wip 7 plz 👀 (idk if u still want these, feel free to ignore 👍💕)
ahh moo sorry i took so long to reply to this! i got busy after receiving this so i saved it to reply to when i have a little time to write :3 and i finally do yay
ask me any number from my wip masterlist (here) and i'll write around 200 words for the corresponding wip!
what i am is yours - royalty AU; tbbs bonus story (i. ii.)
shirabu kenjirou × f!reader
wip masterlist
He hadn’t always called you by your name.
It had always been soldier, knight, captain. In hindsight, you suppose this too might have been a kindness - in a court of men, your rank is far from the worst thing to be known for.
(Once, a long time ago, he’d called you Y/n.
Sometimes after you wake, when the night air is still and the darkness of your room is so thick you think you might forget what it it is to see, if not for the thin sliver of moonlight cutting through the gap between your curtains like a knife - you remember a pair of hands over your own, small and childlike.)
It had taken Shirabu a long time to call you by anything other than your rank. You don’t remember exactly what it was that had changed - it feels more like an accumulation, like running your nails over the steel bars day by day till a furrow appears in the metal, like the loud drip of water on a stone slab, like the patient grind of a dulled blade on granite.
The first night he’d called you by your last name, the moon had hung overhead, a weary witness to the retelling of the story of a Crown Prince and his Captain, a tale that has been spun so many times that it strangles itself. A tale like the tail of a snake, shoved in a fanged mouth. Venomous, self-destructing. A tale so irresistible you want to hear it again and again and again.
It had been what you’d wanted - you’d hungered for a drop of acknowledgement, had thirsted after a sign of recognition - and yet it hadn't been enough. Even now, what you remember with the most clarity is the thought that you wanted to hear your first name from his lips.
“Y/n,” Shirabu breathes against you, and you want to swallow the sound - you want to make it yours, to keep it locked inside you for the rest of time-
You remember that you can, so you seal your lips over his and pull at his bottom lip with your teeth. The ouroboros is a collar around your neck, a reminder that in the end, our end is always self-made.
You don’t care.
