances, you knew he would never want to be seen treating anyone like he was right now, let alone a princess from another powerful kingdom. And she didn’t seem to be so bad; if she felt the same malice as he felt towards her, she at least did a better job of hiding it. You needed to stop him before he did something you knew he would regret.

“Your Highness, I believe Prince Minho wanted to brief you on the latest border patrol, seeing as he is back in the city for the time being. Why don’t you meet with him while I escort Her Grace to the ladies afternoon tea?”

“A wonderful idea,” Chan muttered unenthusiastically and began walking towards the closest castle door as you guided the princess in the opposite direction. You looked back and locked eyes with him, reading the expression of thanks on his face.

When you were out of earshot from Chan, Korenna turned to you almost immediately and asked, “Is he always this standoffish?”

You were unsure how to answer that question, wanting to make it clear he wasn’t always like this without getting her hopes up that he would change his attitude about this particular situation any time soon.

“His Highness is not especially fond of this arrangement. It has nothing to do with you personally, Your Grace.”

“Well I am also not especially fond of this arrangement, but it’s the arrangement we have at present and at least I’m attempting to be civil towards him.”

“Perhaps you should tell him of your similar feelings, to establish some common ground?”

Korenna became agitated at that suggestion, visibly tensing as she said, “And risk my father finding out I feel that way. Absolutely not.”

You understood that apprehension, that fear. Stories of her father, King Eunther, had spread often throughout your kingdom, and from what you heard, you knew he was not someone you wanted to cross.

You walked in silence for the rest of the way, until you rounded the corner into the courtyard where you could hear ladies’ voices and the gentle clinking of fine china. Korenna turned to you, placing her hand on your arm.

“You and him seem to be… close. Maybe you could talk to him, ask him to try to appear like he doesn’t despise me and everything I do or say?”

You had a feeling that would only make it worse, his oldest friend asking him to grin and bear it for the “good of the kingdom.” You also knew his political protest against his father might not be the only reason for his general disdain of everything that had happened the past week. But Korenna seemed like she was genuinely trying to put in some effort, and you couldn’t bring yourself to outright deny her request.

“I will try, Your Grace.”

As you left Korenna in the garden, you reached up to feel for the flower by your ear, and found that all the remaining petals had fallen off.

Arrangements | Kingdom of Gu, 1 week ago

“Have you heard anything? From the staff, about what this announcement might be?”

Chan was walking briskly ahead of you, voice coming out slightly strained. You knew why; his father calling an unscheduled meeting with the entire court, alluding to some mysterious “announcement,” had everyone on edge, Chan most of all. The king still kept his son in the dark about the majority of his political proceedings, much to Chan’s frustration and chagrin, and no one but his closest inner circle had any inkling as to what this might be about.

“No, Your Highness. It’s been quiet in the servants’ quarters; everyone is equally surprised.”

“Well, whatever it is, promise to take my side?”

“Have I ever not?”

The two of you entered the throne room, and despite your knowledge of what a full court gathering was, you were still taken aback by the sheer amount of people present. Every nobleman, every knight, every person who wasn’t otherwise occupied was here, filling the space along the wall and facing the dias at the head of the room where King Bang sat, the empty seats to his right and left standing out amongst the crowded room. Even Prince Minho, the king’s nephew and second in command of the royal guard after Chan, was back from his post on the Lajoran border.

Whatever this announcement was, it was serious.

Chan approached his seat next to the king as he usually did on occasions like this, but was stopped by his father’s voice.

“Chan, please remain there. You are the subject of my announcement today.”

You saw Chan’s face pale as he remained in the center of the room. You were still standing behind him, debating whether or not you should stay beside him or step back to one of the walls where the servants stood. As you scanned for your mother in the crowd, that question was answered for you.

“Y/n, you too shall stay where you are. I will have instructions for you as well.”

You bowed your head slightly in acknowledgement of his order, and took your place slightly behind Chan’s left shoulder to await whatever insane proclamation King Bang was about to make.

Nothing could have prepared you for the words that left his mouth.

“Chris, I have made you a wedding match. You are to be married to Princess Korenna of Lajor in six week’s time.”

The entire room was silent, every person holding their breath to hear what the prince’s reaction would be. This was not something anyone was expecting, Chan least of all. It took every ounce of your willpower to school your face into a neutral expression as you tried to contend with the hundreds of thoughts flooding your mind.

Chan was to be married? To someone from Lajor? One of Gu’s oldest enemies suddenly wanted to form an alliance, and through marriage? What would that even entail? Who would hold what powers? Why was the ceremony so soon? Who would be in charge of the preparations? How would this change your relationship with Chan?

After what felt like hours, but was more likely only several seconds, you heard Chan’s voice echoing one of your thoughts out loud.

“A Lajoran?! But father, they are responsible for - “

“You need not remind me what they are responsible for, Christopher.”

“Then I don’t understand, how did this come about?!”

You couldn’t stop the low ringing slowly building in your ears, accompanied by a sudden wave of nausea. You vaguely registered the king’s voice, explaining how King Eunther had approached him, how he agreed “it was time we put that mess behind us,” and how his daughter would be a suitable match for the Gu prince. Your mind wandered, remembering how many times Chan had told you he never wanted to be used as a pawn in his father’s political games, how he hated the idea of being forced to marry a stranger. You couldn’t seem to register any other information, thinking solely about Chan, the man you’d known since childhood, your friend, having to be married off to satisfy his father’s need for power. Finally, a loud voice cut through the fog in your head.

“Y/n, are you listening? Look at me when I’m talking to you, girl!”

You looked up in surprise to see the king’s unpleasant expression looking down at you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Chan’s pained face turned slightly towards you, waiting to see why his father had kept you in the center of the room as well.

“I apologize, Your Majesty.”

“You will serve Princess Korenna when she arrives for her introductory stay here a week from today.”

You heard a scoff from next to you and glanced to see Chan’s face growing angrier by the second. “First you lay this on me, now you’re taking away my servant?! How do you expect me to cope with all of this?”

You sucked in a sharp breath at his words. You knew he was simply talking in a language his father would understand, explaining how it would be an inconvenience for him to not have someone available at all times of the day, to keep track of his schedule, to clean his clothes, bring him his meals, prepare his horses and armor. But you couldn’t help the sting of being referred to as a “servant”; surely Chan saw you as more than that, just as you saw him as more than just your future monarch.

“You will manage with half of her normal attention,” the king answered, his tone laced with a hint of irritation at his son’s current attitude. “Besides, you’ll spend most of your time with Korenna, so she’ll be with the both of you regardless.”

The anger was coming off of Chan in waves, so palpable you felt like you could reach out and touch it. Finally he set his jaw, facing his father.

“Is that all you had for me?”

“Well that’s all for the matter of the marriage yes but - “

Chan turned on his heel, walking out of the room to the sound of hushed whispers and his father’s increasingly pitiful protests.

You wanted nothing more than to run after him, to pull him into your arms and soothe him, tell him everything would be alright. But you knew better than to leave, not having been dismissed by the king yet. So you stood there, heart aching so badly, feeling exposed, like everyone could see the shattered pieces of it that had fallen at your feet.

“I’ll go look for him,” you heard Minho say as he passed by you, the king nodding and waving his hand to dismiss the rest of you. You heard your mother calling for you but you ignored her, wanting to get out of that stifling room, to go somewhere, anywhere where you could be alone. You knew where Chan had gone, where he always went when he was upset and needed time to think, but no one bothered to ask you in their search for him.

***

He returned to his room that evening like you knew he would, the door creaking open as you stood across the room ironing his rarely used formal wear with the glass smoother.

His voice came out choked as he whispered, “I’m sorry for what I said. For referring to you as my servant.”

“It’s alright, Your Highness. I know you were upset - “

“That’s no excuse.”

Feeling his presence close behind you, you turned to him, reaching for his hand. “I forgive you.”

He brought his other hand to your cheek, and when you looked up, you saw his eyes staring at you, imploring you to stay, to talk to him. It was so tempting, the desire to give in, to lean in to him and let him hold you like you knew he wanted. But you had to be strong, for him and for yourself. And you knew if you stayed, if you opened up to each other, tried to confront the feelings you knew you still had and could only hope he reciprocated, neither of you would ever recover. So you took his hand from your face, holding both of his in yours between you as you said, “You should get some rest, Your Highness.”

“Y/n please,” he murmured.

“It is done. There’s nothing you or I can do.”

He made one last attempt, turning and holding your wrist lightly, but let you go as you pulled away. Opening the door, you wished him goodnight, desperately trying to hold in your tears as you left. Your footsteps took you down the hall quickly, but not before you caught the small sound of a sob coming from behind his door.

{part 2}

278 notes · View notes

adxmparriish · 3 years

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everything he needs - read on ao3 track 3 of DEDICATED - a jurdannet roulette collab fic with @hazelsheartsworn @figonas @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @laequiem

SIDE A: TRACK ONE -> TRACK TWO -> TRACK FOUR -> TRACK FIVE SIDE B: TRACK ONE -> TRACK TWO -> TRACK THREE MASTERLIST

writer: lizziebxnnet words: 3.2k rating: explicit -> dom/sub undertones, light bondage, orgasm denial, overstimulation, cock ring

Instead of Faerie bowing to us both, I bow to her. I’m all too willing to oblige. All the anxiety I felt earlier, the rapid beating of my heart I so hated, is replaced by something else. Want, need, pleasure, pain… I am nothing but Jude’s. There is no more room in me for anything else. “Let’s play,” she says. Yes, my evil seductress, let’s play. I am your pawn.

tags and fic under the cut

I am edgy.

Anxiety rolls around inside me, a living monster with claws and fangs crawling beneath my skin.

It’s no secret that most days being High King brings me little joy. I’d much rather laze about, drink wine, kiss Jude until I’m senseless, or simply be. The duties, while not always unbearable, drive me over the edge more often than I’d like to admit.

As the moon rises and filters silver light into our chambers, I glance over to our bed. Jude, beautiful as ever, is draped over the sheets looking at me. There’s a glint in her deep brown eyes that scares and arouses me. Her grin is mischief reincarnated, and I stare back at her with intent. Adjusting the crown on my temples, I turn to face her completely.

“I think I’d rather be on the other end of your knife than deal with any of this,” I say.

“I’m inclined to agree,” she replies, flopping over to lay on her back. She still wears her silk nightgown, some flimsy black thing she purchased at the sex shop. The straps are barely there, and a low neckline leaves little to the imagination. It hardly covers the mocha skin of her thighs, although I can hardly complain. “How would you feel about… a little game?”

I raise a brow. “Should I be worried?”

“Of course not,” she says with a wink, rising from the bed and moving to the dresser. It does nothing to calm my anxieties.

She opens the first drawer, rifles through it, and then pulls out one of our new toys. In her other hand, she holds a remote. The skin of my face grows warm. She pads over and shows me what she has.

It’s a cock ring, but there’s a small attachment on the side of it. She flips a switch on it, then presses a button on the small black remote. Immediately, buzzing reaches my ears and the ring begins to vibrate. I reach out to touch it, feeling the vibrations under my fingertips. Jude looks up and when we meet gazes, I can feel her excitement thrumming through her.

The ravenous beast under my skin loosens its grip, and I find want growing in its place. Wanting her, wanting this, wanting to try something new. To be under Jude’s control would be the most wonderful of changes — a much-needed release from duties and being High King. I want to just be hers, to be Jude’s husband, her plaything. I smile at her, my beautifully wicked wife, and surrender to her.

Not bothering to wait for a second longer, she pops the buttons of my pants and yanks them down. I’m half hard already, the mere thought of what this day will bring exciting me. She sits our new toy on the floor beside her as she kneels in front of me. She scoots closer, then looks up to meet my eyes. I stare at her, transfixed by her beauty. Chestnut hair, long and lush, falls down past her shoulders. Her legs, so strong and powerful and covered in soft, tan skin, fold underneath her. Her hands, callused and sneaky, reach out and grip my cock. My breath hitches in my throat.

She strokes me lightly, teasing. I close my eyes and my head falls back, exposing my neck. When I feel the warm heat of her mouth on me, I gasp her name. Her plush lips swallow me down, her tongue tracing the line of a vein that runs down the shaft. I reach out to touch her, to twist her hair between my fingers, but she swats my hand away. She’s such a treacherous, wicked thing.

I feel a fire begin to burn in my belly, my release within reach, but as if she can read my mind, she stops. She pulls off with a pop, and I open my eyes to look down at her. She has the toy in one hand, my cock in the other. She strokes me a few times, then slides it over me, securing it at the base. The pressure is slight but still intense. She licks the tip, collecting a bit of come that has collected there. Damn the meetings, I think. Nothing is more important than this.

She presses a button on the remote, and I see white. The vibrations rattle through me, making me groan. Pleasure ripples in my blood, and then as soon as it begins, it stops. I don’t know if I’m relieved or aggravated. I glare at Jude, but she seems emotionless. I know better, though. I know she’s relishing in the game of her own creation.

She’s switched masks. She’s the same Jude, the same woman I love so dearly, but she is a different version. She’s always High Queen, but now she’s mine, and I am hers. Instead of Faerie bowing to us both, I bow to her. I’m all too willing to oblige. All the anxiety I felt earlier, the rapid beating of my heart I so hated, is replaced by something else. Want, need, pleasure, pain… I am nothing but Jude’s. There is no more room in me for anything else.

“Let’s play,” she says.

Yes, my evil seductress, let’s play. I am your pawn.

* * *

Sweat collects on my brow, and when the vibrations finally stop, I fear I might come purely from relief alone.

I look to Jude sitting beside me and notice the smallest of smiles playing at her lips. The Living Council is either clueless or pretending to be, and I’m not sure which is more ridiculous. I can feel the redness on my skin, and hear the panting breaths leaving my mouth. For more than an hour, I’ve sat in front of all of them and been brought to the brink of ecstasy more times than I can remember, only to be denied over and over again. I feel deranged, manic, unhinged. I want to come so badly that it is all I can think of. My hand longs to grab myself and rip off the wretched ring, but I don’t. I sit. I obey.

I know that, late into the night when Jude and I are in our chambers, I will be rewarded. It’s the only thing that keeps me grounded.

“I don’t think it’s wise to trifle with the Court of Teeth,” someone says, and I should know the voice but I don’t.

“High King? What do you suggest?” someone else questions me, and I turn my head to the sound.

As fleeting as a strike of lightning, the vibrations start again. I grip the table, knuckles going white, as sensations rock through me. My eyes are open but unseeing. I can hear nothing but blood rushing in my ears, the pounding of my pulse. I shiver as everything aches, my cock almost sore from being denied for so long. I think someone says my name, but I can’t respond. My normally sharp tongue denies me.

“Are you alright, darling?” Jude asks from next to me, her hand laying on my forearm, and I almost come undone. The mere touch of her fingers against my skin causes a cascade of feelings, all of which crash into me roughly.

The buzzing stops and I deflate, my breathing ragged and slow.

“I fear I am not, my Queen.” I look up and the entire table stares with looks of concern on their faces. My already warm face flushes darker, embarrassment flooding to the surface.

“Excuse us,” Jude says, gripping my arm and pulling me upright. “Cardan needs to lie down and rest.”

I can hear people bidding us farewell but I don’t look at them, don’t even acknowledge that they spoke. I am led forward by Jude’s firm grip and sure steps. All I know is her and my own desire that swims through my veins. We walk for what feels like hours but I’m sure is only minutes, and then we reach our chambers. When we’re inside, Jude makes quick work of my clothes, stripping me carefully. When my pants are off and thrown to the side, I look down.

My cock is bright red, almost angry. Jude’s hand grasps it and I choke on a moan, my hips bucking in her grip. She looks up at me in wonder.

“So good,” she says, stroking me twice before letting go. “My beautiful, obeying husband.”

I ache at her praise. She leads me to the bed and I fall on my back. Jude begins stripping her own clothes, but when she pulls off the belt holding up her trousers, she tosses it on the bed next to me. She climbs on, pushing my arms up to the headboard. Involuntarily, my hands grab the wooden bars.

Jude straddles me, her body completely naked now, and bends forward. If I tilt my head forward just a bit, I could capture a nipple in between my teeth. I don’t, though. In this game, I don’t touch unless Jude instructs me to do so.

“Remember our colors?” she asks, and I nod. It’d been the first thing we established when we uncovered this new world, this new game. Green for go, red for stop, yellow for let’s slow it down.

She takes the belt and wraps it around my hands, then the bars of the headboard, before fastening it and pulling it taut. I pull and nothing budges. Our eyes meet and the glimmer in hers captures me in a trance. She leans down and kisses me.

Her tongue traces my lip and I open to her immediately, letting her consume me. When she takes my bottom lip between her teeth, pulling gently, I melt into her touch. Her hands are in my hair, fingers tracing the sharp point of my ears. My tail thrashes, then wraps around her leg. The tuft on the end strokes her inner thigh, right below her core, and she gasps into my mouth. I breathe it in, bathe in it.

I cry out as the swell of her ass brushes against my cock, and it twitches, aching for release. Immediately she sits up, pulling away and denying me.

“Jude,” I beg, pulling at the belt that holds my wrists.

“What?”

“Take this damned ring off,” I demand. Her brows raise, and I know at once I’ve made a grave mistake.

Her strong, threatening hand grabs my throat and squeezes, just hard enough to catch my breath. My eyes widen, my arousal grows even more, and my hips undulate. I fight for some kind of release, some relief of the pressure and pain growing, and find nothing. The lack of oxygen makes my head spin, but I force my eyes to stay open.

Jude leans down, her lips brushing against my ear. “You, my dearest Cardan, are not in charge.”

She eases on my throat, releasing me. She traces the line of my jaw with her fingernail, slowly and carefully. I can’t tear my gaze away from her, not that I would want to. In her element, she is ethereal. I shrink under the power she holds in the palm of her hands.

“You want to come?” she asks. It feels like a trick question, but I nod regardless. She shakes her head, disapproving.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, my Queen,” I say.

“That,” she declares, “is too bad.”

Despite her words to me, she turns and reaches down, removing the ring. I groan at the small release. She shimmies back so her sex looms over me, and I lick my lips. She is dripping, heat radiating from it. Any other time, I’d lean forward and taste her, my tongue dipping between the folds. Instead, I wait, my cock practically pulsing as it aches between my legs.

The warmth of her mouth engulfs me and I groan, her name a curse on my tongue. My hands yank at the belt holding them, the leather digging into my skin. I feel crazed, so much pleasure and pain swimming together and making me drown. I can’t focus on anything except her mouth, her tongue, the slick of her core tantalizing as it hovers over my face.

She hums as one hand roams, pinching the skin of my thigh, and tears prick at my eyes. A shock runs through my system and it takes everything I have not to release into her mouth. I am dizzy with desire.

“Baby,” Jude murmurs against my cock, her tongue licking a long stripe, “taste me.”

Like a starving man at a feast, I don’t waste a single second.

I lick at her, tasting every sweet inch of her. It distracts me from the wicked ways of her mouth in the most pleasing way. She moans at my ministrations, her hips bucking when I catch her clit between my teeth lightly. I devour her, unable to satisfy the hunger growing inside me. She is a long drink of water after a hot day, and I am parched.

Every inch of me burns for her, and I feel my orgasm building in my spine again. I moan into her center as it climbs, higher and faster and stronger.

“Jude,” I plead, “I’m going to come.”

Her wet mouth moves away from me, and my eyes sting as I’m denied again, my climax crashing to a halt. Every part of me hurts, longing to release. I feel like a bow, stretched taut and thin. Tears leak from my eyes and through the mist, I can see Jude’s face hovering over me. I blink the wetness away, and her hands brush the tears from my cheeks.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmurs, kissing my face. I almost forget about my throbbing cock through the haze of her words, but it’s still there.

Jude places her hands on my chest and then lowers herself, her sex wrapping around me as she moves down. I whimper at the feel of her, so warm and tight and lovely. Her mouth hangs open at the sensation, and her eyelids flutter closed. Again, I am struck by her beauty. She is radiant as sweat curls the hair by her face, drips down her neck, and pools in the swell of her breasts. I long to reach up, to cup one in my palms, but the damned belt still holds my wrists. She opens her eyes when she’s fully seated.

She wastes no time. She bounces in earnest, taking me under her power even more than I already am. I buck my hips to meet hers. The sound of our skin slaps together, and it makes the sweetest song. She leans forward, changing the angle so I go deeper, and my eyes roll in the back of my head. Pleasure like I’ve never known rolls through me like a wave, and I make an embarrassing noise in the back of my throat. My mind is nothing but Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude. It recants through my brain like an enchantment.

“Jude please — “ I begin, but a moan cuts me off when she rolls her hips.

“Not yet,” she replies to me, already knowing my request. I slam my head back against the bed, jerking my wrists against the belt tying me down. I want to come so badly it blinds me, makes me crazy. I whine and Jude looks at me.

“Color, Cardan.”

“Green,” I say immediately, sure as ever. She denies me but I relish it. I will come with her permission or not at all.

She smiles at me, and I glow under her approval. I am nothing if not her servant.

“Harder,” she commands.

I plant my feet against the mattress and bend my hips, pounding into Jude with reckless abandon. She forgets herself, crying out and gripping my ribs. Her nails dig into my skin. She closes her eyes as I meet her, over and over, the slapping of our skin ringing through our room, although I can hardly hear it over the pounding of my heart.

“Cardan,” she shouts, throwing her head back, “Gods, you feel so good.”

“Fuck,” I chant, slowing down and fucking her slower, deeper, hammering into her so hard that it jolts her.

Finally, a sweet release comes as she fiddles with the belt, untying my hands. I immediately have one hand on her hip, the other at her clit. My thumb circles and flicks it, making her groan loudly. Her hips falter as her own release threatens to overcome her. If I can’t come, I’ll be sure she does.

I can tell she’s close. Her breaths are short, her eyes are closed, and her legs shake. I grip her hips and flip us over. I pull her close, letting her legs dangle over my shoulders, and take her roughly. I pick up the pace, grab her by the back of the neck and kiss her hungrily. It’s clashing tongues and teeth, but it drives me wild regardless. Her warm breaths tickle my lips as she pants, completely overwhelmed. I circle her clit with two fingers, and a throaty sound rips from her throat.

“Come for me Cardan,” she demands, meeting my thrusts with her own.

In an instant, my body responds to her command, and like a wave crashing on the shore, I come. My vision goes black, then I see stars. It’s blissful pain as it rocks through me and leaves me breathless, every inch of me completely spent. Jude, delirious all the same, follows me. Her hands grip my back, nails digging into my skin as she unravels. We moan into each other’s mouths, kissing until we’re dizzy with it. I fuck her through the aftershocks of our orgasms, then collapse against her.

I clutch her, desperate for her closeness. She returns the grip, pulling me into her chest. I nose her neck, leaving wet kisses down her pulse. She hums happily as I cradle her in my arms. She rubs my back gently, and when I roll us so my back hits the mattress, she lays her head on my chest.

When I push her damp hair from her forehead, she grabs my wrist. It’s red, lines from the belt creasing the skin. She kisses it, then grabs my other wrist and does the same. My heart, so often cold and hard, is warm. I touch her face, my thumb brushing the soft skin of her cheek. She smiles at me, and I can’t help but smile back.

“Your games are evil,” I say to her, making her smile wider. “Although I should have known. You’ve never been an innocent one.”

She laughs. “Neither have you.”

“I cannot argue with that.”

My fingers play in her hair, brush against her skin, and trace the round curve of her ear. Moonlight filters through our curtains and casts shadows across her face. We are both exhausted but I kiss her anyway, slow and sweet. She melts into it, wrapping her arms around my neck.

I love her, devastatingly so. Not telling her seems criminal.

“I love you, darling Jude.”

Her lips meet my jaw, and she kisses me there.

“I love you too,” she says.

As always, I wonder how I got so lucky to win her affections. When her fingers graze my neck, touching my pulse point, I realize for the first time, I don’t much care how we got here. What truly matters is that we are in this moment, basking in the love we’ve built. Whether I’m lucky or blessed, or somewhere in the middle — all of it fades to black in the warmth of Jude’s embrace.

@slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @figonas @laequiem @hazelsheartsworn @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels @thefolkofthefic @kingandfireheart

#my fic #jurdannet #jurdannetrevels #em tag #laety tag #bri tag #kaitlyn tag #jurdan #tfota #the folk of the air #cardan x jude #tfota fic #jurdan fic #jurdan fanfic

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translytherins · 3 years

Text

Just my Type

Pairing: Karma Akabane x Slightly oblivious! Male reader

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Narrator's P.O.V

"Alright class sit down! I have a very exciting announcement to make!" Koro-sensei said after everyone stopped firing Anti-koro bullets at him.

"We have a new classmate joining us today! Come in new kid!" Koro-sensei said excitedly while everyone else started whispering about either how they're behaviour would be, how good they were at assassinating or why they got transferred into their class.

The door slid open, making everyone go quiet, and a male with [hair coloured] hair came in the room. He was walking towards Koro-sensei and he kept his head down, seemingly trying to avoid eye contact with everyone which was true. He stopped walking when he reached Koro-sensei he lifted his head up and turned to face the class with his hand in her pocket.

"Please introduce yourself to everyone!"

He didn't say anything, instead he lifted his head up, letting everyone see his [eye colour] eyes and looked around the classroom before speaking.

"[M/n]... My names [L/n] [M/n]... It's a pleasure to meet you... I hope we get along with each other..."

"Good! I'm Koro-sensei and I'll be you're homeroom teacher! I hope you can kill me before graduation! Please take you're seat at the back!"

The male, now known as [M/n], nodded his head before walking towards the back. While making his way towards his seat, he "tripped" making Koro-sensei rush to catch him but before he hit the ground he placed the palm of his hands on the ground and swung his right leg up, where he taped a Anti-koro knife onto the bottom of his shoe before he came to school, and managed to slash two of Koro-sensei's tentacles. Koro-sensei jumped back at that while [M/n] landed in a crouching position before standing back up. He started staring at Koro-sensei who was staring right back at him. They just stared at each other while the class were looking at the new transefer student with disbelief. The class looked at them back and forth before Koro-sensei spoke up with his tentacle regrowing.

"Impressive! You might actually kill me before graduation! Such a good strategy!"

"Thank you Koro-sensei... When you have an out of control speedster as a younger brother... You need to think ahead or else alot of things in the house will be destroyed..." [M/n] said before sitting down at his desk which happend to be placed right next to a bright red tomato head, also known as Karma Akabane.

Karma was staring at him with a wide smirk on his face.

'Attractive, smart and good at assassination... Just my type!'

Ohhhh... If [M/n] knew what he just signed up for... He wouldn't have pulled that stunt in the first place.

[M/n]'s P.O.V

Everyone in class 3-E was nice. I just wished they get more credit from the school but then again... I don't want them to be mindless slave that only want good grades. One thing though, ever since i transferred Karma-kun has not stop bugging me. He's literally glued to my side. Wherever i go, he's always there with me. Now, i don't mind him doing that. I'm grateful because he wants to deal with my sorry arse. The only thing that bothers me is the fact that he keeps making flirty comments towards me but i didn't think to much of it and got used to it after a while.

"Hey Cutie-chan! Wait up!"

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. I just kept walking, knowing that he was fast and could catch up. Once he caught up with me, he put his arm around my shoulder.

"Looking cute as always Cutie-chan~" Karma said in a flirty tone with a grin on his face.

"Thanks Karma-kun" i said before looking at the ground, hoping that he wouldn't say anything else because me and Yuma, my speedster little brother, had an anime marathon yesterday and we stayed up until 2 in the morning.

I think he noticed how tired i was because he kept quite and started to run his fingers through my hair which was quite relaxing if i do say so myself. We continued walking to class in silence.

-Timeskip to Lunch-

I was eating lunch with my new group of friends which consists of Nagisa (who i, at first thought was a female in disguise), Karma (of course he's here) , Tomohito and Kaeda.

(Author: Did i get it right because i keep forgetting how many people are in Nagisa's friend group)

"Hey [M/n]-kun... I've been meaning to ask you something?" Nagisa said.

"Sure... What is it Nagisa-kun?"

"How come you're in class 3-E if you're smart?"

"Nagisa-kun's right! You're always not paying attention in class and you still get the awnsers right when either Koro-sensei, Karasuma-sensei or B*tch-sensei asks you to awnser a question" Tomohito said now looking at me, waiting for an answer

The other follow suite and were looking at me expectantly, Karma pretending not to care about what I was going to say. I chuckled slightly while internally cooing at them because they were acting like cute little puppies.

"I punched a few students and a teacher. The teacher was by accident though"

It took them a few minutes for them to comprehend what they had just heard before they suddenly shouted excluding Karma who was smirking at me.

"YOU DID WHAT!?!"

After they got over their shock, they started bombarding me with questions on why i did it.

"Because they were acting like b*tches by talking sh*t about you guys so i took the liberty to punch them across the face and the teacher startled me by putting their hand on my shoulder so i accidentally punched them thinking that they were trying to hurt me and the rest was history. Honestly, I'm glad i got transferred here because i don't think I'll be able to stand being there for another minute. Besides... I think i like it better here with you guys" i said with a smile on my face before i was tackled in a hug by Tomohito, Kaeda and Nagisa which suprised me alot considering he was normally very calm.

They were crying tears of joy making me panic, thinking i said something wrong. Unbeknownst to me, Karma was watching us with a fond smile on his face instead of his usual smirk.

I was waiting for Karma outside of our class building because he said he wanted to tell me something. After a few minutes, i saw him walking up to me making my heart beat faster and i started sweat slightly for no apparent reason. He stopped right in front of me with one of his hand behind his back. I could tell he was nervous because he was shifting on his legs.

"You said wanted to talk to me about something Karma-kun?"

"Ye-yeah... Uhm..."

I looked at him slightly bewildered because in the weeks that i have known him, he was outgoing, confident and cocky. I was about to ask if he was alright before he pulled out a [favourite flower] flower crown from behind his back and handing it to me.

"Uhm... I made you this... I overhead when you were talking with Kaeda that you always wanted a [favourite flower] flower crown but never had a chance to make it and i thought it would be nice to give you one..."

I wanted to make a snarky comment but i decided against in and put the flower crown on my head while smiling.

(This is what you look like wearing it and can we just appreciate how adorable Midoriya looks with a flower crown!! Also art is not mine so credits to the original artist)

"Thanks Karma-kun... I love it..."

"I also have something else for you"

"What is i-"

I was caught off by a pair of lips connecting themselves onto mine, specifically Karma's lips. I tensed up slightly because i have no idea what to do because I've never kissed someone before! This is my first time kissing someone. I heard Karma chuckle slightly before pulling back.

"For someone attractive you clearly have no experience before... But don't worry! I will show you how relationships works if you agree to be my boyfriend" Karma said with his signature smirk back on his face.

I was in a daze slightly making me miss the fact that Karma's smirk faltered a bit.

"Is that a yes or no" ha said making me snap out of my daze.

I didn't trust my voice so i frantically nodded my head before hugging Karma and burying my face in his chest to hide my blush making him chuckle before wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face in my hair because i was slightly shorter than him. We stayed there in silence before we were interrupted by a squeal from nearby. We looked at where the squeal came from and saw Nagisa, Tomohito, Kaeda and Koro-sensei watching us from the bushes.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?!"

They started running for it while Karma chased them making me laugh.

'I didn't even realise it until now that I like Karma-kun. I must be more oblivious than I thought' i thought while smiling fondly at the thought that someone like Karma would ever want someone like me but I'm glad he did because he's just my type.

~The End~

#assassination classroom #karma akabane #karma assassination classroom #gay #x male reader #male reader #male #karma akabane x male #karma akabane x male reader #nagisa assassination classroom #kaeda assassination classroom #tomohito assassination classroom

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skzsauce01 · 3 years

Text

King of Hearts

Synopsis: The king of hearts has a very special surprise planned for his queen. Heavy inspiration from Alice in Wonderland and Alice Through the Looking Glass.

Warning: murder

Word Count: 4.5k

Pairing: fem!reader x king!Chan

The throne room looks best at night when the moonlight spills through the giant glass windows and illuminates the wall of weapons behind the throne. It is an odd array of mostly clubs, maces, and swords, but dead center in the wall and above the plush red velvet seat of the king is a heavy double-bladed axe. Crafted and honed to be as sharp as a diamond knife, it is the perfect tool for executions.

Tomorrow evening it’s gleaming, polished surface will splattered with the blood of a queen.

The king allows himself to admire his collection of weaponry for another minute before returning to his bedchambers where his wife is surely missing his warm presence.

“Good morning, sweet tart,” your husband purrs into your ear. “It’s a special day today.”

You have been awake for the past hour, pretending to be fast asleep when you were actually sneaking glances of Chan in various states of undress. However, you keep your eyes closed and your breathing steady, knowing that he will start planting kisses down your jaw if you’re not awake soon.

“I know you’re not really sleeping,” he continues. He taps the corner of your mouth, and you try not to smile. “I saw you looking earlier.”

You give up the charade and sit up. “Can you blame me?” you grin. “You always dress so nicely for court trials. How many are on the agenda today?”

“Four,” he replies, pulling you closer to him. You playfully squirm in his embrace, and he placates you with exactly four kisses on the crown of your head. “Will you be attending?”

You sink into him and wish you could stay there all day. Just the thought of your own schedule tires you. “I have to ‘entertain’ my sister.”

Chan’s throaty chuckle rumbles against your cheek. “Just until dinnertime, sweet tart. Then you’ll be free.”

“I know. Thank goodness she’ll be busy after dinner.”

Reluctantly you let go of your husband and stumble out of bed. Your dreadful sister will nag at you in that awful harpy-esque way of hers if you’re even a second late to breakfast. Chan makes a feeble attempt to grab your wrist before following you to the vanity.

“Is the king not needed in court yet?” you tease as you brush out the tangles in your hair.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders and presses his cheek against yours. “I’m missing something.”

It’s a silly tradition from your courting days: a kiss for each departure. He insisted on keeping it even when the two of you married, and you happily obliged. You turn to peck him on the cheek, but he twists his head so that your lips land onto his. He laughs at your noise of surprise and kisses you like he’s never going to see you again. It has been a while since Chan has been this intimate with you, and you eagerly return his affections.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” you remark when he finally pulls away. You feel warm all over, but Chan is as composed as ever.

He smiles, full dimples showing. “It’s a special day today.”

“Goodbye, darling,” you say as you watch him leave the room through the vanity mirror.

He gives you one last glance before disappearing through the door. You note that he didn’t bother to fix his mussed up hair and giggle when you picture how he’ll look with the crown on his head.

It’s a good start to a bad day.

“You’re late,” is what your older sister greets you with.

You sit across from her at the dining table and do your best not to scowl. You wonder how the servants feel about her. There are none in the room, so in typical fashion, she must have dismissed them for one negligible reason or another. “Good morning to you too, Nari.”

“What are you wearing? Does this kingdom only wear red and black?” she continues. She picks up her cup of tea and stares at you above the lip, waiting for you to explain. Even with a team of royal advisors and a sister married to a foreign king, she still refuses to learn anything about kingdoms other than her own.

You sigh and try to remember Chan’s words. You only have to suffer through this until dinner and then your sister will finally be gone. “It’s a court day, so everyone wears red and black. It’s custom.”

“You and your frivolous trials,” she scoffs. “What’s the point when they’re all guilty anyway? So, are you going to ask about my trip? Where are your manners, little sister?”

You’re certain she means well when she nags you, but it doesn’t make it any less irritating. “How is everything at home?” you ask instead, knowing that will produce a shorter answer.

“Fine. Felix is ruling in my stead, but most of my advisors are with him, so he’ll have no trouble with it.” Nari picks up a scone topped with confectioner’s sugar and eyes it curiously before taking a bite. “Your sweets are quite good.”

You primly nod and pour yourself a cup of tea. Breakfast is mostly silent, and you’re glad that you nor your sister care to make conversation. You can barely stand her when she’s in a tolerable mood, and it seems like she’s nothing of the sort today. Her usual haughty disposition is only tempered by her breakfast of sweets. Nari seems to be enjoying the food with less complaints than usual, and you feel just a bit smug.

When the servants come to clear away the plates, you hollowly suggest to show Nari the rose gardens. She cheerfully agrees and links arms with you as you lead her outside.

It’s an uncomfortable feeling to have her so close to you after you haven’t seen her in a year. It’s even odder when you realize that she hasn’t linked arms with you since you were five and she eight. You mindlessly point out a few varieties of flowers on the way to the garden and wonder why your normally cold sister has turned warm.

“Is everything alright?” you ask once you have led her to the middle of the garden. The sweet scent of the roses always relaxes you, and hopefully they will do the same for Nari. “You’re acting strange all of a sudden.”

She lets you go and stands in front of you. “Your husband. I don’t like him.”

“We courted for two years,” you remind her, frowning at the memory of her telling you the same thing when Chan first arrived at your home. “And we’re married now. I know you don’t like him, but there’s nothing you can do now.”

She shakes her head. “Do you know what the village girls call him? I stopped in town yesterday, and all the girls could talk about was Chan, the King of Hearts! They went on and on about his ‘perfect face’ and ‘perfect body.’ Think about what he’s done to get such a name!”

“Be an eligible, handsome future king?” You sigh and grab a nearby rose to stick your nose in. You will not give her the satisfaction of setting you off. “Nari,” you begin, your terse voice muffled by the petals, “it’s natural that you want to protect me, but if you’re only here to criticize Chan, then I’m not sure what to do with you during your stay.”

“I saw him stare at me when I arrived last night,” she protests. “Like an animal, unabashed.”

You almost snort at her claim. If anything, Chan dislikes Nari more than you do due to her constant nitpicks of him during the courting years. The incessant “You will never be good enough for her” and “Stay away from my siblings” surprisingly did not deter him from proposing to you.

“I’m sure it was disdain, not lust,” you dryly reply.

“I feel like I’m being watched in this place,” she continues, ignoring your remark. “I don’t trust him or anyone here.”

No wonder why she suddenly put on a facade the moment the servants stepped in the dining room.

“What do you think of the garden?” you ask to change the subject. You cannot fight with her on court day and with so many guests in the castle. “These are our prized roses. Chan said it took the gardeners and florists years to breed them.”

Nari glances at the flower you hold and purses her lips. “It looks like someone painted a white rose red. There’s still spots of white on them. You’re certain they were bred and not painted?”

You swallow the retort in your throat and reach out for another rose to inhale. Nari is just being Nari.

“How about a game of croquet?” You take her elbow and start leading her to the croquet court without waiting for a response. “I think you’ll enjoy it. I’ll teach you how to play.”

Nari roughly snatches her arm back, and her eyes flash with an unfamiliar fire. “You’re not taking any of this seriously, little sister. All the village tarts have likely been with him already, so you mean nothing to him! Isn’t that his cute, little pet name for you too? ‘Sweet tart?’ You’re pathetic.”

For all Nari has said in the past, she has never directly insulted you like this. The fragile restraint you have on your emotions snaps.

“You just hate Chan because he didn’t want to marry you!” you shout, pointing an accusing finger at her. “You’re just bitter that he chose me instead of you! And do you know why he and no one else likes you? Because you’re a cold, angry, bitter hag that nitpicks everything! And you think you’re such a perfect ruler, but the truth is that your advisors hate you and like Felix better! I bet the entire kingdom is happier without you!”

It comes out in one long breath, and you’re red in the face from screaming years of pent up feelings at your sister. It feels good to let it all out. With a sick sense of delight, you watch as Nari turns scarlet and as her eyes gloss over with tears.

“I’m going back to my chambers,” she frostily says.

She pushes past you, and you don’t try to follow her. Even though it’s a longer way back to the castle, you take the opposite path and head to the courtroom.

At least someone will be happy to see you.

You appear placid when you enter the courtroom, which is just the throne room with extra chairs for the jury and audience. Everyone stares at you as you walk to the empty seat reserved for you at king’s side.

“Hello, darling,” you whisper to him as you fluff out your skirts. “My sister decided to retire early to her room.”

He nods in reply and turns back to the defendant. “Proceed.”

Despite his reserved facade, he places one hand on top of yours and starts fiddling with your fingers to try and make you burst out into laughter. It’s a game you and him play during court days, and he has won the past three rounds. However, by the time the defendant is found guilty, neither of you have broken each other.

Chan calls to break for afternoon tea, but you and him linger in the empty room.

He helps you up from your seat and pulls you into an embrace in one fluid motion. “Court is much more fun with you,” he sighs into your hair. “Have I mentioned how stunning you look in red?”

“Only every time I wear it.” You reach up and brush a stray curl from his temple. “Might I say, you look even more handsome than when I saw you this morning.”

“It must be all the guilty verdicts. Are you going to watch the executions in the evening?”

“I always do.” Your eyes fall onto the double-bladed axe above the throne. “It’s my favorite part of court day.”

“I think you’ll enjoy today’s very much.” He slips his arm from your waist to your hands and begins leading you to the dining hall. “I heard the cook made jam tarts for tea today. Your favorite.”

You lean into him and smile at his pleased expression. “You requested them, didn’t you? She hasn’t made them in ages!”

“Sweet tarts for my sweet tart,” he playfully says, kissing your fingertips and making you giggle. “I thought they would make afternoon tea with your sister less awful.”

The mere mention of Nari turns your mood sour. “I hope she skips tea.”

“Did you two quarrel?”

“When do we not?”

Two servants open the door to the dining hall, and to your vast disappointment, you spot Nari seated at an empty table by a window, a cup of tea in hand. Her head is turned, and you can’t see her face, but she is the only person in the room not wearing red and black.

You hesitate by the door, and Chan nudges you toward her. “Your sister’s here.”

“Don’t you hate Nari?” you try. “Please don’t make me talk to her.”

“I do, but politics. She’s my sister-in-law” — he doesn’t even bother to hide the disgust in his voice — “and the queen of a foreign kingdom. You hate her less than I do.”

The last part is debatable. “I get a front seat at the executions tonight,” you negotiate. “And jam tarts for tea for the rest of the week.”

Chan gratefully kisses your cheek and murmurs into your ear, “You can request jam tarts from the cook whenever you like, you know. I’ll see you after.”

You should have demanded more, like handling executions instead of getting a front row seat to them. He would have never agreed to that.

While he leaves to chat with some aristocrats about the past trials, you stiffly walk towards your sister. You take the empty chair in front of her and curtly say a greeting. She says nothing and instead pours you a cup of tea. For a minute, the two of you choose to sip your drinks and nibble on the quiches and tarts.

“Have you come to apologize?” Nari says in a strange brittle way. She finally looks up from the table, and you see that her eyes are ringed with red.

You want to say no because you haven’t, but a small part of you feels guilty for making her cry. As far as you remember, Nari stopped crying when she was eight.

However, you’re still upset. “No because you’ve never apologized to me. For saying all those things about me and for being rude to Chan all the time.”

“I meant all those things.”

“So did I.”

Another silence. You sneak glances at her, and judging by the fact that she’s still chewing on the same mini quiche from two minutes ago, she’s barely holding it together.

“Here,” you abruptly say, placing a raspberry jam tart on her plate. “I know you like sweets better.”

You can see her debating whether she should take your peace offering or not. Her jaw is set as she looks down at it, but her fingers twitch like she wants to grab it and taste it.

“It’s good, I promise.”

She takes a cautious bite of it and slowly reaches for another from the tower of treats. In the meantime, you refill your cups with more tea and smirk when you see the content expression Nari has when she finishes the tart. Across the room, Chan gives you an encouraging smile at your efforts.

“How’s Felix?” you ask. Your little brother is usually a safe topic. “He’s going to be old enough to be king soon, isn’t he?”

“According to you, he’ll make a much better ruler than me,” she sniffs. “But I’m the eldest, so I was always going to be queen. Unlike whatever nonsensical laws you have here.”

She says ‘here’ like she said ‘pathetic’ earlier. Nari says something about Felix and how his studies are going, but you’re too concerned with keeping your anger in check to hear it.

“You can never leave anything alone, can you?” you snap in the midst of her spiel. You wrap all of the tarts — yes, every single one from the tea tower, much to your sister’s dismay — in a bundle of napkins and stand up. “I’ll see you at dinner, Nari.”

You hear her huff a reply about how immature you’re being, but you don’t care. On your way back to the courtroom, someone grabs your wrist and spins you toward them.

You already know it’s Chan. “I tried but—”

“Are you really going to take all those tarts and share none with me?”

“Oh?” You hold out the napkins and let him pick between raspberry jam and lemon curd. “You’re not here to come tell me to make nice with my sister?”

“I saw it wasn’t going well, so I called for court to resume in ten minutes,” he says, licking the leftover jam from his fingers. He smiles reassuringly at you. “Don’t lose your pretty head over her. She’s…”

“Annoying? Rude? Deserving of none of our kindness?”

He stifles a laugh at your tone and starts leading to the courtroom. “Difficult,” is what he finally settles upon, but you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “She won’t be a problem for you much longer though.”

“I can hardly wait until tomorrow,” you sigh. “Goodbye, dreadful Nari.”

All the pastries are finished by the time you and Chan take your designated seats. No one else has arrived yet, so Chan takes off his crown and rests his head on your shoulders. He contently sighs and nestles his face into the crook of your neck.

“I think you’ll like this trial,” he mumbles, his tickly breath making you giggle. “It’s why jam tarts have been a scarcity for the past two weeks.”

“Is the cook on the stand?” you joke. The double doors to the throne room start to open, and you raise your shoulder. “Darling.”

Within seconds, King Bang Chan is back and your adoring husband shelved away. More people fill the empty seats in the room, and you watch the entrance carefully to ensure your sister hasn’t decided to show up and make your day worse. It’s unlikely since she is bound to be upset, but you can never be too sure. As expected though, she never arrives, and you sigh in relief. When the trial begins, Chan’s hand is over yours, fiddling with your fingers again. You gladly continue the game as the defendant enters in chains, flocked by two guards.

However, no one wins. The trial is quickly over as the knave is soon found guilty of stealing fruit preserves from the royal kitchen. After the courtroom clears out and you and Chan exchange departing kisses, you retire to your chambers to get dressed for dinner while he goes off elsewhere to attend to more kingly duties.

You don’t see him again until you have finished your bath and the maids are pinning up your hair. Through the vanity mirror, you watch as he enters the bedchambers with his crown missing, hair mussed, and the top of his shirt unbuttoned.

“Hello, darling,” you call out, noticing his satisfied smile. “I see you enjoyed whatever it was that you were doing earlier.”

He gestures for the maids to leave, and they do so in a hurry. He walks over to you and wraps his arms around your shoulders, pressing his lips to your neck at the same time. Every part of you is hyper aware of his proximity when he mumbles, “I did.”

He protests when you lean away and weakly cite your delicate half-done updo. Despite his feelings, he gives you a kiss on your temple and goes to take his bath; dinner will be starting in an hour.

Unsure of what to make of Chan’s reply, you call the maids back in and sit like a statue while they finish your hair. Nari is wrong, you tell yourself. She doesn’t know a single thing about your husband.

Her accusations of him, however, swirl around in your head, and they are all you can think about when there are no more hair tugging and pin stabbings. When Chan emerges from his bath, whistling the cheery execution song, he grins at you and says in tune, “Have I mentioned you look beautiful in red?”

A different kind of chill washes over you, but you still reply back with a stiff smile. “Only every time I wear it.”

He walks over to you and wraps one arm around your shoulders. The scent of soap and cologne that you typically find so comforting is suddenly pungent and overpowering. You can see that his other arm is hidden behind his back, and you can’t look anywhere else.

“Here,” he says. He tucks a red-and-white rose behind your hair, and you jump a bit when you feel the dampness of the petals against your skin. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice these in the bath. They’re your favorite.”

“It’s been a long day,” you tell him. You abruptly stand up and nod to the door. “Should we get to dinner?”

He loops his arm around your waist and leads you to the dining hall. “Were those tarts not filling enough?” he teases. “Or are you just excited for the executions after?”

“I suppose both.”

The finale of court day is the last thing on your mind.

Dinner passes by in a blur. For the first time of the day, you actively look around for Nari and are shocked and disappointed when she doesn’t show up. Maybe you should have been kinder. You airily laugh at the jokes the aristocrats make and make a few of your own about the trials, but your mind and eyes go back to Chan. He sits at the head of the table and merrily cheers with others over another successful court day. You catch him gazing lovingly at you occasionally, and you don’t know what to think anymore.

Soon, the crowd gathers to the execution site outside where servants have set up chairs and lit lanterns. As promised, Chan lets you have the best seat in the house. You sit quietly while he changes into his executioner’s robes and while he is presented with his double-bladed axe.

The guards bring the criminals from the prison, their heavy chains clanging against one another. Four guilty verdicts, four heads to roll. You normally would be thrilled by this prospect, but tonight’s jubilation has been dulled. Nevertheless, you clap after each punishment and admire how clean the cuts are. The wooden chopping block soon drips with blood, and a metallic tang fills the air.

A servant comes to dispose of all the remains, and most of the audience turns to leave, but Chan still lingers around.

“There’s still one more execution left,” he announces. He wipes the blade clean and nods at the guards. “A very special one I planned in surprise for my wife.”

You hear the gasps before you can even process his words. You turn to find out what the fuss is about, and your eyes grow wide when you spot a familiar lily-white dress through the crowd.

“Darling,” you shakily ask, “what is this?”

Chan grins widely at you and readjusts the axe in his grip. “You’re going to be the queen of two kingdoms, sweet tart.”

The guards force your sister to stop in front of you, and Chan rips off the gag in front of her mouth. Nari doesn’t say a word, but the look in her eye says it all: “I told you so.”

“What is this?” you repeat. You wring your hands in the folds of your skirts and try to figure out what exactly is happening.

Your sister is about to be executed for unknown reasons, your husband seems rather nonchalant about the whole situation, and you suppose you are as well. With the chains manacled around her wrists and the guards standing behind her, Nari feels like just another criminal to be punished.

“For starters, you and I don’t like her,” Chan says, walking closer. He glances over at Nari. “She’s a terrible queen, and from what I’ve been told by my advisors, she’s too busy with pretending to be a queen to actually rule.”

“He’s a liar!” Nari spits out, flushing bright red at the allegation. “Don’t you forget that he has mistresses all over town and that you’re just another pretty plaything to him!”

The audience, having heard her accusations, gasps again, and a wave of whispers rolls through the crowd. You glance over at Chan to see his reaction.

He looks terrifying.

His usual cool composure is streaked with anger so hot, you can almost feel it radiating off of him. He thickly swallows, and his hand bearing the bloodstained axe starts to shake. His breathing turns ragged when he finally looks at Nari.

“You think that I would have an affair? You think I would be disloyal to her?” The next sentence comes out in a cold, calm breath. “I’ll execute you on that charge alone.”

“Wait!” you shout at Chan before he can drag her to the execution block. More quietly, you say, “Explain yourself. When you came into the room.”

His face softens as he realizes the implications of his earlier appearance. He cups your face with his free hand. “I was getting your sister taken to the prison. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t go on her own accord, so there was a bit of a scuffle. The guards took care of her later though. I could never be disloyal to you, Y/N.”

No pet names, no teasing. He’s dead serious.

You switch back to your sister, who is still clinging firm to her beliefs. Look at her steadfast expression! “You’re the liar,” you sardonically laugh. “You almost made me believe your lies! You… you almost turned me against my husband! And what for? Your own jealousy?”

“To protect you! And I was right too!” She sharply nods at the crowd of aristocrats. “Look at this madness! Court days and execution parties?”

“Like you don’t order the deaths of criminals yourself!” You motion for the guards to take her to the execution block. You hate her so much right now, and you can barely see past the haze of red overtaking your vision. “Goodbye, Nari.”

“So you’re just going to let him kill me?” she yells. She tries to grab your shoulders at the last second, but the guards pull her back. “He’s an awful man, killing me for such a petty reason! And you’re pathetic for standing by him!”

Pathetic.

It echoes in your ears, and you want to snatch the axe out of Chan’s hands and do it yourself. However, you instead bite out, “Shut up. It’s the least you can do to apologize to me.”

Chan cleans the blade with the cloth from Nari’s gag, and you watch as the white fabric gets painted with scarlet like your sister’s stupid notion about the roses. He raises the axe over her head, and the metal flashes in the lantern light.

You look your sister in the eye. “Off with your head.”

And off her head goes.

~ ad.gray

#stray kids #skz #bang chan #stray kids fic #skz fic #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids angst #skz angst #bang chan scenarios #bang chan fanfic #bang chan imagines #bang chan angst #stray kids au #skz au #20210408

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Text

Eat My Crow

A/N: So who else is obsessed with jealous Jax?!? 🤤 This fic is based on the two below requests – in which you and Jax make each other jealous and end up having a huge fight over it, followed by super hot makeup sex!

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, ANGSTY ANGST, rough sex, possessive jealous dom!Jax Request: Two separate anon requests – (1) & (2)

Word Count: ~2.5k

So you married a snack. There’s no problem with that. You’ve accepted the fact that your husband, the crown prince of Charming, is going to strut his fine ass around town calling everyone darlin’ and flashing his signature slut-magnet smile, ‘cause that’s just his style. You’ve gotten quite used to it now after being his wife for a while.

But the problem with Jax... well, he’s more than a snack. He’s a whole fucking feast. He’s a goddamn buffet, on display every day, all-you-can-fucking-eat. And the bitches attack when he walks down the street. You’ve been taking this shit in stride, telling yourself it’s alright. And it is, you decide. Because it’s gotta be. Even when he flirts back, he’s assuring you constantly that no one else means a thing to him, honestly.

Babe, it’s just business. I promised you my pussy-hounding days are finished. And I mean it. Really do. Ever since you and I started this, I’ve never thought of sex with anybody else, not for a minute. Have you even seen yourself? So fucking beautiful you’re on another level. No crow eater could ever get my dick so wet and take it so damn well. I’m serious. The whole Cara Cara crew doesn’t got shit on you. Fuck all those whores. I mean, maybe I did... before. But baby, now my heart is yours, and yours belongs to me too—doesn’t it? Just gotta trust me with it.

And you do believe it’s true, that you’re his one and only princess in a sea of faceless bitches. Jax loves you, and no one else. Love is your witness.

Still... some nights the dirty bastard really tests your fucking limits.

Like tonight. You watch him from across the room and feel the daggers you’ve got glaring from your eyes. He’s flirting up a storm and working all his charms, one pornstar clawing at each arm, while your arch nemesis is practically grinding her pussy up against his thigh.

What kind of shameless cunt seriously goes by the name of ‘Ima Tite’? Of all the clingy twits who think that Jax will be attracted to their false lashes and fake tits, she’s your absolute least favorite. A couple times she even tried to pick a fight. You always put her in her place, but she can’t seem to stay away...

Just then, an unexpected voice distracts you from your jealous daze. “...Hey.”

You look up from your drink, with a few blinks to chase the daggers from your gaze. This random guy is a new prospect that you recognize; you’ve seen him once or twice. He’s kind of cute, you think, in quite a clueless little fuckboy kind of way.

Though normally you don’t have eyes for anyone but Jax, you force yourself to see this cheap vending machine treat as a satisfying snack. ‘Cause if your man is gonna keep on letting his married ass come under attack... then that’s a game that two can play.

***************

“Babe, you okay?”

You glance up from the bathroom sink to see your husband standing in the doorway. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie, trying to hide the true reply that’s shooting from your eyes. Just go away.

“Know there’s no point in ever lying to me, right?” he tells you as he steps inside.

You heave a sigh, meeting your own bitter stare in the mirror, well aware that Jax takes pride in reading your mind. “It’s nothing; I’m just—”

“Sick of seeing me swimming around in a pile of sluts?” he finishes the sentence. Coming through. “Come on, Y/N, just... please don’t let ‘em get to you.”

Already he’s fucking you up with the force of his presence, the way he moves close and surrounds you in his manly scent, drowning you in his essence.

“Babe, you know I hate these pornstar parties just as much as you do. Boob job Barbies aren’t my thing, but I’m taking one for the crew. Apparently letting the girls rub up against the prince of Charming keeps them coming. Keeps the whole damn business up and running. Who knew?”

“I did, for one,” you groan, as he enfolds you in his flannel-clad arms and looks up to lock eyes in the mirror, smiling at the view. “And stop being a cheeky little shit, ‘cause you did too.”

Jax doesn’t fight you on that since it’s too blatantly true. “What do I have to do to prove—”

“That’s just the problem, Jax,” you snap as you reluctantly pull out of his embrace, stepping away, pushing him back. “You shouldn’t have to ‘prove’ your love.”

“Damn right I shouldn’t,” he huffs, not too happy about how you just shoved him off. “But here you’re telling me the way I love you isn’t good enough.”

“No, I’m not,” you mutter, not even wanting to get into the real reason why you’re so mad. Because it doesn’t matter. “I never said that.”

“Think I don’t know how to read between the lines? Told you a thousand times that I will always read your fucking mind.”

“Yeah well, read this, genius,” you hiss, flipping your middle finger in his face. Because of course you’re so fucking mature that way.

The gesture was so pointless that he easily dismisses it, that very instant. “Seriously, Y/N. We talked about this. It’s business. They’re just emp—”

“Empty or not,” you interrupt, ranting without a second thought, “they’re always all over your ass, and you know how I feel about that. Know it pisses me off seeing so many hoes eating my fucking crow.”

Jax rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Babe, they’re not ‘eating’ shit—”

“Yeah, well they’re feeding it. Constantly smothering my husband in a sea of tits. Raking their filthy fingers through your hair, while I’m standing across the room right fucking there.” ... as if I don’t even exist, you finish in your head, not saying that aloud. Not yet.

“So the hell what? You don’t trust me to handle myself around sluts?”

“Don’t fucking talk to me about trust.”

“No, that’s exactly what we’re gonna talk about. ‘Cause clearly you don’t have any in me,” he counters forcefully. “Clearly you still have doubts, when I tell you that all of this business is meaningless, empty—”

“I’ll tell you what’s empty,” you snarl, slamming both hands into his chest aggressively. The suddenness of your attack has him reeling until his kutte-clad back is pressed against the wall. “Your fucking promises. That shit you’d always tell me. Guess all that was also just part of your business.”

Beautiful blue eyes blink at you. Appalled, confused. More than a little shocked. Just what you meant, he has no clue. And he’s ashamed that he can’t see straight through you in this moment, just the way he loves to do. “Y/N, the fuck...?”

Right then, as you’re all set to spell it out for him... you hear a familiar voice just outside the bathroom. Loud enough to hear through the closed door. It’s that fucking whore. She won’t bother to knock, you’re pretty sure. And all of a sudden... the lioness lurking behind the woman in you feels a spiteful kind of urge you’ve never had before.

“I need your cock,” you grunt, which is an honest statement; Jax’s dick is the one thing you’ll always want. No matter how, no matter what. “Like, now. Let’s fuck.”

Jax takes a pause, clenching his jaw, dim lighting glinting off his golden locks. “Babe, we should talk...”

“No, we should not,” you snap, pressing your lips to his to shut him up, heavy and hot. “Fuck that. Just fuck me, Jax.”

And the lust-driven lion in him knows there’s no use trying to fight back. He cedes to your demands, leather and flannel sliding down his flawless body as you pull at them with frantic hands. Giving in passionately to exactly what you want—and in a split second, he’s suddenly the one on the attack.

You rake your fingers through the lustrous head of blonde hair that belongs to you, the way those other bitches love to do. Fuck all those whores. Every last lock is yours, just as his cock is yours, and you both know it’s true.

Once Jax is slamming you against the wall like an insatiable animal, that’s when the bathroom door opens. And Ima stands there gawking for a moment, just as you’d been hoping. Just as you had planned.

Jax doesn’t even register her presence—far too deeply engrossed in ferociously fucking you over—as you and she briefly make eye contact over his shoulder, you shoot her a fierce, fiery glance. Bitch better back off my fucking man.

Now that you’ve staked your claim, you’re finished with this game.

Jax isn’t done—he hasn’t come—but today, just for once, you decide that you want it to end that way. Allowing him release would grant him victory.

You’re well aware that you’re being the cattiest, brattiest bitch in fucking history. But maybe you deserve to be. Maybe that’s one of the perks of being queen. You’ve earned the right to whip your claws out and to get a little mean.

“Okay—enough,” you say, pushing him off.

He’s never looked so shocked, still impaling you on his massive monster cock. “Uhhh... what the fuck?”

“Jax, I was just using your ass to make a point in front of one of your crow-eating sluts,” you tell him, clear and blunt. Pretending not to care as you see him flinch in disgust. “And now I’m done. Got what I want.”

He looks incapable of processing the shit you’re dishing out. Stung by each word out of your mouth. Apparently still clueless as to what this is about.

You know deep down you shouldn’t blame him, but the only other option is to blame yourself. And you just can’t. At least not right this instant. Shit would hurt like fucking hell. He wouldn’t understand. The reason you escaped into the bathroom in the first place, just to wallow in your heartbreak... fuck’s sake, you don’t even fully understand.

Hope he doesn’t notice as you wipe a stray tear with the back of your hand. “Did you hear me or not? Get the fuck out.”

He noticed. Definitely did. Holds back his own somehow. “Y/N, who even are you right now?”

“The fact you have to ask, Jax...” you murmur, pushing him further back. “You wouldn’t have to if you’d only looked at me just once tonight. The way you promised me you always would, right? No matter what? Promised that I’m the only woman in your life, the only face you ever see, even when you’re buried in sluts? Maybe that’s where you really want to be. Because you’re fucking blind, apparently.”

Quietly shoving his unsatisfied dick back inside his pants, he tries to hold you in place with his other hand. “Y/N—can...”

“No, Jackson, we can’t just talk about this shit. Because it honestly makes me sick that you didn’t even notice, when—when I...” your voice trails off into a shaky sigh, terrified to admit the unspeakable thing you almost did. “Fuck this. Right now there’s nothing you can say.”

You turn to leave, wiping more tears on your sleeve. You hate yourself so much more than you hate him, in this moment. Truth is you don’t hate him one bit. Couldn’t even if you wanted. Just hate the way that loving him drove you to do something so stupid and dishonest. Hate yourself for being so ashamed about the fact Jax didn’t notice. Is that his fault? Yeah, it probably is. But not nearly as much your fault for having done what you did in the first instance. You crossed a line that he didn’t. A line he never would, because he’s good.

Whereas your sorry ass... you reckon, right this second, that you’re no better than any of those damn crow-eating cunts you hate so much. Much worse, in fact. The truth is you don’t deserve Jax.

“For someone who can always read my mind, you sure as hell fucked up today,” you choke the words out of your throat, knowing they’re out of line. Trying your best to keep your dignity afloat, though it’s an ever-sinking boat. “Why don’t you get back to your business. Prince of Charming keeping everything running, just like you said. For once now I won’t let you have the cake and eat it, act like you’re some loving husband, as if I’m your one true princess. ‘Cause I’m not, okay? Guess the prince doesn’t always get his way.”

Once you’ve fled from the bathroom—ignoring how you only feel worse now that you’ve turned your back on him—you drown out the pain in your heart with a series of shots at the bar. Wondering if you should run back into his arms and explain everything and tell him just how sorry you are.

Just a minute afterward, you hear the front door to the clubhouse slam shut, hard. Fucking loud, as Jax furiously storms out.

That’s when you notice, finally, that the prospect you had almost kissed, right on the motherfucking mouth, not long ago tonight... is sitting at the far end of the room, with a few concerned club members and crow eaters hanging around at his side. The poor bastard is healing from some fucking serious wounds.

That’s all you need to see, to realize suddenly—Jax did notice. Of course he fucking did. And you could kill yourself in shame for having ever doubted it.

Why hadn’t he confronted you with that shit, when he joined you in the bathroom after pummeling the prospect with his jealous fists? Hadn’t your man been mad about it? Fucking pissed? Why didn’t he step in between the two of you and stop it sooner, if he’d noticed, so it wouldn’t have to come to this...?

Truth hits you now, somehow, long overdue—it must’ve been because he trusted you. Figured you were playing some stupid game and trusted that you wouldn’t overstep your limits, though you ultimately very nearly did. He must’ve trusted you the way you should’ve always trusted him. Clarity hits you just as hard as the door slamming when he’d stormed out of the room.

And you have never felt like such absolute shit.

You had hoped that Jax would be pissed, to be honest. Because you’re so fucking mature. Had wanted him to channel all that alpha male possessive jealous rage toward you, for sure. That was what you had expected. After dishing out a lesson to the overstepping prospect, he would be all set to ruin you in bed...

But you had ruined any chance of that, by being so insensitive and immature and insecure instead.

Now all you want is just to throw yourself at him, wherever he has gone, shamelessly begging for forgiveness, for the stupid awful shit you’ve said and done... beg for possessive, jealous Jax to savagely punish your sorry ass, as soon as he gets home.

***************

... Continued in Part 2!

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