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@sqnctuary
an ind private plot and muse focused dash based tumblr multi muse blog. liberated by khai, 30s any pronouns ph. gl.
open to mutuals only. @indiestarter
the blue-lit numbers on the microwave read 2:14 AM, and the silence in the dorms was so heavy it felt loud.
hyunjae sat on the edge of his mattress, his forehead pressed against his knees. his throat burned with the familiar, acidic taste of exhaustion that never quite transitioned into sleep. across the hall, one of his group members snored faintly, a rhythmic reminder that everyone else had successfully managed to switch off their brains for the night. hyunjae couldn't. he never really could lately. every time he closed his eyes, his mind just looped back to the same, maddeningly constant anchor it had held onto since he was twelve years old : them.
he unlocked his phone, the harsh glare stinging his eyes, and stared at their name at the top of his chat log.
growing up, loving them had felt as natural and inevitable as breathing, but it had come to feel like carrying a glass of water filled to the absolute brim while walking a tightrope. one wrong tilt, one slip of the tongue, and everything would shatter. his parents' voices always echoed in the back of his mind whenever his thoughts ventured too far into the what-ifs their sharp, sunday-sermon condemnations of anything outside their rigid, conservative view of the world. he'd been raised to believe that the things he felt for them was a sin, a malfunction. and even now, independent and living out his dream as an idol, that deep-seated fear of ruining the one pure, uncomplicated friendship he had left kept his mouth shut. it was safer to be just hyunjae, the childhood best friend.
but tonight, the walls of his room felt like they were closing in, and the ache of wanting to just be near someone who knew him before the makeup and the stage lights was overwhelming.
his thumbs hovered over the keyboard. he typed out three different messages, deleting each one as soon as the cursor blinked. are you awake ? too intense. i miss you. too honest.
finally, he settled on something casual, a practiced mask of spontaneity.
hyunjae : han river ? i'm starving. i'i buy the ramen if you're up.
he didn't think ; he just hit send, immediately tossing the phone onto the blanket face-down as if it might explode.
ten minutes later, he was slipping into an oversized black hoodie, pulling a baseball cap low over his eyes, and adjusting a black mask over his face. the idol’s uniform for a midnight escape.
the night air by the han river was brisk, carrying the sharp, salty scent of the water and the distant hum of late-night highway traffic. hyunjae sat on the concrete steps near the convenience store, two steaming paper bowls of instant ramen settling between his sneakers, the warmth radiating through the cardboard. he had his knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes scanning the dimly lit walkway.
when their figure finally materialized under the glow of a distant streetlight, hyunjae felt his chest tighten in that familiar, agonizingly sweet way. they were wearing mismatched sweats, hair a messy, sleep-tousled halo. they looked so entirely, beautifully ordinary, completely removed from the polished, artificial world hyunjae spent his days navigating.
the silence in the penthouse wasn't the peaceful, exclusive kind woohyung usually paid a premium for. it was thick, suffocating, and tasted faintly of the expensive bourbon burning a slow, bitter trail down his throat. he didn't pour a second glass. a complete gentleman, his father used to say, never lets his posture or his liquor cabinet slip when the world goes to hell.
so, woohyung sat straight-backed on the leather sofa, the fabric cool against his trousers, staring at the panoramic view of the city skyline. the lights blinked like distant, unbothered eyes. he felt entirely exposed, stripped of the quiet dignity he spent thirty-six years cultivating, all because of a boy who didn’t even know the proper way to fold a pocket square.
ben.
the name itself felt like a splinter under his nail. for eight months, they had existed in a flawless, unspoken orbit. no strings. no labels. it was an arrangement woohyung had initially insisted upon to protect his own guarded, brooding nature. but slowly, the neat boundaries he'd drawn began to blur. he had found himself memorizing the exact shade of ben's eyes when the morning sun hit them through the blinds. he'd started looking at rings simple, platinum bands convinced that the quiet, steady warmth between them was finally ready to be given a name. he was going to make it official. he was going to lay his pride at ben's feet.
instead, ben had taken that pride and shattered it on a public stage, proposing to a boy who shared woohyung's own blood.
the memory of the phone call from his nephew vibrant, ecstatic, completely oblivious flashed through woohyung's mind, making his jaw tighten until the bone ached. uncle, he asked me we're getting married ! woohyung had offered his congratulations with a voice as smooth as polished marble, never letting his tone falter, while his chest felt like it was being compressed by a vice.
a soft chime cut through the suffocating quiet. his phone lit up on the glass coffee table, displaying ben's name.
woohyung didn’t pick it up immediately. he let it ring, watching the screen glow and die, before he finally reached out. his fingers were perfectly steady, a stark contrast to the storm raging behind his dark, hooded eyes. when he picked up, he didn't offer a greeting. he just waited, his breathing disciplined, listening to the static on the other end.
❛ ben, ❜ woohyung finally spoke, his deep baritone cutting through the line, laced with a cold, devastating calm. ❛ i trust you have a remarkably logical explanation for why my nephew is currently celebrating an engagement to a man who, until yesterday, was sharing my bed. ❜
he stood up, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling glass, his reflection staring back at him impeccable suit, perfectly styled hair, and eyes that looked entirely hollow.
❛ do not insult my intelligence by stammering, ❜ woohyung continued, his voice dropping an octave, a quiet danger vibrating beneath the gentlemanly veneer. ❛ we agreed on no labels, yes. i granted you the freedom you seemed to crave, foolishly believing it was a mutual respect for space. i did not realize it was a license for treachery. to slide a ring onto the finger of a boy i watched grow up, a boy who trusts you blindly, while you still carry the scent of my cologne on your skin... it is a level of vulgarity i did not think you capable of. ❜
the hurt was there, a sharp, physical ache in his sternum, but he refused to let ben hear it. he wrapped the pain in anger, shielding it behind a wall of aristocratic disdain. he had been ready to change his entire life for ben. he had been ready to step out of the shadows of his own brooding isolation to give this younger man everything.
❛ did you think i wouldn't find out ? or did you simply not care ? ❜ woohyung asked, his hand gripping the phone a fraction tighter, the only outward sign of his unraveling control. ❛ you have compromised my family, ben. you have turned a sacred milestone for my nephew into a farce. if you have any shred of the decency i thought you possessed, you will end this farce with him immediately. not for my sake because you and i are entirely, irrevocably finished but for his. do not dare step foot in this building again. goodbye, ben. ❜
without waiting for a response, woohyung ended the call. he tossed the phone onto the armchair, the silence returning to fill the void. he closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling slowly as he fought to regain his composure, the bitter taste of betrayal lingering long after the bourbon had faded.
Isn't a date supposed to be something fun? Link keeps staring across the table at the suited man sitting there. This one feels like torture but this guy had been in his comments begging to take Link out and he was nothing if not a benevolent god. Benevolent porn star at least. Isn't it very generous to give back to the people who pay his rent? So here he's sat at a Michelin star restaurant he doesn't belong in with his unbuttoned dress shirt wishing he could sneak out and meet up with his friends at the club.
"I don't know about bio hacking." Link shakes his head as he sips at his drink and huffs out loudly to give the other a cue he's not impressed. "I'm not really into all that crazy alpha man shit. It's not attractive." He pointedly lets the other know. One thing about Link is he's not going to play about any guy thinking he's got something over him. Definitely not someone thirsting in the comments of a PornHub video. This guy is at least the biggest loser in this restaurant and Link's happily running up the bill if all he needs to pay in is his attention.
His phone vibrates in his pocket that he hasn't even looked at once because he really is a great date and he knows how to get exactly what he wants. His date, Aaron, orders them another round of drinks before excusing himself to the bathroom. Link is so fast on his phone he almost drops it.
Hi. What are you doing?
It's so clinical it makes him laugh softly to himself as he rolls his eyes. It does track however and he can't even deny how amused he is. Link types back in the same monotone way.
Hi. I'm on a date actually.
Link can see the fact that it's read immediately as if the other had his phone open and in his hand. It's certainly painting an amusing picture in his mind. The three bubbles come up and he watches the screen.
When does it finish? I'll come pick you up.
Link rubs a hand down his face before he takes a picture of himself looking unimpressed and bored sending it before sending the restaurants address. He doesn't say anything else as he sees his date returning to the table just as their drinks do. Link's pleased to see the liquor and his date thinks the smile is for him. Link doesn't correct him. @sqnctuary
the sterile smell of antiseptic and industrial floor wax still clings to the fabric of malachi's scrubs, a sharp contrast to the suffocating warmth of the humid night air. he's sitting in his car in the hospital's parking garage, the engine idling with a low, vibrating hum that mimics the dull ache throbbing behind his temples. his twelve-hour shift at the hospital had been nothing short of a grueling gauntlet trauma incoming, charts backing up, and a steady stream of demanding patients that left him feeling completely hollowed out.
by all logic, malachi should be driving straight back to his apartment to pass out. instead, his fingers find his phone, the screen casting a harsh, bluish glow over his tired features.
his thumb hovers over link's contact name. he knows exactly what his younger stepbrother is doing tonight. link had dropped it into conversation days ago with that characteristic, effortless vanity that both irritated and captivated malachi. a date. some wealthy, corporate sycophant from his comment section who had practically begged for the privilege of paying for link's attention. malachi had scoffed at the time, dismissing it as another one of link's superficial games, but now, in the quiet desolation of the post-shift comedown, the thought of his stepbrother sitting across from some stranger makes his jaw tighten.
malachi doesn't do soft or playful, especially not when he's this exhausted. his text is a blunt instrument.
hi. what are you doing ?
it's clinical, almost cold, but it's the only way he knows how to reach out without giving away the raw, territorial hunger clawing at his gut. he watches the screen, expecting to wait, but the status changes to read almost instantly. a dark, cynical amusement curls in malachi's chest. of course link is on their phone. the poor bastard they're out with probably doesn’t stand a chance against link's inevitable boredom.
the reply comes through, dripping with that familiar, mocking cadence even over text : hi. i'm on a date actually.
malachi doesn't hesitate. he doesn't care about decorum, or the fact that he's supposed to be the older, responsible one, or the complicated web of their stepfamily dynamic. the exhaustion fades, replaced by a sudden, sharp focus. he wants link. he wants to tear that unbuttoned dress shirt off their shoulders, erase whatever impression that suited loser tried to make, and remind his stepbrother exactly who he belongs to when the cameras stop rolling and the fans go home.
when does it finish ? i'll come pick you up.
he types it with a steady, uncompromising finality. he isn't asking for permission ; he's stating an intention.
a moment later, the three little dots dance on the screen, making malachi's chest tighten with a rare flash of anticipation. then, an image loads.
malachi exhales a low, rough breath through his nose as he stares at the photo. it's a selfie. link is looking directly into the camera, their handsome face twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated boredom. his lips are slightly parted in a silent sigh, his eyes heavy and unimpressed, capturing the exact mood of a high-end michelin-star restaurant that they clearly finds agonizingly dull. below the picture, a pin drop appears with the address of the restaurant.
no words. just the coordinates to his rescue.
malachi stares at the address, a slow, predatory smirk finally breaking through his fatigue. link is playing the brat, pretending they're just letting malachi chauffeur them around, but sending the location is an invitation, plain and simple. they know exactly what malachi wants, and by sending that address, they're consenting to be stolen.
throwing the car into reverse, malachi backs out of the parking space with a sharp screech of his tires. the exhaustion is completely gone now, replaced by a dark, adrenaline-fueled purpose. let the suited man buy link his expensive drinks and laugh at whatever vapid jokes he's telling. malachi is already navigating through the city streets, his grip tight on the steering wheel. within twenty minutes, he'll be parked outside that sleek, over-priced establishment. and the moment link steps out of those doors and into malachi's car, the dynamic is going to shift entirely. link might play the benevolent god to their subscribers, but tonight, behind closed doors, malachi is going to make them beg for it.
"I can make you feel whole again, you can hold onto me, aelfric" Call it a sweet gesture, call it anything but Arslan rather have the general having an intact sane mind while he is the one at the losing edge here from deciphering what their frustrations melt down into.
And unadulterated gasp past his throat when he was met with force. In any given day, if he was handled like this, the man at the manipulating end would have met his fist but no, he could not bring himself to do it right now, in fact the simple act of being told to look at Aelfric had allowed another spike of pleasure down his spine all due from the way Aelfric had looked at him — for he is doomed — for he is ruined — he would gladly be branded by the southern general tonight if he meant he could take more of Aelfric.
Lips that were parted was making an attempt to answer the general but all was in vain. He began to drown in the way their lips perfectly slotted each other. The already brittle thread that was keeping him tethered to reality snapped when he felt the velvet musculature slipped into his mouth and his own tongue began to move by itself, lapping and tasting every inch of Aelfric has to offer. Oh, how he would do this again and again if given the next time.
Gentle hiss and gasps was a friend to the way their lips was locked but nothing could prepare the way his body had acknowledged where Aelfric was touching him. He never dreamed of the other holding this way, with so much urgency to let the meddling fabric hook off from his person. He wonders if Aelfric would ever have his loyalty? Maybe, maybe he had already attained that in a way that each time the general orbits around him, his eyes could not leave him. Not for soldier to a general. Perhaps, one soul to another that mimics how he had been loyal to Beornmod in entirely different essence. At the demand, Arslan began to do reiterate what the other had done — after finding himself fitted against the cot, he pulled away just adequate for him to get rid of his garments and present himself that was already marred with scars of wars since adolescent. He would tremendously have lost the competition if he was to be pit against the ladies and nobleman of the south who had never tasted the pain of being sliced open and he hopes Aelfric does not complaint at his state.
"Aelfric" He called out for the general. Hand having a mind of its own to reach out for the hem of the general's undergarment, gently pulling it down to reveal a straining length. It is uncouth behaviour, he should have left the cot to retrieve some oil but no, he rather have Aelfric right before his eyes as he gently wrapped his finger that were tainted in his spit around the general's length and dragging his formed fist in repetition, "You can do the same, Aelfric, ruin me. I don't think I can come out of this a whole. I might need you more than you think after tonight" Was it a confession? Who knows but something had definitely changed tonight. That… if given a day that Aelfric needs him beck and call, he might give his undivided attention for the general.
He drink in the sight, the way Aelfric had shut his eyes, the way he body moves as he took in deep breaths and Arslan is greedy. He wanted to see this again and again even if at the expanse of him wanting to slit the other by the throat if they are come at a crossroad. "More than the groans, more than anything. Make me yours tonight, Aelfric" His hand picking up a momentum. He wants to ruin the man, make him come undone with his touch — with his body. "Ensure that no one comes close to have me ruin like you do too"
the word whole was a foreign concept, a pristine luxury meant for men who had not left pieces of their souls on blood-soaked fields, or sold their autonomy to a gilded crown. aelfric's eyes flew open at arslan's confession, the deep, sapphire depths of his gaze glittering with a dangerous, intoxicating mixture of fever, lust, and raw disbelief. to hear such soft, anchoring words from a northern commoner, a man who should have been his executioner or his captive was a sweeter agony than the tearing of his stitches.
whole ? aelfric echoed, the word catching on a sharp, ragged breath as arslan's spit-slicked hand finally made contact with his bare, aching length.
a choked, unbidden groan tore from the general's throat, his hips jerking instinctively into the tight, calloused grip. the sensation was overwhelming, a sudden, blinding rush of friction that made his vision blur at the edges. his fingers dug deeper into the wild mess of arslan's hair, not to pull away, but to anchor himself against the devastating rhythm. the northern man's hands were rough, lacking the delicate, practiced touch of the high-born courtiers in valelyeon, but it was exactly that lack of gentleness that honest, urgent friction that threatened to shatter aelfric completely.
as arslan stripped out of their own garments, revealing a torso mapped with jagged, silver scars, aelfric's gaze locked onto the ruined canvas of the commoner's flesh. the high towers of the south would have called it hideous, a peasant’s disfigurement. to aelfric, it was a masterpiece of survival. it matched the fresh, violent tracking of his own stitched-up wound. they were both broken things, held together by sheer defiance.
❛ you think your scars repel me ? ❜ aelfric rasped, his voice dropping into a dark, velvet register as he watched arslan pump their fist along his shaft, the wet, sliding friction sounding incredibly loud in the heavy silence of the tent. ❛ they are the only honest thing in this godforsaken valley. you are truly beautiful, arslan. a beautiful, ruinous plague. ❜
he could not remain passive under the onslaught of the commoner's hand. the ache between his thighs was a screaming demand, a sacrilegious hunger that burned hotter than the fever in his blood. ignoring the sharp, tearing protest of his injured torso, aelfric reached down, his long, elegant fingers slicking themselves with the pre-cum bubbling at the crown of his own length before tracing the tight, trembling line of arslan's lower belly.
when arslan begged to be ruined, begged to be made his, something fundamental shifted within the royal prince. the political chess board, the exiled northern prince beornmod, the armies waiting beyond the canvas all of it dissolved into ash.
❛ if i take you, there is no turning back, ❜ aelfric whispered against arslan's mouth, his thumb rubbing with a brutal, deliberate pressure against the sensitive head of arslan's own rigid length, matching the rhythm of the commoner's hand. ❛ you will be a traitor to your northern blood. a traitor to your prince. ❜
he didn't wait for an answer. with a sudden, possessive surge of strength, aelfric guided arslan's hand away from his groin, replacing it with his own slicked palm. he gripped them both together, their hot, swollen lengths rubbing against one another in a frantic, desperate friction that made the air between them turn to liquid fire. at the same time, aelfric's free hand slid beneath arslan's thigh, lifting their leg, forcing the heavy, muscular northerner to open themselves up completely to the general's touch.
aelfric's fingers, wet and impatient, found the tight, burning heat of arslan's entrance. he pressed one long finger inside without warning, a harsh, demanding invasion that drew a shattered, echoing gasp from the commoner's lips. the tight, pulsing warmth of arslan's body closing around his finger sent a shockwave of pure adrenaline straight to aelfric's core. he began to push a second finger inside, stretching the thief, establishing a ruthless, agonizingly slow rhythm that drove them both to the brink of madness.
❛ look at me, ❜ aelfric commanded again, his voice breaking as he began to slide his fingers deeper, setting a wicked pace that mirrored the furious friction of their slicked lengths rubbing together. ❛ watch me ruin you, arslan. let beornmod have your sword, but remember the taste of my name when you are screaming in the dark. you are mine tonight. every broken, scarred piece of you. ❜
he leaned up, his mouth crashing back down onto arslan's, swallowing the commoner's ragged, undone cries as their bodies clashed in a furious, sweaty rhythm a brutal preview of the absolute devastation that was about to follow.
⸻ bogum bang, member of fictional boy group neverland's echo with a very special gift that he'd rather hide away. gl & starter call.
open to mutuals only. @indiestarter
the blue-lit numbers on the microwave read 2:14 AM, and the silence in the dorms was so heavy it felt loud.
hyunjae sat on the edge of his mattress, his forehead pressed against his knees. his throat burned with the familiar, acidic taste of exhaustion that never quite transitioned into sleep. across the hall, one of his group members snored faintly, a rhythmic reminder that everyone else had successfully managed to switch off their brains for the night. hyunjae couldn't. he never really could lately. every time he closed his eyes, his mind just looped back to the same, maddeningly constant anchor it had held onto since he was twelve years old : them.
he unlocked his phone, the harsh glare stinging his eyes, and stared at their name at the top of his chat log.
growing up, loving them had felt as natural and inevitable as breathing, but it had come to feel like carrying a glass of water filled to the absolute brim while walking a tightrope. one wrong tilt, one slip of the tongue, and everything would shatter. his parents' voices always echoed in the back of his mind whenever his thoughts ventured too far into the what-ifs their sharp, sunday-sermon condemnations of anything outside their rigid, conservative view of the world. he'd been raised to believe that the things he felt for them was a sin, a malfunction. and even now, independent and living out his dream as an idol, that deep-seated fear of ruining the one pure, uncomplicated friendship he had left kept his mouth shut. it was safer to be just hyunjae, the childhood best friend.
but tonight, the walls of his room felt like they were closing in, and the ache of wanting to just be near someone who knew him before the makeup and the stage lights was overwhelming.
his thumbs hovered over the keyboard. he typed out three different messages, deleting each one as soon as the cursor blinked. are you awake ? too intense. i miss you. too honest.
finally, he settled on something casual, a practiced mask of spontaneity.
hyunjae : han river ? i'm starving. i'i buy the ramen if you're up.
he didn't think ; he just hit send, immediately tossing the phone onto the blanket face-down as if it might explode.
ten minutes later, he was slipping into an oversized black hoodie, pulling a baseball cap low over his eyes, and adjusting a black mask over his face. the idol’s uniform for a midnight escape.
the night air by the han river was brisk, carrying the sharp, salty scent of the water and the distant hum of late-night highway traffic. hyunjae sat on the concrete steps near the convenience store, two steaming paper bowls of instant ramen settling between his sneakers, the warmth radiating through the cardboard. he had his knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes scanning the dimly lit walkway.
when their figure finally materialized under the glow of a distant streetlight, hyunjae felt his chest tighten in that familiar, agonizingly sweet way. they were wearing mismatched sweats, hair a messy, sleep-tousled halo. they looked so entirely, beautifully ordinary, completely removed from the polished, artificial world hyunjae spent his days navigating.
He does not know if his impulsivity was met positively by the prince but Arslan would not be surprised if it is not because it was irrational, it was uncalled for but it was the only thing he could think of in an attempt to be an aid so when the shuddering gasp left the prince, the commonfolk could not help himself but to mirror the action but laced with surprised. It is repulsive? Is it not? Perhaps not because Beornmod does not push him away, the prince could have done that instead the prince kept him close, "I did, Beorn- I" When he could feel the cold finger trips running through his hair, a reflex came onto him to cup the hand to provide warmth, "I won't make them turn you, you are my lifeline, Beornmod, I can't lose you or I will not make them have you"
Was it all manufactured? The way the north had fallen, the way they thrusted Beornnmod into isolation with only handful of believers or soldiers who are willing to standby the prince? Arslan wondered how long has the church played the long game to make them suffer this way. He wonders if a heart could shattered so many times when they have been reduced to fine grains? The soldier believed it could when he saw the taut muscles of Beornmod made a violent wave and in attempt to sooth once more, he encompassed his frame around his prince.
When his prince spoke of the days, Arslan could not help it but to chuckle a little because those were the distant days yet they were vivid as if it was all done yesterday and how the north were vibrant despite how cold it was; "It is your idea, to steal the huntsman's mead because they were mean to Aria, they deserve not to have their meads and the haylofts were surprisingly comfortable."
Then he remembered the days where his parents were around, "Ma, ma always say not to give you a headache if you were to come to the market - "don't bother the prince" she would say, but how could I not? We were the same age and I thought befriending the prince was an amazing thing that a commonfolk like me to have; you were more than the cold prince they say, I remember the first time you smiled at me, it feels as if summer had come even if we were in the dead winter; I remember the first time you taught me how to swing a sword - imagine, a farm boy, holding a heavy wooden sword…" He smiled sadly at the memory, "the other noble kids laughed at me but you didn't. You were patient with me, Beorn, I never had the privilege with other kids but you, a prince, was very kind to me so how could I not follow until the end of the world and the end of my time. You are my everything, my prince"
"I wondered if things were not change, will the Queen and King favoured me to your shield? I would gladly give myself on the platter to be your shield, Beorn, forever" When their lips crashed once more, Arslan could not help himself but truly give himself into the loving act, angling his face to get the right amount of intensity to keep the horrid truth away. Oh to be told to kiss his prince again - if they were in different circumstances, Arslan would have dance in happiness but they were just trying to impede the inevitable so he was thrust into dilemma because of it.
"Beorn, if the kiss… helps… may I hold you more than a man should to another? May I hold you like a lover to another? May I touch you more than I am allowed? If it helps, would you be willing? Or would the kiss suffice for you?" Are they encroaching into an unfamiliar territory? Is Arslan asking too much of his prince. "At least, I can have you one last night, I have long fell for you.. Would I be too much?"
To test the water, his hand gently slided in the prince's tunic. If this was a regular day, they would have his head on the execution. How dare he? Touching a prince more than a commonfolk should? But he wanted to be Beornmod's Arslan and more. He craved for more despite the hellhole they are in. Would it be too much? To have Beornmod's last memory is him? Loving the man entirely without hesitation? "Tell me. Reinstate the line if you have too."
the name his actual name, stripped of titles, severed from the hollow echoes of the royal palace felt like a physical anchor dropping into the black, swirling vortex of his chest. beorn. not the snow prince. not the hostage of konsrad. not the weapon of the high cleric. just beorn.
as arslan’s sun-warmed hands cupped his cheek, fighting the creeping chill of the black veins pulsing beneath his skin, beornmod let out a long, shuddering breath. the memory of the huntsman's mead and aria's honor flared in his mind, vivid and sharp enough to temporarily blind him to the grotesque, oily shadows scratching at the inside of his skull. for a fleeting second, he wasn't breathing the heavy, suffocating air of valelyeon, thick with the scent of incense and melting wax. he was back in the north. he could almost hear the crisp crunch of packed snow beneath heavy fur boots, could almost feel the familiar weight of his winter cloak, and the sharp, clean sting of the mountain air that used to fill his lungs before the capital swallowed him whole.
❛ they deserved to lose that mead, ❜ beornmod murmured, a ghost of a smile brushing against arslan's lips, though it was heavy with a profound, aching sorrow. ❛ and you... you were terrible with that wooden sword, arslan. you swung it like an axe. my father's guards thought i had lost my mind, spending my afternoons teaching a farm boy how to keep his guard up. ❜
his voice trailed off, the softness fracturing as arslan spoke of shields, of plates, of dying for a throne that had already crumbled to dust. beornmod's hand flew to arslan's jaw, his fingers tightening with a sudden , desperate strength. ❛ do not say that, ❜ he hissed softly, a raw edge of panic cutting through his exhaustion. ❛ i do not want a shield. i have had an army of shields, and they are all dead, or they are wearing the gold capes of the valelyeon now. i do not need a soldier, arslan. i need you. ❜
then came the shift. the words arslan spoke next were a quiet confession, a breaking of boundaries that had stood between them since they were boys throwing snowballs in a courtyard that no longer existed. the question hovered in the narrow, heated space between them an invitation to step off the precipice of duty and into the sacred, terrifying territory of the forbidden.
when arslan’s hand slid beneath the heavy fabric of his tunic, their calloused palm meeting the freezing, trembling skin of beornmod's ribs, the prince stiffened. for twenty years, he had been taught that his body was not his own. it belonged to the crown ; then it belonged to the state ; now, it belonged to the priesthood's cauldron. to be touched like this not as a relic to be guarded, not as a vessel to be filled with holy wrath, but as a man to be desired sent a shockwave through his failing system.
the black veins in his chest burned, a furious, demonic hiss echoing in his mind, screaming at him to strike the commoner down, to preserve the unyielding, solitary glacier of the snow prince.
beornmod leaned heavily into the touch instead, a broken sob catching in his throat. he completely shattered the line.
❛ there is no line left to reinstate, ❜ beornmod whispered, his amber eyes wide, dark, and utterly defenseless as he stared into arslan's face. he reached down, wrapping his own hand over arslan's where it rested against his chest, pressing the commoner's palm harder against his skin, right over the erratic, frantic thumping of his heart. ❛ take it. take all of it. if this is the last night i belong to myself... if tomorrow i am nothing but a hollow shell for their war... let me be yours first. ❜
he leaned forward, crashing his mouth back against arslan's with a feral, starving intensity. it was unpolished and clumsy, driven entirely by the terrifying knowledge that the clock was ticking, that the brew was still working its slow, agonizing way through his spirit. he didn't want the crown. he didn't want the mountains. he wanted the heat of arslan's skin, the rough friction of their hands, the beautiful, grounding sin of loving a commoner in the heart of the enemy's citadel.
❛ hold me, ❜ beornmod gasped against their lips, his fingers tangling desperately in arslan's hair, pulling them closer until there was no air left between them. ❛ hold me like a lover. undo the armor. break the prince, arslan. please... just make me a man tonight. ❜
there were times that tomoyo wanted to hate that steady, certain and velvety smooth voice of hiro's and how it could soothe even the worst of her worries. shutting her eyes softly with her back still to him, she allowed him room to speak and hearing his voice felt much more reassuring than a silence which suddenly turned awkward. feeling her heart race quicker the moment the side of her vision caught his hand securing the fabric she'd hadn't been paying the best attention to. the moment he mentioned he wasn't the media, tomoyo felt a swell of her chest betray her with a warmth she'd never wanted to feel for anyone.
i know you’ve got this no strings rule because it’s easier to cut a thread than it is to break a bond. i get all of it.
both her brows knitted together tightly, her face distorting into that of discomfort for the first time around hiroharu. it was a foreign feeling, despite the raw edge to his voice clearly conveying his feelings and his truth. "-- but you don't understand that if something went wrong and i did something to fuck things up like i tend to do, then i'd risk losing one of the people in my closest of circles. i don't think i could live with that."
hastily, her amber eyes raked over to the fabric he still held and the placement of it next to her own hand. so close, tomoyo was certain she could feel the ghosting of hiro's warmth radiating off his skin. as his confession continued on, the brunette turned her head downwards slightly, just a fraction but perhaps still noticeable. as he mentioned being a free spirit and just wanted to be wherever she was, tomoyo's walls crumbled further, her guard so low around her best friend that she couldn't even attempt to try to build a new structure or wedge between them. nothing could have prepared her for the shocking revelation that he had been in love with her the entire time they'd known each other, even recalling the moment they met prior to his openness.
tomoyo could feel the electricity of his gaze to the side of her face, knowing she had to face him again at some point. she wasn't going to just leave hiro hanging even if she desperately tried to hold her composure and not admit to herself nor to hiroharu that the model felt her best, lightest and most free whenever they caught a moment to spend time together. it had been more frequent lately. maybe that was why hiro was creating this narrative suddenly, she told herself and tried to deflect the softness of how he'd sounded just expressing simple things like how he had seen her at some of her worst and not just her best moments.
blowing out a low and slow breath, the brunette finally faced him, eyes connecting to her friend's with ease, despite each vulnerable thread within herself coming unraveled minute by minute. battling her thoughts to create a problem between them, to place a wedge deliberately so maybe he'd forget and move on. yet, as amber eyes peered at hiroharu with a hint of shyness and an overwhelming emotion of worry along with it.
"hiro," her voice cracked while she made a plea towards the man, to not do this without having the ability to say it aloud once more. tomoyo's mouth snapped shut while she simply stared at hiroharu, trying to detect any red flag or sign he was actually kidding or perhaps just like every other person she'd ever met who tried to coax her into a space more shared between them, more involved and more intimate.
shaking her head a fraction, a small breath heaved into her lungs sharply when her mouth finally opened once again. "i... i enjoy being around you, hiro. i feel like you're one of the only people i can truly be comfortable around without having to wear a mask or that you're one of the few i have a genuine connection with these days. you know how the industry is," her eyes flickered to the side momentarily before they fell back on his dark eyes and soft features. "you know i like to gain leverage over people, that i can be manipulative to gain what i want and somehow, you'd still want to be something... more?"
vulnerability traced every inch of her face as it scrunched and twisted for a mere moment as tomoyo tried to recollect herself. if there was one other thing she hated most, it was showing any sign of vulnerability as the brunette always saw such as a weakness -- much like her father taught her. "i'm not the best person, hiro and i know i make bad decisions or can be impulsive or even create chaos when i'm bored. and i -- i would never want to hurt you." her admittance honest, despite the fraying of her small voice, threaded with fear.
"this is so... sudden to me that i don't even know what else to say to you aside from the fact you should know better and steer clear." perhaps she was saying such just to protect her own heart. glancing briefly at his hand once more, she inched her fingers towards his and allowed her palm to rest atop his gently. the touch was just as warm and comforting as tomoyo would have imagined. though, in the back of her mind, tomoyo was fully aware of her budding fondness of his company and there were moments she wondered what it would be like to cross the line with him. fleeting thoughts at first, but they had began to fester and turn into curiosity about what it would feel like to kiss him, what it would feel like if he held her on the nights she couldn't sleep after a terribly long session at a shoot.
the fluttering of her heart broke everything she was trying to cling onto, everything she was trying to do to keep him at bay and at arm's length. "hiro... it's not that i'm scared because of you. i'm terrified because it's you and, if i'm truly willing to be open right now? you're not the only one who has thought about the possibility of us becoming... us." a flourishing of pink dusted her cheeks then while her lower lip trembled softly.
the moment tomoyo's hand moved that slow, almost microscopic inching of her fingers until her palm rested flat against the back of his the frantic, heavy bassline drumming against his ribs suddenly skipped a beat, then smoothed out into something steady. her skin was warm. it was always warmer than people expected, a sharp contrast to the icy, untouchable persona she wore like armor under the flashing lights of the runway.
he didn’t move his hand away. instead, he subtly turned his palm upward, letting his fingers curl just enough to anchor hers, a silent promise that he wasn't going anywhere.
he listened to her defenses crumble, watching the neat, curated lines of her face fracture into an expression of pure, unadulterated vulnerability. it was the face he loved most ⸻ the one devoid of the high-fashion pout, the one that looked human, terrified, and painfully beautiful. when she called herself manipulative, when she brought up the industry and her habit of creating chaos out of boredom, hiro didn't even flinch. he just kept his dark eyes locked onto hers, absorbing every broken syllable, every tremble of her lower lip.
then came the admission. you're not the only one who has thought about the possibility of us becoming... us.
a soft, breathy chuckle escaped him, the sound rich with a mixture of immense relief and the lingering remnants of his own fading anxiety. the slight flush of pink dusting her cheeks was a sight he wanted to bottle up and keep forever a rare, genuine color that no makeup artist could ever truly replicate.
❛ you really think you’re a monster, don't you ? ❜ hiro said softly, his voice a low, soothing murmur that barely carried across the cluttered desk. he didn't say it to mock her, there was only a profound, gentle warmth in his tone. he used his free hand to reach up, his thumb gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair away from her face, letting his knuckles graze the soft skin of her cheekbone. ❛ tomo, i've seen you pull strings to get what you want. i've seen you play the game. but i've also seen you use that exact same leverage to make sure a rookie stylist didn't get fired for a mistake that wasn't hers. i know the edges of your puzzle, okay ? i'm not blind to them. ❜
he stepped into the remaining space between them, his oversized hoodie brushing against the sharp, clean lines of her designer outfit. the contrast was ridiculous, really the laid-back tiktok kid who spent his days editing vlogs in sweatpants, and the high-fashion muse of the moment. but out here, away from the lenses, the math of them made perfect sense.
❛ you’re terrified because it’s me, ❜ he repeated, testing the words on his tongue, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his serious facade. ❛ good. because i am absolutely bricking it over here, too. If this goes south, i don't just lose a girl i'm crazy about. i lose my person. i lose the only human being who actually calls me out when my content gets lazy, and the only one who doesn't look at me like i'm just a walking follower count. ❜
he squeezed her hand, his fingers slotting perfectly between hers, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath her skin. for three years, he had played the role of the chill, unbothered best friend. he had mastered the art of the casual laugh, the easygoing shoulder shrug, and the platonic late-night drives, all while his chest ached with everything he was keeping locked behind his teeth. he had been terrified that speaking up would shatter the fragile, beautiful thing they had built. but hearing her confess that those same fleeting thoughts had been festering in her mind ? it felt like a green light he'd been waiting a lifetime for.
❛ i don’t want to steer clear, tomoyo, ❜ he whispered, his eyes dropping briefly to her lips before rising back to meet her amber gaze, heavy with a sudden, intense seriousness. ❛ i'm a free spirit, yeah, but even the wind has a direction. i've been orbiting you for three years because there's nowhere else i'd rather land. if you fuck things up, we'll fix it. if you create chaos, i'll bring the camera and we'll make it look intentional. we're already a team. we've been a team. ❜
he let go of her hand, but only to slide both of his hands up to cup her face, his palms warm against her jawline. his thumbs wiped away the faint trace of moisture gathering at the corner of her eyes, his touch incredibly gentle, treating her not like a fragile glass doll, but like something immensely precious that he had finally been allowed to hold.
❛ no more warnings. no more exit strategies, ❜ hiro murmured, his face tilting down, closing the final few inches of distance between them until his breath fanned across her lips. ❛ just look at me, tomo. i'm right here. i've always been right here. ❜
oh, how mirae hated the way that heeyeon was always right, that mirae constantly folded to her weaknesses that the other woman played upon. feeling the other idol’s fingers running through her hair wasn’t helping her retain any ounce of fight within herself. mirae could feel her attempt to remain strong against the other idol’s influences cracking beneath herself like a fractured glass pane.
dark amber hues followed heeyeon as the women drew so close, her perfume nearly so intoxicating it left mirae dazed in her wake. it wasn’t until she felt the smooth velvety gliding of the other woman’s tongue across her skin that the blonde gasped in a high and broken register. in one movement, her hands looped around heeyeon’s neck and mirae released a slight whimper once she felt the stinging sensation against her skin. it was burning, yet at the same time so welcomed and she tangled some of her fingers through heeyeon’s hair with a long sigh finally exiting her chest. mirae hadn’t noticed the fact she’d been accidentally holding her breath.
turning her piercing gaze back to the dark haired woman, the one who loved to tease her and break her in all the right ways, the one she hated admitting she missed during their off stages. whatever their situationship was, it never ceased to burn out the sexual tension between the two idols. mirae knew if it ever got out, the korean press would have a field day with it and it was risking both her career and heeyeon’s. however, the thrill of everything was far more alluring when a woman of heeyeon’s beauty was seeking her out at moments mirae could have definitely used the distraction.
it was as if her body hummed beneath heeyeon’s touch, one of the blonde’s hands anchoring themselves upon the back and base of heeyeon’s neck. with each trace higher up the front of her stomach and to her ribs, mirae tried not to allow the delicious warmth spreading through her veins like a poison allow her to become too weak.
“who said i was watching the clock?” her voice nothing but a murmur, strong in undertone and velvet smooth, “when you’re the one keeping track of a ten minute session like we’re still on a schedule…” she trailed off, honey orbs flickering back and forth with heeyeon’s dark eyes.
once the space was dissolved, mirae felt her thighs tense in anticipation, the heated nip to her jawline wasn’t helpful in the slightest either while her eyes fluttered shut. pressing her body up against heeyeon’s, mirae’s fingers reached her shoulders and hooked beneath the straps of her dress. gingerly, her hands caressed heeyeon’s skin beneath her palms and fingertips.
tilting her head to the side slightly, mirae was drawn into the close proximity of heeyeon’s face by the heated breaths of the other hitting her skin the closer she got. once finding her lips, the blonde’s hands moved from the dress straps and captured the other idol’s face between both her palms on heeyeon’s cheeks. pressing her lips firmly into theirs, mirae felt as if she were instantly becoming putty in heeyeon’s hands, moldable to the other woman’s likings.
dipping the tip of her tongue behind heeyeon’s upper lip during a soft movement of their lips combined, mirae didn’t hesitate to deepen the gesture. once the blonde retracted her now plump lips from heeyeon’s heated ones, mirae wasted no time in kissing the length of one of her shoulders and then down towards heeyeon’s collarbone. dragging the straps of her dress further down, it gently sank in the front just enough for mirae’s tongue to dart over the skin just above her breasts.
letting her hands and palms roam heeyeon’s back and sides, mirae showered her skin with heated and wet kisses; sliding the top of her tongue across heeyeon’s skin at times. being so near also allowed her perfume aroma to entirely captivate mirae’s attention and senses. rubbing at heeyeon’s hips through her dress material, mirae pressed more pressure into her touch than usual as she continued her work with her lips above. not once did she stop from each heated press of her lips despite her hands finding heeyeon’s beneath her shirt.
it was as if her entire bold girl and strong exterior melted under heeyeon’s heat and challenges, almost as if the blonde herself couldn’t keep herself together or contained around the attractive woman beneath her touch and lips currently. finally, mirae’s lips began to trail along the swell of her breasts as she guided heeyeon’s hands around to the back of her lace bra and the clasp. humming against her skin, the maknae of her unit felt torn between wanting to make things quick so she could go back to resuming her idol duties. or, mirae felt she could spend the entire hour alone just feeling heeyeon’s skin beneath her every touch.
breaking her lips away briefly, her breathing had picked up in pace slightly. “i don’t want ten minutes, heeyeon,” she stated boldly and clearly, despite the bright flush of her usually pale and soft cheeks. “i want the whole hour,” it was almost a demand before one arm snaked around heeyeon’s back and neck and mirae pressed her body as tightly to the other idol’s as she could, lifting herself up slightly on her knees so she could peer down into heeyeon’s mischievous eyes. something about the glint behind them was thrilling and everything about her was desirable. how was mirae to say no?
sealing the gap of their faces, her hands kept her centered and grounded before mirae desperately pulled heeyeon into another kiss. this time, more intensity sat behind her motions, behind her roaming hands along heeyeon’s shoulders and near the front of her neck. a small moan slipped into the other woman’s mouth when mirae craved even more than just a simple lip lock. her body felt feverish just from the close proximity and the kissing alone. heeyeon was the only woman to ever have such power over how deprived mirae felt whenever her life was sex free — especially when they were on an ‘off stage’ period. teasing heeyeon’s lower lip with her tongue, mirae rolled her body into the other woman’s sensually.
running a hand up the base of heeyeon’s neck, slender digits claimed the roots of her hair with a gentle tug given as she intentionally broke the kiss. keeping her lips within centimeters of the other’s and their face, mirae’s half lidded eyes were filled with lust behind them; intense beaming gaze given with a fierce passion behind it.
“you need to work by using your hands more often,” the blonde stated firmly, as if she were the one sewing all the rules. “and you know how much it drives me crazy…” mirae was leaning over heeyeon and slowly pushing her back slightly, blonde curls falling before her shoulders neatly. “when you let me take charge for a little while, until i can’t handle it.” mirae’s reminder sharp, though she could feel arousal already claiming her insides, thighs tensing around heeyeon instinctively. “so, are you going to undress me with the intention of only ten minutes, heeyeon?” using a manicured index finger, mirae stroked one of her cheeks and then the side of her jaw. “or, are you going to let us take our time and actually enjoy the full hour?” smirking wildly then, mirae knew if she challenged heeyeon, the woman would most likely cave easier.
“or…, am i just too much to handle for an hour, hmm?” then her index finger was under heeyeon’s chin, lifting it a fraction so their gazes remained locked. “or, maybe you can’t contain yourself that long enough to let us actually stretch it out to a full hour?” another challenge instantly given right after the first. “tell me, heeyeon, what do you want to do?”
the challenge hung in the cramped, humid air of the car, a physical thing that heeyeon could practically taste. a slow, delighted shiver rippled down her spine as mirae flipped the script. oh, she loved it when the blonde tried to claw their way back to the top of the narrative. it was the ultimate payoff watching the poised, untouchable maknae fracture under the weight of their own desire until they were barking orders and throwing down gauntlets with a flushed face and wild, honey-colored eyes.
heeyeon let out a low, breathy laugh against mirae’s jaw, a sound that was pure, unadulterated satisfaction. she didn't flinch when mirae’s fingers tugged at the roots of her hair, nor did she resist the gentle, backward pressure pushing her further into the plush leather seat. instead, she melted into it, letting her head sink back, her gaze never unlocking from mirae’s half-lidded, lust-blown eyes. the contrast between them right now was intoxicating : mirae looming over her, fierce and demanding, while heeyeon lay beneath her like a cat that had just been offered a bowl of cream.
❛ an entire hour ? ❜ heeyeon murmured, her voice a decadent, gravelly purr that vibrated in the inches between their lips. ❛ my, my, mirae-yah. look who suddenly found her appetite. ❜
she let her eyes trail deliberately down the line of mirae's throat, noting the way the blonde's pulse hammered frantically against the pale skin a dead giveaway that despite the sharp, commanding tone, mirae was already balanced on a knife's edge. when mirae's index finger hooked under her chin, tilting her face upward, heeyeon's smirk only deepened, her eyes crinkling at the corners with a wicked, predatory fondness.
❛ too much to handle ? ❜ heeyeon repeated, feigning a gasp of offense that melted instantly back into a tease. ❛ please. you say that like i haven't spent the last three years keeping up with you on stage and off. if anyone is going to burn out before the clock strikes twelve, it isn't going to be me. ❜
with a sudden, deliberate shift in weight, heeyeon brought her hands up. she didn't use them to push mirae away ; instead, she complied with the demand in the most agonizing way possible. her palms slid slowly up the sides of mirae’s ribcage, her manicured nails dragging lightly over the cotton of the tee, sending a deliberate shudder through the blonde's frame. she reached the clasp of the lace bra mirae had so helpfully guided her toward, her fingers working with a practiced, effortless dexterity that spoke of a woman who knew exactly how to dismantle a defense. with a subtle, deft flick, the tension of the strap gave way.
but heeyeon didn't pull the clothing off. not yet. she was a tease to her very core, a flirt to a fault, and she wasn't about to let mirae dictate the entire rhythm of the night without paying a tax for it.
❛ you want the whole hour, you get the whole hour, ❜ heeyeon whispered, her breath hot against mirae's ear as they leaned up, her lips brushing the sensitive lobe. ❛ but don't think for a second that letting you 'take charge' means i'm relinquishing control. if i'm going to use my hands, mirae-yah, i'm going to use them exactly the way you like. and we both know you won't last twenty minutes if i do. ❜
just to prove her point, heeyeon’s hands traveled downward again, slipping beneath the waistband of mirae's clothing. her palms were burning hot against the smooth, sensitive skin of mirae's hips, her thumbs digging in just enough to anchor the blonde against her, minimizing the agonizing space between them. she rolled her hips upward slightly, a deliberate, agonizingly slow friction of denim against dress fabric that made the center console between them feel like a minor inconvenience rather than a barrier.
heeyeon watched the way mirae's breath hitched, the way the blonde's arrogant expression faltered for a fraction of a second into pure, raw reaction. it was beautiful. it was the only press release heeyeon ever cared about reading.
❛ look at you, ❜ heeyeon teased softly, her fingers tracing a maddening, feather-light circle on the soft skin of mirae's waist before tightening possessively. ❛ already trembling, and we're only five minutes into your precious hour. are you sure you can handle the remaining fifty-five ? ❜
she didn't wait for an answer. reaching up, heeyeon cupped the back of mirae's head, her fingers tangling in those silken blonde curls, and pulled them down into a kiss that completely erased the lingering remnants of their argument. it wasn't just intense ; it was a deliberate, calculated siege. heeyeon used her tongue to map the interior of mirae's mouth, nipping at their lower lip, soothing the sting with a wet stroke, and pulling a ragged, broken sound right out of their throat.
when she finally broke the kiss, just a fraction of an inch, both of them were panting, the interior windows of the expensive car beginning to fog from the sheer, trapped heat of their bodies. heeyeon’s eyes were dark, glittering with a dangerous, playful challenge of her own.
❛ i want the whole hour too, ❜ heeyeon breathed, her thumbs stroking the sharp planes of mirae's hip bones beneath their clothes. ❛ so stop talking, use those pretty lips for something else, and let's see just how quiet i can make the proud, unbreakable maknae before our time is up. ❜
Ivan was rendered mum when every single word, notions that had left Kaega were nothing but the truth. He was reminded of the truth of single waking time and how he wished someone would slash his throat each time his skin burns at the sore reminder but alas, everyone would like keep Ivan for their own benefits - Living simply meant breathing aimlessly at this point, the dream for liberation was dead when Kaegan had felt into the gorge and he is the solely one to blame for it.
Yes, even after all that, Ivan still found Kaegan beautiful even he has nothing but hatred for Ivan and Ivan has no power to change that so what he could was to turn his head away in shame as insults were hurled his way. When Kaegan's shadow loomed over his, he could not help but to take in the sight once more despite his heart thumping boisterously within his chest wall and holding back his jaw to go slack from fear. It was as if not just fear and regret began to consume him as a whole but when tuft of his hair felt the traction, his eyes glistened with promise of tears and he let out a shuddering breath, "If that what makes you happy, Kaegan"
Indeed Kaegan was a saint - because people would have ran away from the hate his sown within his perimeter and yet each time, Kaegan was patient in dismantling said hatred yet Ivan was a fool, was an indecisive bastard over his feelings for the man. His body shivered without fail when he felt the damning role he is about to play. A witness to his father's ruin? Ivan would gladly comply to that because that will give him ample to watch the thing he brought to life turn into ashes and maybe plot his own departure with his own hands once it is all done and dusted. He could not bear to look at the monster he created, let out being left with his own mistake when the world crumbles.
If it had come down to that, he should have drink that poison that his maid brought him once when she believed that dying would atone his sin for killing Kaegan but he did not. He believed in way or another, Kaegan would… be there for him but to see he had brought alive a monster, he wonder what would it come down to? For Kaegan to know he is dead by his own ministration? That attempt and wishful thinking no longer serves any purpose when he has to pay for his sins.
Ivan is equally as twisted. How could he relish in the fact that he rejoice once being called Kaegan's heart despite knowing it might not mean anything for the latter? Sure, their oath wasn't dismantled but there is only hatred fueling it and how he wish Kaegan would turn him into dust just like that mahogany desk that housed his tears and undelivered letter for supposedly dead Kaegan but he would never get the satisfaction. It's the divine punishment while he is still alive because Kaegan is alive despite his frame says the otherwise.
Lithe frame trailing behind the man with a reasonable distance and how he reminisced the good days. The good days where Ivan believed Kaegan was as insufferable as he made out him to be, walking side by side when they had to attend royal functions that often bore the General's son but they were made bearable with Kaegan by his side but now - he made those memories colder than the snow they were promised to each other. Trying to take the morsel of it despite their distance, Ivan tried to keep up even if is a second later than Kaegan's side. "Am I allowed to ask questions? If I am not a puppet, at least I should have knowledge, right? Where to, Kaegan?"
"Did you do all of this?" He knew that his mansion would be free of speck dust despite him holing up in his own lightless sanctuary but Ivan's sight had always been sharp despite demoting his rank within the army. He is the best archer for a reason. The dusts… insurmountable amount of it… and hallways becoming eerily quiet. "You did not have to end their lives, Kaegan if your goal was to get to me. They are innocent. They have nothing to do of that day" Then it dawned to him. Kaegan wish to isolate him from the rest of the world. "Could have taken me away without killing anyone. I would have complied"
the silence of the manor didn't just echo, it decayed. every step kaegan took left a faint, charcoal smudge upon the pristine marble, a physical manifestation of the abyss he had dragged back with him into the mortal realm. he didn't look back to ensure ivan was following. he didn't need to. the pull of their severed, re-stitched bond was a physical weight, an invisible chain that dragged the general’s son forward just as surely as iron links.
when ivan's voice finally broke through the oppressive quiet sharp, perceptive, and still laced with that infuriatingly resilient morality, kaegan stopped. he didn't turn around immediately. instead, he let the silence stretch, savoring the way ivan's breathing hitched in the space between them.
when he finally pivoted, the movement was terrifyingly fluid, his heavy ink-like cloak sweeping over the dust-covered floor. he tilted his head, the jagged silhouette of his horns cutting through the dim moonlight filtering through the high windows. those amber eyes, burning with the quiet intensity of a dying star, fixed upon ivan's pale, sharp features.
❛ knowledge, ❜ kaegan mused, the word vibrating through the cold air like a low chord on a ruined cello. a ghostly, humorless smile touched his lips, though it lacked any of the warmth that used to make his eyes crinkle in the gardens of valelyeon. ❛ you speak of knowledge as if you are still a student preparing for a campaign, ivan. always looking for the strategy. always looking for the perimeter. ❜
he closed the distance between them without a sound, a predator reclaiming its territory. he stopped just inches away, the unnatural heat radiating from his chest enough to bake the moisture from ivan's tear-stained cheeks.
❛ where to ? we are going to the capital, ❜ kaegan whispered, leaning down so his breath, smelling of ozone and ancient incense, brushed against ivan's forehead. ❛ we are going to watch your father receive the news that his perfect, gilded world has begun to fray at the edges. you wanted to know your purpose ? you are the ledger, my heart. you will keep the score. ❜
then came the accusation. the sharp, archer’s eyes had noticed the lack of servants, the eerie, suffocating stillness of the estate. you did not have to end their lives.
a low, grinding thrum of laughter rumbled in kaegan’s chest a sound stripped entirely of its humanity, resembling the slow, agonizing crack of a glacier. he reached out, his thumb, tipped with a claw that could slice through plate armor, tracing the curve of ivan's jaw with a terrifying lightness. he felt the tremor in ivan's skin, the frantic beat of his pulse.
❛ innocent ? ❜ kaegan murmured, his voice dropping to a gravelly, intimate register that seemed to bypass ivan's ears and strike directly at his marrow. ❛ no one in this house is innocent, ivan. they fed on the scraps of your father's tyranny. they looked away when you threw my devotions into the dirt, and they looked away when you pushed me into the dark. they are complicit by omission. ❜
he shifted his grip, his fingers tangling roughly in ivan's hair, forcing their head back so their eyes remained locked. there was no gentleness left in the touch, only a total, suffocating possession.
❛ and do not flatter yourself by thinking this isolation is a grand romantic gesture, ❜ kaegan hissed, his amber eyes flaring like a furnace. ❛ i did not kill them to isolate you. i killed them because they were in my way, and because their deaths are a down payment on the debt your bloodline owes mine. you say you would have complied ? you say you would have come willingly ? ❜
he leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing ivan's cold ear.
❛ you did not come willingly when i offered you rare hothouse flowers. you did not come willingly when i offered you a life away from your father's shadow, taking your insults with a bow and a gentle smile. you only comply now because the knife is at your throat and the world is on fire. do not mistake your submission for virtue. ❜
he let go of ivan's hair, not out of kindness, but because he was finished with the contact for now. he stepped back, turning his gaze toward the grand double doors of the estate, which now stood slightly ajar, revealing the oppressive, starless night outside.
❛ the maid with the poison, ❜ kaegan added carelessly, not looking back as he began to walk toward the exit, his shadow stretching out before him like a living thing. ❛ you should have taken it. it would have been a cleaner death than the one i have written for you. but you stayed. you waited for a ghost, and now you have him. ❜
he paused at the threshold, the wind howling through the open doors, catching his cloak and making it billow like a cloud of ink.
❛ keep up, ivan, ❜ kaegan commanded, his voice carrying the finality of a divine sentence. ❛ the snow we were promised has turned to ash, and i am impatient to see how well you burn. ❜
this is all he had ever wanted from the other. his physical touch beyond that of a correction or critique. the tilt of his head or the rotation of his hips. his eyes roll into the back of his head imagining that this is their life. he would do anything for vernon to be his like this. he would hurt anyone, he would be anything. it's sick, the thoughts in his head what he would do to keep him. and he doesn't want this to end so he digs his dark eyes fly open as he reaches both hands up to dig into vernon's hair. he wants him to hurt to feel the sting of link's grasp when he's gone. when he leaves link here.
"i see you. i always see you." link grits out through his teeth. but the tension leaves him the moment vernon fucks into him so hard he can feel it in his teeth. he doesn't hide the moans the others punching right out of his chest. link is shameless in his want and can't even be embarrassed about the constant, "uh, uh, uhs" coming out from between red bitten lips. he doesn't want this to be the only time he needs vernon to know that nothing has ever felt better than this.
link is here even in he's staring through a half lidded, blown out gaze. his eyes entirely black as he stares at vernon's face. with every drive of the others body into his own he knows it's all been worth it. all the aching and all the wanting. this emptiness that link had tried to fill with men just like this but nothing had ever compared to the press of vernon inside of him. he thinks this is what people entranced by god must feel like. devoting your entire life to something you're unsure of. link wants to die in vernon's gaze. would he let him?
"gunna keep doing it too. i ain't letting anyone else have you like this." link babbles. shameless. even if it doesn't come true it can be true in this moment. there's no room to even breathe between them. "it's mine." link groans out, "say it." he bites out. vernon's foreheads presses right into his skin and link wants to turn his head and lick across his mouth.
"i want you." link can hardly form a thought as vernon's body drives into his own. "want all of it. all of you." their mouths meet again and link bites into his mouth. tongue sliding across all his teeth. it's sloppy and he can't seem to reign himself in as he fights against the hand on his wrists. he wants to dig his nails into the others skin. mark him entirely so no one can ever look at vernon again without seeing link.
it's startling when vernon presses so deep inside of him he swears he can taste it in his throat. the broken sound that escapes him would be embarrassing if he wasn't so entirely entranced by the other man. his insides coil hot vernon's hands slip from his wrists as the other man presses right onto him. link tries to focus on his breathing as he keeps their bodies tangled together. squeezes the other mans sides with his trembling thighs. "say it vernon." he does not know what he means as he pants it with his mouth pressed right against his hair. body shaking.
the dead weight of the silence that followed the storm was heavier than the act itself.
vernon lay there, a massive, unmoving anchor pinning link into the creaking mattress, his chest heaving against the boy’s damp collarbones. the air in the dingy room was thick, tasting of stale whiskey, sweat, and the unmistakable, metallic tang of an absolute, unhinged undoing. for a long, agonizing minute, the only sound was the jagged rasp of vernon’s lungs trying to find their rhythm again. the tight, professional scaffolding he had spent a decade building hadn’t just cracked ; it had been utterly vaporized.
then, link’s trembling thighs tightened around his flanks, and those frantic, breathless words started scraping against vernon’s ear. say it. say it, vernon.
vernon didn't move. he couldn't. his forehead remained buried in the crook of link’s neck, the younger man’s pulse beating a erratic, desperate rhythm against his brow. the sheer, shameless gravity of link’s submission, the terrifying admission that he would ruin himself, hurt people, destroy anything just to keep this sent a cold, grounding shiver straight down vernon’s spine. it was exactly what he had feared. it was the very reason he had kept his distance behind the monitor, hiding behind a director’s unyielding authority while his chest burned with a silent, starving envy.
slowly, heavily, vernon pushed himself up. he didn't pull out. the blunt, thick fullness of his shaft remained buried deep within link’s hot, twitching hole, a visceral weld holding them together in the dark. he propped his massive forearms on either side of link’s head, his large hands framing the boy’s face, fingers tangling roughly into the hair link had just been clawing at.
he looked down. link’s eyes were completely blown out, two dark, bottomless pits staring up at him through a half-lidded, exhausted glaze. the sight of it ⸻ the raw, unpolished wreckage of a boy he had spent years treating like an untouchable piece of art tightened something vicious in vernon's throat.
❛ you're a lunatic, ❜ vernon rasped, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that carried no anger, only a profound, exhausted weight. he leaned down until his lips were barely a fraction of an inch from link’s swollen, bitten mouth, his breath hot and demanding. ❛ you want me to say it ? you want the words that are going to finish burning down whatever is left of us ? ❜
he shifted his hips, just an inch, a slow, deliberate grind that elicited a sharp, choked gasp from deep within link’s chest. the tight, interior muscles of the boy’s body clutched at him instantly, hot and desperate, proving that even spent, link was entirely at his mercy.
❛ it's yours, ❜ vernon growled, the confession tearing out of him like a jagged piece of glass. he closed his eyes for a second, the raw truth of it making his chest ache with a decades-worth of accumulated rot. ❛ every fucking bit of it. it's been yours since the first day i saw you at that bar and looked at me like you knew exactly how weak i was. ❜
he opened his eyes again, his gaze locking onto link’s with a fierce, territorial intensity that brooked no argument. there was no producer here. no cameras. just the brutal, unvarnished reality of a man who had finally stopped running from his own hunger.
❛ you think those other men had a single piece of you ? ❜ vernon asked, his hands sliding down to grip link’s jaw, his thumbs pressing firmly into the soft skin beneath his ears, forcing the boy to feel the absolute weight of his presence. ❛ they had a script. they had a camera angle. i'm the one who had to sit in the dark and edit the ghost of your touch off my own skin every night. i ain't letting anyone else have you like this either, link. you hear me ? if we’re going to burn, you’re staying right here in the ashes with me. ❜
to prove it, vernon drew back slowly, the agonizing friction of his slick, swollen length sliding against link's tight walls causing the boy’s back to arch off the mattress in a silent plea. vernon didn't let them breathe. he drove back in, not with the frantic, blinding speed of his climax, but with a heavy, possessive stroke that sank all the way to the root, stretching link open, claiming every wet, velvety inch of them all over again.
link let out a broken, high-pitched moan, their head rolling back into the pillow as their fingers dug into the muscle of vernon’s shoulders, their nails leaving red, angry crescent marks. vernon welcomed the pain. he needed the sting of it to know this wasn't another whiskey-soaked delusion in an empty editing bay.
❛ look at me, ❜ vernon commanded, his pace picking up into a steady, unyielding rhythm, the heavy thud-thud-thud of the mattress against the wall resuming in the dark. he leaned down, catching link’s sloppy, desperate mouth in another deep, territorial kiss, his tongue sliding past the boy’s teeth, tasting the copper tang of their bitten lip. ❛ don't you dare close your eyes. you wanted all of me ? you're taking every fucking drop. ❜
🐻
Michael was nothing if not a doting, loving father. The time he'd had with Teddy in the house was truly some of the best years of his life. When he left, things felt empty. Quiet. At least, at first. As the days rolled on like tumbleweeds down a dirt road, Michael began to revel in the quiet, in the ability to take charge of the day and do whatever he wanted to for what felt like the first time since before he had Teddy. For the first time in decades, his life was his own to live.
First order of business had been rekindling a lost pastime of youth, in a way he could rationalize being a calming activity, which was skinny-dipping. It had been a staple of his youths with his friends, every summer. But, as an adult, things like that quickly were put on the back-burner. Your responsibilities didn't care if you wanted to feel the cool temperature of the water on your bare form. There were things to be done.
What started out as a frivolous indulgence had become habit and practice. Every afternoon, Michael stripped down in the privacy of his own backyard, tapping slow and deliberate steps from the shallow end until he was fully submerged. It was his favorite part of the day. It had become so routine as soon as he got out of work. It had become the thing to look forward to.
One afternoon, post swim, a knock dragged him from his serenity. Scrunching his face up, the man wrapped a towel hastily around his waist and made his way to the door, swinging it open. When greeted with his neighbor, his expression did soften, but only slightly. "Sugar?" The request was so archaic, like something from a bygone era. It was harmless, though, so Michael made a move to turn before being stopped by the press of the younger man's body against his.
"Then, why - ?" And suddenly their bodies are flushed together. The intention was clear as day in his body language, in his gaze. Michael open his mouth to protest his neighbor's confession. The man turned a bright scarlet, quickly shutting the door behind him, less someone over hear them. "You watch me?" Michael was all questions, desperate for understanding. His words weren't angry, surprisingly. The idea of being watched, stupidly, hadn't occurred to him. But, the younger man had clearly been...aroused by his daily swim. The notion thrummed his cock to life beneath the thin fabric of his towel.
"You make it a habit of spying on your neighbors while they're naked? Huh?" Michael asked, bringing his face inches away from his neighbor's. "You're a sick fuck, you know that?" His words were hot on the younger man's face, the tiniest of grins forming on his lips. As his eyes traced the route the other man's hand was taking on his arm, the grin only grew. "You like what you saw so badly? Show me." Michael commanded, tugging off the towel in one, quick swoop. His manhood swung beneath him heavily, desperate for attention already.
the label sick fuck doesn’t sting the way it probably should. coming from michael, delivered in that low, gravelly rasp with the heat of their breath washing over his face, it sounds less like an insult and more like an invitation. a heavy, dark thrill coils tight in his gut, his pulse spiking so hard he can hear it rushing in his ears. he doesn't flinch away from their proximity. if anything, the sudden, wicked curve of their lips makes him lean in closer, entirely intoxicated by the sheer, unadulterated reality of them. for months, they've been a silent, perfect fantasy framed by his window screen. up close, they are a force of nature, smelling of chlorine, sun-baked skin, and a deep, masculine musk that completely scrambles his ability to think straight.
when their hand moves and the towel hits the floor with a soft, heavy rustle, his breath hitches, catching painfully in his throat. his eyes drop instantly, dragged down by a gravity he couldn't fight even if he wanted to.
they are magnificent.
the image from his second-story window hadn’t even come close to capturing the raw, heavy weight of them, the way their cock hangs thick and dark against the pale skin of their thighs, already hardening and desperate for the touch he's been dying to give them. the sight of them completely bare in their own entryway, utterly unashamed and challenging him to match their boldness, makes his head spin. his mouth goes completely dry, a desperate, demanding hunger replacing the nervous adrenaline that brought him to their porch.
❛ yeah, ❜ he breathes out, the word barely a whisper, a ragged confession torn straight from his chest. he forces his eyes back up, locking them onto theirs, letting them see the absolute lack of shame in his expression. ❛ i'm a sick fuck, michael. i've spent ninety days starving for this. you have no idea what it's like watching you every single afternoon, knowing exactly how good you look, how heavy you are, and not being able to touch. ❜
he doesn't wait another second. the time for talking, for pretense, for lingering doubts is entirely over.
he takes the final half-step that closes the distance, dropping his weight down onto his knees right there on the hard floor of their entryway. the transition is fluid, driven by a primal need to finally possess the secret he's been hoarding from afar. he doesn't care how desperate it looks. his hands are trembling slightly as he reaches out, his palms sliding up the thick, damp muscles of their thighs, feeling the coarse hair beneath his fingers, the intense radiating warmth of their skin. he grips the backs of their legs, anchoring himself to them, pulling himself flush against their lower body until the heat of their arousal is brushing right against his cheek.
looking up at them from this angle, the sheer size of them is dizzying. he let his tongue dart out, tasting the faint, salty tang of chlorinated pool water and clean sweat on the smooth skin of their hip, just above the crease of their thigh, a silent promise of what’s about to happen.
❛ i'm going to show you exactly how much i liked it, ❜ he murmurs against their skin, his voice thick and dark with a promise he fully intends to keep. he parts his lips, letting his hot breath wash over their length before he leans forward, wrapping his hand around the heavy base of them to steady them, and slide his mouth over the swollen, leaking tip, determined to take every single inch of the man he's been craving for months.
the sprint to the kitchen had been so quick and so silent, it was is they really were planning on robbing the castle of its eatery goods. coming upon the heavy oak doors, hayun stood on her toes and reached for the top of one hinge, undoing the screw lightly, just enough for it to give without noise. she did the same with the screw on the bottom and blew out a small breath when she pushed open the silent doors in success.
the redhead didn’t let them flap around to shut. she hastily grabbed each one while releasing her hold on kristine for a moment as her lips pressed thinly together. hayun was working with as much precision as possible to avoid the harsh punishment if they were spotted. reaching for her love’s hand once more, hayun threaded her fingers through kristine’s.
each step within the kitchen made, hayun’s feet treaded safely and silently. snickering lightly at kristine’s response about her father, the redheaded servant glanced over her shoulder. “i think mine would be quite fond of my determination in finding the good bread for all my hard work,” she joked, pouting her lips briefly.
ducking under some of the cabinets to avoid some light spilling in from the next area, hayun’s eyes flitted back to kristine’s golden hues. “i better be fortunate enough to find some them, right?” her mirrored enjoyment and expression unwavering towards the other woman. looking by a brief passage and narrow exit to the next section where the chilled items were kept, hayun kneeled by the counter corner still. there was one guard left between them and that hopefully saved delicious dessert — whatever it may be. bringing her index finger to kristine’s lip, she twisted it as if a key were there and held her breath.
glancing beyond the counter’s edge, she saw the glimpse of flashing armor light upon the darkened floors and heard the heavy shifting boots of the guard, immediately pulling back and out of range. turning to face kristine, her hand clung to the prior noblewoman’s and carefully, she took two small tiny steps back from the corner. luckily, the shadows beyond that corner encompassed the pair and shielded them from the guard’s sight. hayun pleaded in silence, please don’t stick around. please, please go chat someone else up.
the metal chain link and armor still was too close for comfort. her eyes mingled around on the floor nearest the location they sat crouched at. skimming rapidly, she noted a glimmer under the cabinets adjacent to their location. getting on her knees, hayun released her hand from kristine’s finally and crawled towards the other cabinets in question. picking up the silver coin, a triumphant grin consumed her lips.
scurrying back in silence next to kristine, she popped her head briefly above the countertops just to see the guard’s back facing the opposite direction. the sheen and gleaming coin against the moonlight spilling in the far cracks of windows caused the coin to glimmer, a sight to behold for someone as poor as she had always been. however, this was a means for survival and fill, not to gather coin. lifting just her eyes above the counter top for a view, she put that coin between her fingers and flicked it as far as she could down the corridor he was facing. it clattered multiple times as if it were a rock skipped off a pond surface.
“hmm?” the guard caught the light rattling coin and began to stalk towards where the noise flew from. exiting the kitchen area completely, he stalled at the exit and began barking at someone to reveal themselves.
hayun took this opportunity, clutching onto kristine’s forearm, she darted across the narrow space and hastily worked the hinges of the other double doors that kept them from luxuries that all should have been equal to. pressing the doors open with her hands firmly on the oak, hayun let them swing shut silently.
“the cold items are just this way.” she whispered, excitement now racing up her spine at the fact that they had made it that far without being spotted. coming upon the bread baskets, hayun grabbed whatever she touched first and handed it to kristine behind herself: a small sandwich roll to snack on for now.
coming upon the storage for the colder items, hayun’s eyes sparkled with mischief and delight. her fingers unlinked from the woman of her affections and while she bit down on her lip, a vast bright smile occupied her eyes and face. “care to do the honors and open this storage box, my dear kristine?” she almost cooed in her quiet tone, eyes misty and filled with adoration. “it was you who wanted the dessert the most. so, i brought you straight to it first.”
tilting her head marginally, she took her cap off her head and sat it on her lap while she took to her knees. threading more loose strands of her hair behind her ears, hayun’s eyes eagerly awaited kristine to open the treasured box hayun had snooped through multiple times within the last two months. “if there’s not even one pudding cup left, you can feel free to punish me in any way you see fit.” though, her words were that of a flirtatious manner underneath them. “but i do hope for pudding.” she finally added after a breath of stilled air, a relaxed sigh since they got to their destination unseen and unharmed -- most importantly, still together.
a low, breathless sound escaped the back of kristine’s throat halfway between a gasp of adrenaline and a deeply fond, desperate laugh. the frantic flutter in her chest hadn't quieted ; if anything, watching hayun navigate the arthel manor’s perilous, cavernous underbelly had only made it beat faster. it was a dizzying sort of dance. for years, she had survived by locking her heart in a vault, pretending the coldness of her existence as a disgraced, exiled noble was a shield. but tonight, the shield was gone, replaced by the terrifying, exhilarating heat of the redheaded girl beside her.
as hayun crawled across the cold floor to fetch the stray silver coin, kristine’s fingers had felt suddenly, agonizingly empty. she had watched, a fierce, protective instinct flaring behind her golden eyes, ready to throw herself into the guard’s line of sight if the girl made a single wrong move. a lionheart didn't hide, her father’s ghost had whispered. but a lionheart survives, she had whispered back into the dark.
the clever distraction of the flicked coin, the guard’s heavy boots moving away, and the sudden, breathless dash across the corridor had left her mind reeling. when hayun shoved a small, crusty sandwich roll into her hands, kristine didn't even look at it. she simply tucked it against her apron, her eyes entirely fixed on the way the moonlight caught the vibrant, messy strands of hayun’s hair as they slipped into the deep freeze of the cold storage.
now, standing in the frosty sanctuary of the pantry, the air was crisp, biting at her cheeks and turning their hurried breaths into small, ghostly clouds.
when hayun dropped to their knees, removing their cap and looking up with those misty, adoring eyes, kristine felt a phantom ache in her chest. it was a beautiful, terrible thing, how much power this servant girl held over a daughter of elvenea’s once-greatest house. the flirtatious lilt in hayun's whispered vow punish me in any way you see fit sent a distinct, hot shiver straight down kristine's spine, entirely unrelated to the freezing air around them.
❛ you play a dangerous game, my clever fox, ❜ kristine murmured, her voice dropping to that low, melodic rasp.
stepping forward, the fabric of her coarse, heavy uniform skirts rustled softly against the stone. she didn't immediately reach for the heavy latch of the wooden storage box. instead, kristine knelt down right in front of hayun, her knees pressing into the hard floor, invading the girl's space until they were breathing the same chilled air.
slowly, deliberately, kristine reached out. her fingers, calloused now from months of hauling heavy laundry and scrubbing the arthels' stubborn stains, gently caught a loose, fiery strand of hayun’s hair. she tucked it behind the girl's ear, her thumb lingering on the soft skin of their jawline, mirroring the touch from their sanctuary just minutes before.
❛ if there is no pudding, hayun, ❜ kristine whispered, her golden eyes flashing with a wicked, teasing light that belonged entirely to the woman she used to be, mixed with the raw hunger of the woman she was now, ❛ i assure you, the punishment will be severe. i might just have to keep you locked in here with me until morning, consequences be damned. ❜
her gaze dropped to hayun’s lips for a fraction of a second before she reluctantly pulled her hand away. with a soft exhale, kristine turned her attention to the prized storage chest.
she gripped the cold iron latch. for a woman who used to command servants to fetch delicacies from across the seas, the simple act of lifting a wooden lid felt monumental. it was an act of pure, unadulterated rebellion. she lifted the latch with a sharp, metallic clink that sounded like a breaking chain in the quiet room, swinging the heavy lid upward.
the frosty draft that rolled out smelled faintly of cream, preserved plums, and spun sugar.
kristine leaned over the lip of the chest, her eyes scanning the neatly arranged trays meant for the arthel masters' breakfast banquet. and there, tucked away in the far corner behind a bowl of imported figs, sat three small, glazed ceramic cups covered in pinched parchment.
pudding.
a triumphant, breathless laugh bubbled up from kristine's throat. she reached in, her slender fingers carefully lifting two of the cups out of their icy nest, cradling them as if they were the crown jewels of elvenea.
❛ it seems the gods favor thieves tonight, ❜ kristine said, turning back to hayun. she held up the cups like a trophy, her face illuminated by a brilliant, genuine smile that she hadn't worn since the day her family crest was dragged through the mud. the heavy weight of her scattered siblings, her stolen birthright, and the back-breaking labor of her days seemed to evaporate, leaving only the reality of the dark kitchen and the girl before her.
she set the cups down on the floor between them. then, without a single thought for the guards outside, the masters upstairs, or the ruin that would follow if they were caught, kristine leaned forward.
she caught hayun’s face in both of her hands, her palms warm against the girl's chilled cheeks, and pulled them into a deep, bruisingly sweet kiss. it was a reckless, breathless declaration ⸻ a sealing of the promise she had made in the hallway. a lionheart keeps her word, she thought against hayun’s lips.
when she finally broke away, just an inch or two, her thumbs stroked hayun’s cheekbones, her breath hitching.
❛ a promise is a promise, ❜ kristine whispered against her lips, her voice thick with an emotion she was no longer brave enough to hide. ❛ now... let us eat our stolen empire. ❜
so i remade my single muse blog so please love him @sqcrificed
dash is super dead right now so who wants a starter or even send in a meme or even respond to some of my opens instead ?