#I will not be doing that again for a long time

[laserbobcat]

SWAP AU BABY! Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

I played with quick lil edits for my swap AU! It's very simple, I swap Narinder and the Lamb, and cats are now the extinct species so you get sheep followers instead. I didn't swap anything about the three eyes, no logic, just because I like it that way.

The swap list for cat to sheep has Aym, Baal and Forneus, but the yellow cat is the only one I did so far!

This is not swapped Morgan (I just used him as a ref cause I was stuck), but another character entirely that I got on my second game, named Meran. They have two traits: polyamorous and jailbreaker. So that's a chaotic little shit of a lamb. So another entire different dynamic with Leshy, I played with it a bit!

I'm hesitating between Maeve and Serene for the God Lamb's name.

They get Narinder's bell after they're freed, because he throws it in their face. The Lamb wanted to be out fast, at any cost. They expected Narinder to rebel, and they expected the chances he would kick their ass was pretty high, but asked for his sacrifice regardless. Narinder feels betrayed obviously, for being asked to be a sacrifice yet again. But despite being furious, he hesitates to finish off the Lamb. They're so happy to not be a chained god anymore, whether it means life or death, as long as they're out. It's too heartbreaking even for him, even completely enraged. He changes his mind once teleported back at the cult though, but Thoron and Valefar tackle him and convince him to not cut them in two, and to calm down before making any decisions.

He's resentful because he would have wanted a bit more time to figure something out, despite the prophecy, but didn't have the chance to do so. And he definitely didn't want to be a god. But he can't stay angry for long, seeing his Lamb overexcited and overjoyed at the smallest things they missed for centuries. He worked his ass off for this, and while the betrayal hurts, it's hard not to understand the despair that fueled their actions. And he's been in love with them for way too long anyway he's too far gone.

[damselneedssaving]

BATBOYS BUT THEY WITNESS A STRANGER PULL F!READER INTO A HUG AND CLAIM TO BE HER BOYFRIEND. FT. MARK GRAYSON! P.T.1

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, everyone is 18+, mention of death, romance, mark is utterly devoted to you, jealousy, lots and lots of jealousy, little bit of dark!batboys, kind of dark!mark too

★ A/N: yes ik the pic is technically the mark variant who wears a shiesty but that's still mark and it's a hot pic so it's staying. anyway that poll on if y'all would read a mark grayson x reader fic alongside the batboys x reader was almost unanimously yes and i'm so happy because of it 🤭

★ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ★ | ★ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ★

YOU DON'T KNOW HOW YOU ENDED UP HERE—

—trapped in the embrace of a stranger.

One moment, you're in your kitchen, preparing a nice, hot bowl of popcorn for both you and your house guests—the next?—you're at your door, stood rigid and tight and ever-so-still as your arms are pinned to your sides by another pair. A stronger pair.

A stranger's pair.

The embrace is warm, seeping with this longing you've only ever felt from Dick that one time he returned from a mission that lasted way longer than it should've; that one time he hugged you swearing he'd never let go.

But even then... Dick did eventually pull away.

Something about this stranger's tight grip tells you they won't.

Your name is whispered, breathed out on the tongue of whoever it is holding you as he squeezes just that tad bit more, just that tad bit tighter.

It's strange. You're sure you've never met this man in your life, yet something about his embrace feels familiar, intimate in a way no stranger could ever imitate. 

No stranger but this one at least.

You can ponder on it for all but a few more seconds before a new warmth is on your shoulder—this time: a recognisably familiar one—and without being given a moment to even blink, you're yanked out of the embrace of the stranger, vision flooded with the broad back of your dear friend as a click bounces off the walls of your once quiet apartment.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't lodge this bullet between your eyes."

Jason stands before you, finger nestled snug against the trigger of his gun like it's just waiting for the opportunity to pull it, like he's just as eager to give it the command to do so.

The stranger puts his hands up, and it's just then that you realise he's clad in a skin-tight suit. Yellow and blue. With goggles over his eyes. 

"I don't want any trouble."

"Yeah?" scoffs Jason, "Well you shoulda thought of that before pulling up at princess here's door."

"[Name], get behind me," Dick calls from further in your apartment, a hand quick to spread out over your clothed stomach and push you even further back than before.

You know by the way your light starts to flicker that Duke's also on guard, and you can't imagine that Tim or Damian are that far off either.

The tension in the room is thick—heavy in the air and just as swallowing—the boys' muscles all taut. It's as though they're ready to lunge the moment just a strand of hair moves out of place.

You try to swallow, but all that goes down your throat is sandpaper.

He catches it though.

The stranger's head tilts ever so slightly after your gulp, just enough so that you're fully in his field of view again.

From under those goggles, you can't really see his eyes, but the way his brows visibly pinch is enough for you to feel the desperation radiating off his form when he speaks your name again.

Dick moves to cover you further. "I don't think so, buddy."

"Look," the man states simply, head subtly moving back up, "I don't mean any harm, really. I just wanna see her."

"Tt." The slink of a sword slipping out its sheath sounds from behind you. "And what business is it that you have with her?"

The stranger tilts his head again, letting out a frustrated grunt when Dick only moves to counter once more. "[Name] please," he whispers, tone uneven, watery and wavering, "it's me: Mark—"

Then he does something unlike your boys, unlike any vigilante you've ever seen really, and he moves his hand up to his mask, slipping it off with the ease and trust of someone not currently at the door of a stranger's house.

"—Your boyfriend?"

You can't even fully observe his face before a bang bounces off the walls of your home.

Your eyes widen, pupils shaking and hand already pushing Dick to the side as you hiss out a severely pissed, "Jason!" 

But before you can even think of screaming your heart out at him, of having a go at your friend for shooting an innocent person at your door, your mouth falls agape, muscles tensing just as much as the rest of the vigilantes you know as you catch sight of what you're sure should've been a dead man on the ground.

Except he isn't dead. And he's nowhere near the ground.

In fact, he's floating off of it, brows now furrowed and lips pulled tight into a snarl as he yells, "What the hell, man?! You just shot me!"

"And you aren't dead," Jason replies through gritted teeth. "Why the fuck aren't you dead?"

"Not to worry," Damian replies before the stranger—before Mark—can, "I'll fix that."

All it takes is the lights flickering once more and the sound of a staff whirling in the wind for you to snap out of your little stupor, for you to see and hear and feel everything around you once again.

And once you do, your voice rings clear and final.

"Enough."

The boys tense, forms faltering as their eyes finally leave the stranger to fall on you.

You take a step forward.

Duke blocks your way.

"Duke." Your arms fold over your chest, his name stern and heavy on your tongue.

"[Name]"—his brows furrow—"you can't be serious. This is a stranger. A meta too, no less."

"And you aren't?" You quirk a brow. His jaw ticks. "He hasn't done anything. All he did was hug me."

"That doesn't mean he won't do anything," he retorts stubbornly. "That doesn't mean he can't do anything." Then, his tone softens, brows scrunching a little as he regards you with a look all too warm and familiar. "I don't wanna lose you. Not you."

Your arms uncross, one hand gesturing out as you return his gentle look. "And you won't. I promise. Just let me talk to him."

You can tell he's reluctant, can see it in the way his jaw is still tense and his eyes suddenly can't meet your own. But you also know Duke, and you know that he's a hero—one that, if given the chance, will choose the option of peace over all else.

And so, his shoulders fall, and he steps to the side to allow you through, to which you flash him a grateful smile before taking a step forward...

...only to be blocked by yet another wall, one now back to facing the person floating at your door.

"Jason," you call, but he doesn't so much as spare you a glance. "Jason."

His jaw squares, the only sign you have that he's hearing you.

"Put the gun down."

But he doesn't listen. He hears you but he doesn't listen. Because of course he doesn't listen. You're speaking to Jason Peter Todd, when the fuck does he ever listen?

"Jason!"

"I'm not putting the gun down until he's bleeding on the fucking floor."

The meta snarls at Jason's words, and the latter is quick to return it with his own look of disdain, blood boiling enough for heat waves to be visible in the air around him, for even the hottest lava to envy what courses through his veins.

"Then get out of my way so that I can speak to him."

The man lets out a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. "And let him feed you another lie to bring down your guard some more? I don't think so."

"I'm not lying," Mark hisses, floating just a tad bit closer.

"Oh yeah?" Jason tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting in that familiar way it does when he mocks a crook. "Why don't you say that to your so-called girlfriend? Because to me, it doesn't look like she even knows who you are at all."

That seemed to have hit a nerve, because the next thing you know, Mark is lunging forward, and Jason is just narrowly dodging his shove, rolling to the side and letting out another bullet in his direction.

You're only able to blink once before your form is engulfed, covered by the oldest brother in the room as he regards you with soft, gentle eyes.

Yours only scrunch in return.

"Dick, let go of me."

He tosses a glance over his shoulder as another bang rings out. "Don't think that's the best idea right now, princess."

"Dick."

He meets your gaze again.

"It's either you let me go so that I can break up the fight, or you let me go so that you can break up the fight. Your pick."

He holds your gaze for a few seconds, eyes wide and disbelieving. "You can't be serious."

You don't say a word, and he blinks owlishly.

"You're serious."

"Deadly."

"Okay, fuck," he curses, head turning to the side as his eyes all but seem to run through a dozen different scenarios at once, acting more like a computer screen than sclera.

Then, after at least two more seconds pass, he turns back to you, shoulders falling in quiet resignation.

"Fine. Stay here. I'll break it up. You're not going anywhere near that fight on my watch."

You feel the way your shoulders fall at his words, a wave of relief crashing over you like a sudden change in tide as you flash Dick a smile much like the one you gave Duke earlier and he starts to slowly get up with a roll of his shoulders.

"Alright you two, break it up."

Mark pauses, and Jason takes the opportunity to lunge, but before his arms can even graze the meta human, Dick hooks them under his own, and you quickly take the opportunity to put yourself between the three men.

You then proceed to waste no time to deliver a mountain of fury to the man who started the fight.

"Really, Jason?"

He pauses his struggling against his brother.

"I mean, seriously"—you throw your arms out in front of you, scoffing the words on your tongue out in disbelief so heavy, it fogs your vision—"you're a grown ass man, starting fights like a child, over something as small as someone claiming to be my boyfriend?"

He opens his mouth to retort, but purses his lips once you send him a narrow look, opting instead to scoff and turn his head to the side.

"Oh, and don't think I didn't notice you two getting ready to join in, Tim, Damian." You turn your stern gaze to the other two currently armed individuals in the room, and they both mirror their brother's reaction to a tee.

It's funny, really, how they react like children being scolded for something like drawing on the walls rather than grown men who were planning on murdering someone in the comfort of your home.

Or at least, Jason was.

Geez, you really thought you had this talk with him already, that he'd changed his previous ways and swapped out his real bullets for rubber ones, that he'd sworn off killing for the rest of his life.

Guess not.

You pinch your nose, taking in a breath and counting up to ten just like your momma taught you when you were little, just like you always do when your veins get a little too heated for your own good.

Each second in your head is a second the heat flushes out your system—and your muscles unscrew themselves from the stiff boards this whole night reduced them to—until eventually, you can feel yourself finally calming down.

Then you open your eyes again and witness the mess that is your living room, and all that effort flushes down the drain.

"Look"—you find yourself sighing, turning to face the still-floating Mark as you address him with heavy eyes—"Mark, was it?"

In an instant, he lowers himself to your height, and now that there's no goggles in the way anymore, you witness the true extent of the way his eyes stare at you, wide, unwavering, like you're the only one they truly see.

It sends a shiver down your spine.

You swallow air. "...I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong girl. I've never seen or met you in my life. I don't even have a boyfriend."

At that, his shoulders fall, sagging in a way that has you biting your lip and half-contemplating taking it all back if it meant you'd get to see that look on his face again.

Wait... what?

"Right..." Mark starts, his solemn tone enough to pull you straight out of your thoughts. "Different dimension. My bad."

His words, though muttered, couldn't have been louder to your ears, and you raise your head in time with the rest of your friends, eyes wide and trained onto him.

"I'm sorry..."

He glances up at your voice.

"...Did you just say 'different dimension'?"

TAGLIST: @silas-222, @bloofairyfox, @wiseavenuelove, @inkycapps, @velovicy, @mmentallyelsewhere, @verysynical, @1abi, @bluepartywobblernickel

[madamechrissy]

goodnight n go

pairings- Satoru x Suguru x F!reader

warnings- Gojo and Geto kissing bc YES, they kinda like it but they'll deny it lmaoo, them both eating you out, fingering, blow jobs, cum swallowing, mentions of masturbation, they're being all bratty and competitive, explicit sex, them being greedy with you, SatoSugu but they love your coochie so much you're special </3 - WC 3k

This is for my baby @baepsays who got thrown in TUMBLR JAIL grr for no reason!!! It's based on the Challengers movie, specifically that hotel scene hehe <3

"So... are you two like... together?" you ask the two men sitting right in front of you, both wearing open kimonos that show far too much of their chiseled muscles. Satoru wears a deep blue, Suguru a pretty bright red, you have to keep your eyes from trailing down each of their bodies and act normal. You sip on a beer right with them, sitting on the old hotel carpet in the late hours of the night.

The ac has gone on the fritz, so the windows are wide open, blowing the still humid air into the room, as the two of them avidly watch you, they'd been staring at you for the entire game, the entire after party, clearly both enamored with you. The way you curve that ball had them both hard in the stands.

It was Suguru who mentioned it first, how sexy you were, hyping you all up - Satoru knew who you were by name, but never saw you - he was helplessly in love with himself and being the best. So when he did see you step out in that little tennis skirt, and see the way your pretty body looked in it, especially your ass and how it bounced underneath it? He was already hooked.

But nothing took them out more than how you played, how you danced around the court and fucking annihilated everyone. Satoru and Suguru were two of the top tennis players themselves, but they'd be lying if you didn't say you were better than them both.

Tennis is all you know, there was no dating or doing anything for you, it was all tennis all the time. Even just being here was on a whim, but how could you turn down their invitation?

Suguru's holding a blunt, passing it over to Satoru, the smoke lingering in the air, you smell its sweetness while he wraps his plump lips around it, both men glaring at your question as you giggle. You can't help but ask it, it's the notorious rumor of these two.

"Together?" Suguru blows the smoke up, leaned back on a pillow he'd snatched up from the bed, looking far too good as he eyes you, lidded gaze slipping up your bare thighs. "Why do you ask that?"

"Everyone thinks you two are," you take the blunt from Satoru's long fingers, looking at the two men carefully. "I think you two would be cute together."

"We're not together, why do people think that?" Satoru frowns, and Suguru chuckles, shoving at him. He rolls his eyes, and you pass Suguru the blunt, as you and Satoru go to sip your drinks. You feel a gentle cool breeze blow in for just a moment, tickling your skin as Satoru now runs his fingers across your ankle, the motion making you tense. It feels too good.

"You've never been together? No kissing, nothing?"

"Never!? well..." Satoru trails off, and Suguru smirks.

"Spill!" You're eagerly on your knees now, strap slipping off your shoulder, Suguru leans up to fix it, watching your nipples perk up under your tank at the action.

"You're bratty," Satoru murmurs, fingers running up your calf, leaving. goosebumps on your skin, Suguru inhales the blunt again, blowing it into your mouth now. At the contact of his lips you tremble, inhaling that smoke deep in your lungs, feeling lightheaded, tummy clenching at how good his lips feel.

"Tell me about the time you almost did something then," you tease, while Suguru brushes a thumb over your lower lip. They are both chuckling softly, Satoru is rubbing the back of his neck. "Did you all jerk each other off?"

"You're a freaky brat." Satoru says, glaring so cute at you.

"We didn't do that, but I did teach Satoru how to jerk his-"

"Suguru!" He shoves Suguru now, but you're all wide eyed with attention. "Shut up!"

"What, you didn't know how to." Satoru scoffs, shaking his head.

"Wait that's cute!" You are laughing so hard you're holding your tummy now, as the two pretty boys tell different sides of the same story.

"I was thinking about my girlfriend and started..." Suguru trails off, Satoru's blushing. "Well I thought he was asleep."

"Well I was you were loud," Satoru leans forward now, pressing a little kiss against your neck after brushing your hair back. "You really wanna hear about it?"

"It sounds so adorable." He rolls his pretty blue eyes.

"I asked him to tell me what he was doing, we were young. Then he just sort of told me - but under the blankets!"

"We didn't touch each other." Suguru confirms, snorting in laughter as you giggle at Satoru's embarrassed face burying against your neck now.

"Do you guys do that alot too?"

"Whatever no!" Satoru nips at your neck, making you tense at how good it feels. "We do cuddle."

"He cuddles me, I shove him off."

"The ship is going strong. I don't think I can stay here and ruin this, what would they say about me?" You stand up then, Suguru smirks as Satoru pouts, Satoru's cuteness and Suguru's prettiness are honestly a lot to handle.

"Don't leave us yet, we haven't even finished our drinks." Satoru watches as you brush his hair back, while he's on his knees, sighing a bit.

"All right then, as long as I don't ruin your love." They both scoff as you go to sit right on the edge of that bed, thighs pressing together - as much as you're kidding, you can't help but be excited by the two of them. You pat each side and they both jump next to you, earning your giggle. "Who do I kiss first..."

You look at Suguru, brushing his lips, he exhales and leans closer, but Satoru yanks you by your chin, slamming his lips on yours first. "She was gonna choose me."

"No way, mnh - cherry lip gloss." Satoru licks his lips as he pulls back, you're left breathless, Suguru is quick to kiss you after, his tongue slipping inside, dancing across your teeth, while their hands so huge take over your entire body slowly. Your breath comes quicker and quicker, trembling as they take over your senses.

You have just a bit of sweat dancing along your skin, they're lapping it up, Satoru kisses across one side of your neck, while Suguru kisses along the other. You gasp out, still so sore from the tennis game, their big hands grip each thigh and press in, as if massaging you, their breaths heavy and sensual against your ears.

"Do you all... do this a lot?" You murmur then, teasing as you look into Suguru’s violet eyes, while he slips his fingers higher. "Share girls?"

"Maybe a couple of times, but never with someone like you," he murmurs, while Satoru tilts your chin to him, bringing your gaze to his pouty lips.

"We can kick him out."

"We can kick him out." Suguru tilts your chin back over to him now, only making Satoru drag your thigh over his, opening your pussy wide for both of them to touch you.

"Mnh," your head leans back, the alcohol working through you, mixed with their addicting kisses along your neck, their fingers brushing against your pussy over your shorts. "Fuck..."

"You're so wet, need us to take care of you?" Satoru murmurs, pressing a kiss on your lips, only for Suguru to turn your head and kiss you brutally.

Suguru moans as his finger slip into your hole, while Satoru's roll along your clit, his tongue slipping up your neck as Suguru's is massaging the inside your mouth. You feel how wet you are, as the two of them making you a mess, which they seem to relish in, eyeing each other as they play you.

"So wet, wonder how you'll be when you cum? Squirt all over, or drip slowly?" Suguru's words fuck you up, where you felt in charge, when those dilated eyes hit you, you're trembling and gasping.

"Bet she's messy." Satoru murmurs those words hot and heavy against your skin, his free hand gripping your breast and squishing it.

Suguru's thick finger stretches you out, when Satoru kisses you again, tongue delving into your mouth a little more desperate. You hear his whimper when you touch his toned abdomen, slipping down, before touching Suguru's ribcage now, feeling how hot his skin is under your touch. Husky moans and little whimpers dance along your skin as you touch them.

You kiss Suguru again, then can't help but bring them together, bit by bit, kissing them quicker and quicker, until you drag their faces ever closer. They lose themselves in you, your cunt squelching loudly with how wet it is, you're throbbing around Suguru’s finger as your clit twitches against Satoru's, pressure building in your tummy. You're shifting your hips, arching for more as the wind blows gently against your overheated bodies.

You all three kiss then, together, with each tongue dance along each side of yours, as the three of you exhale and gasp, hands entangled now in your hair, you can't tell who's pulling it from each direction. That's when their own tongues meet, all while their skilled fingers are playing with your slutty, messy cunt, and you're losing yourself in them. One hand in silky black locks so long, the other carding through silly white hair.

You pull back just a bit curious, as you truly think these men must be together, everything about them screams it. Satoru and Suguru kiss each other in front of you, your heart races at the sight, of Suguru and Satoru moaning and still touching you, unrealized with their closed eyes that you've pulled back, smiling as you watch them.

"Okay I should.. go." You say after a long few moments when they blink and pull apart, a trail of saliva dripping between them, before they're scowling at each other, then at you as you giggle. "I can't break up a happy marriage." You say with a pout, getting up and tugging off their hands.

"You're a brat," Suguru huffs, pressing you down on the springy hotel bed then, Satoru kneels and slips your shorts down, while Suguru slips up your top, his lips dancing across each breast. "We aren't together."

"I don't know, I thought it was pretty hot." They both glare at you, Satoru sinks his teeth in your inner thigh, blue eyes vivid in their brightness. "I ship you two even more now."

"I like to eat pussy thank you very much," Gojo presses a kiss to your slick cunt then, making you whine out. "and I'm the best at it."

"That would be me," Suguru is down there too now, both men gripping a thigh, scowling at each other again, they're way too fucking hot and simultaneously cute. "Time we shut you up."

"Past time," Satoru licks a stripe up your slit while Suguru slips two fingers in your hole, you moan at it, at him pumping in and out while Satoru holds your hood up. He swirls the tip of his tongue on your slit, moaning. "Fuck I wanna be inside you."

"She's so tight," Suguru pulls his fingers out then, sucking you right off them, cheeks hollowing while Satoru slips impossibly longer fingers so deep, curling when Suguru's tongue slips against your twitchy little clit. "Mnh."

"She's so sweet here." Satoru's licking you right with Suguru, together they're working you, their tongues touching as they make out with your clit together. You can't help but grip them tightly, thighs shaking on either side of their heads.

"Ah! there, there," your eyes roll back, lost in them, hips raised up for more of their touch, while there lips brush just slightly together while they share your taste.

"Stop kissing me," Satoru's words make you laugh, breathless, even as the orgasm is approaching even closer.

M'not, you're taking all of it." Suguru is burying his face so greedy, tongue slipping into your hole now, you're so close you feel yourself about to fall apart, back and hips arching for more of them.

"S-satoru... S-suguru..."

"Said my name first," he's grinning and nudging Suguru with his shoulder, earning an eye roll, before your eyes roll back again in your skull, both of their fingers inside you.

"Ah!" You're gripping the cheap material of those flowery hotel blankets, while they find spots inside you didn't know you had, fingers in sync while they watch you.

"So pretty," is what one of them whispers, but your pulse is racing in your ears as they curl up simultaneously, hitting a spot that makes your cunt gush and spasm. "There it is."

You think they said it simultaneously, you can't really place where the voices are coming from when you're screaming like that, so loud you're for sure your teammates hear in the adjoining rooms. You can't say you care, while they moan and slurp you up, hungry messy sounds making you reach higher.

"Ngh!" You're shaking, breasts heaving up and down, slightly out in your top all askew. Two hands reach for them, while they share your taste together, moaning against you and vibrating your cunt.

"Who's gay now?" Satoru asks, leaning up and gripping your chin, you barely manage to focus on his pretty face

"I'll give you bi- ah!" Suguru smacks your cunt, it feels far too good, leaning over you too, both taking turns kissing you softly. "Fuck, okay, okay you two are insanely good."

"Who's better?" Suguru is met with a shove from Satoru, grinning all pretty and not budging.

"Equal talent, just like on the court." Your words are sincere, though different in their play styles, both men were fucking beasts on the court. They both blush a bit as you lean up and trail your fingers across their cheeks. Your breathing comes down as you share your taste between them.

You feel their touches getting harder, grips deeper, as you are pulled between them both, kissing each one over and over, losing yourself in them, they're both tugging at your thighs, pressing their cocks against you under their thin shorts.

"Wanna be inside first," Satoru practically whines, Suguru scoffs.

"No," he's shoved Satoru off the bed, you can't stop the little laugh at seeing the six foot four man careen off the springy bed with a bounce and thud to the floor. Suguru's on top of you, dark long locks falling against your skin. He's moaning into your lips, you're clinging to him as he presses against the slick mess your cunt has become. "Mmm..."

"No fair." Satoru shoves Suguru off you, turning you to your side facing him, his hands gripping your ass as he presses his cock against you now too, you're soaking his shorts, feeling hands from behind wrap you now. "I don't wanna share."

"Me either, go take a walk." You exhale, looking at each of them, before touching Suguru's cock behind you, his soft moan is met with Satoru's desperate whimper when you touch his.

"Be nice and share, you two." You chide them gently, they sigh and nod, both of your hands stroking them over their shorts, while they kiss along your back and chest.

Satoru's soon tugged his shorts off Suguru joins him, revealing thick pretty cocks, so veiny and leaking pearly precum. You're swallowing nervously at their lengths, unsure how you'd fit them, when they slip off the remnants of your clothes, both rubbing their tips along your pussy. Suguru's pressing against your hole, Satoru's tip is on your clit, rubbing back and forth, filthy sounds.

You're gripping Satoru and kissing him, whining out, Suguru tugs your leg up high, sinking his teeth against your neck. Their tips rub together, they won't admit that it doesn't bother them, they're far too absorbed in how good you feel, how pretty you are between them. They do share everything, but for you they felt a little greedy, each one wanting more.

Suguru's pressing inside your cunt first, groaning as his hand grips a thigh right with Satoru, leaving bruises on your skin. "Mnh!" You're whining out at the stretch, head falling back, to be wrapped with Satoru's fingers, as he keeps stroking your clit, you're filled so full you scream out.

"Fuck she's so tight," Suguru's groaning, Satoru exhales, while he pumps you deep, your tits jiggling perfectly for Satoru's eyes.

"Lemme feel her," Satoru whispers, like you're their little toy then, Suguru pulls out for a moment, leaving you empty and crying out, only for Satoru sink inside your cunt. You're stroking Suguru's cock behind you, slick with you, as Satoru's curved tip hits your spot, making you cum all over him. "Hah, came on my cock first."

"Because I filled her up so good," they're fucking into you a few pumps each turn, till Satoru gets greedy, yanking you on him as he lays on his back, shoving you right down on his cock and whimpering.

The angle is so deep, you feel him right on your cervix, Suguru's lifting you by the hips, behind you now, fucking up into your cunt instead, only for Satoru to yank you back down. You feel like a little doll they're playing with, cunt dripping down each of them, while you're trembling, letting Suguru have you cumming next.

Satoru rolls his finger on your clit while he does, both taking turns fucking your cunt until it's sore, tightening up on them and milking their cocks, their tongues lapping along each ear as they keep dragging you from one cock to the next. They tease your entrance together with their tips at one point, burning the skin there, they both groan as the rub together.

"Where do you want this cum?" Satoru asks softly, you look down, biting your lip then.

"Mouth." They're so eager for this it's amusing, you're on your knees while they take turns fucking your mouth, until you try to suck them both at once, only managing their tips.

"Ah, that's it, gonna cum so much more than you," Satoru murmurs, Suguru is too lost in how good your mouth feels to argue, as you look up at them so pretty, sucking each one and stroking with your hands, saliva dripping down the side of your mouth.

"Shut up, Satoru, God." Your giggle earns Satoru fucking your throat harder, not that you mind, you feel him yanking your hair as you keep stroking Suguru's thick length, choking on him and gagging. The sensations have you grinding against the bed.

"Gonna swallow all of me, huh sweetheart?" Satoru's whisper is met with your whine, while you do just that, swallowing all of his cum, he whimpers and leans his head back. "Baby... feels s'good..."

Your mouth is pulled right off him while he's still twitching, Suguru mercilessly plunging his own cock deep in your throat. "Swallow like a good girl, hmm?"

He's gently brushing your hair back as he fucks your throat so deep, cumming right inside it, filling you with both their flavors, drinking them down greedy. They're both moaning then, bending down to kiss you, tasting each other on your lips, tongues messy and desperate. You lean back and exhale, earning sweet little kisses and strokes from their hands.

"I have got to get sleep," You finally manage to grab your clothes, and the boys are devastated, cocks already hard again. "You just came!"

"I have the best stamina."

"No, that's me."

"I go the most rounds."

"I last longer-"

"Okay boys," you're shaking your head at the two bickering like a married couple. You pat their chests now. "I need some sleep before the match, and so do you."

"No fun, boring," Satoru is all pouty when he helps you up, both of then adjust your clothes, fixing your hair gently, you ease in the touch for a moment, cunt still throbbing from them, thighs shaky.

"Let me have your number." Suguru asks then, you eye him with a turn of your lips, Satoru steps in front of him, blocking your field of vision.

"Let me, pretty please?"

"Whoever wins tomorrow gets my number." You kiss each of them, leaving them whining as you brush your fingers on each of their cheeks.

"I'm gonna win." Suguru and Satoru say it at once, you laugh again, turning and walking to the door. You look at them then, shoving at each other, smiling a bit.

"If you jerk off together tonight-"

"We won't!"

"Film it?"

Their scowls urge you on, surely they don't stroke themselves helplessly thinking about you!

Ahaha this was just some silliness I hope you like it 🤭🤭🤭

perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoblue @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

[gutsby]

Sticky

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel can’t get it up. You lick frosting off his flaccid cock to help increase the bloodflow a little bit.

Warnings: 18+. Another fic for my AARP-affiliate fuckers. Soft cock ✔️ Buttercream frosting ✔️ Needy old Joel ✔️ Oral (m!receiving). Foodplay. Acute erectile dysfunction. Feral!Reader. Age gap. Daddy kink. Lots and lots of spit.

Note: To the anon who sent this request in today—I 🩷 U

Word count: 1.2k

He didn’t deserve you.

Really, in all the sixty-something years he’d been alive, Joel Miller felt as if he’d struck gold when he landed a partner as considerate, kind, patient, and sweet as you.

He thought if you got any sweeter right now, he’d have to head to the doctor to get his blood pressure checked out—that was how wild and saccharine things were looking.

With his elbows resting limply on the armrests of his favorite recliner, feet planted shoulder-width apart on the wooden floor, and his eyes trained in one, lone line, Joel felt like his stomach might fall out of his ass at any second. His hips jerked as he felt a loud, wet pop below.

You pulled off his cock, frosting all over your lips and chin

“That feel OK, daddy? Any better than before?”

Better than you could even imagine.

Joel blinked through the dreamy haze before his eyes and peered down at you. You were knelt between his legs, and your face was dripping with spit and icing.

You’d been licking and sucking cupcake frosting off his dick for the last twenty minutes, and the limp bastard hadn’t stirred a bit. He was still soft as he’d ever been.

Joel leaned forward so he could cup your glistening chin.

“You feel the best,” he assured you gently. “Always do. But I’m, uh…I’m not sure he’s gonna cooperate with us today. You sure you wanna keep on goin’ like this, baby?”

“‘Course I do. This is fun.” You grinned.

After three years, two babies, and more love and laughter shared than any man like him could ever hope to have, Joel felt a tug at his heart. He couldn’t believe his luck.

“What? Suckin’ this old, limp—” he started, about to disparage himself and that nasty bout of erectile dysfunction he’d been experiencing of late. Before he could finish, though, you took him back in your mouth.

You nudged his hand aside and dove right down to the base, with your lips flaring around the soft, tender skin. Silver hairs tickled your nose, and you just giggled at it.

The reverberations from that little laugh traveled up in a second from his tip to his stomach to something deep and primal and needy percolating inside him. It caught him off guard. In the next moment, you were sliding off, letting his member droop down, but only long enough for you to dip two fingers in the container of icing you’d brought up with you. The stuff was bright and pink.

It also happened to feel like a dream when it mixed with your spit and soaked your tongue. You stuck your index and middle fingers into your mouth, and with the frosting all over your tongue, you leaned down.

You licked Joel’s tip. Coated him in the stuff.

“Don’t talk bad about your dick. He’s my best friend, y’know,” you murmured, clearly smothering another grin.

Before Joel could reply, your lips were pursing together, and a big, shiny glob of saliva slid out. You drew your mouth even closer to his frosting-coated head, and you spit on it. You gripped him mid-shaft, and you worked the moisture that slid down in a series of quick pumps.

Joel’s jaw went slack, and he groaned.

“Best—best friend, huh? That really how you feel?”

At the same moment, your lips parted again to take his cock in between them. Your mouth slid down, pushing the spit and the pink frosting with it, and, in tandem with the strokes of your hand, you sucked him messily. Repeatedly, you bobbed your head up and down.

The whole time you did it, your eyes were trained on his.

If Joel weren’t sitting down, he would have collapsed.

A shuddering breath left his lungs, and, without thinking, he lowered a hand to your cheek. While your mouth kept sliding back and forth over his still-flaccid cock, he tried to follow it while he could. He cupped your jaw and felt trails of spit and sugar that had trickled as you sucked.

Something tightened in his gut.

Nothing stirred between his legs at first, but then, when your lips left him again and you flattened out your tongue to give his member a long, slow, teasing lick, he let out a groan. Spit was smeared in a line, and his balls twitched.

You were committed to this. As if sensing the faintest movement down below, you moved your lips to the rounded globes, and you sucked one into your mouth.

“Fuckin’ shit,” Joel hissed.

You sucked the other one in. You teased the tip of your tongue over them both, and, while Joel was trying his hardest not to go into cardiac arrest from those motions alone, you leaned down. Swiftly, you took another dollop and drew it out with three fingers—a little more this time.

Joel expected you to smooth it over his shaft with your lips and then suck him down again. Maybe stick out your tongue and drag the whole pinkish glob down to his balls

Instead, you lifted your hand to him.

It was under his chin in no time at all.

“Suck it off my fingers, daddy. Please.”

Joel wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t compute.

Somehow, still, with his brain barely online, he opened his mouth to you and let you push three icing-stained fingers inside it. Eyes round, he felt your touch pull out and prepared to swallow it whole. Then you stopped him.

“Don’t eat it,” you said, eyes twinkling.

Joel paused. He blinked dumbly back at you.

“Wh—” he started to say, mouth full of frosting.

Before he could get out a word, you parted your lips.

“Spit it in my mouth.” And then your tongue pushed out.

In that moment, Joel thought he might lose his mind.

It wasn’t like the request was even particularly obscene—you’d done plenty of dirtier things together before—but now, here, you were meeting his gaze with such a soft, innocent look, and something about the sheer idea of feeding you this frosting was like a punch to the gut.

He steeled himself briefly. Unblinking, and with his brain feeling like the consistency of scrambled eggs, Joel leaned forward, and he reached for your throat.

His fingers secured themselves gently around your neck like it was second nature to him, and you tilted your chin.

Joel met your gaze. It was soft, sweet, and loving as ever.

Thinking again how fortunate he was, he pursed his lips.

As soon as he spit into your mouth, the words slid out.

“I love you, baby. Don’t deserve you the least little bit.”

You caught the frosting easy. Your lips closed around it, and with your eyes still locked on his, you let part of the same thick glob dribble out—past your lips, down your chin a bit, enough to trickle down the throat that he was still holding—and then you fixed him with the softest, sweetest smile you could manage before lowering again.

Then you let the rest dribble down his cock, which, to Joel’s mind-numbing surprise, was suddenly partly erect

You weren’t looking at it.

Your gaze was still holding his, and in it, Joel found nothing but the same, unadulterated feeling that he had. Your whole face was practically radiating that look.

Chin smeared, lips smiling, and a now stiff, throbbing cock caked in frosting gripped in one of your hands, you blinked back up at him like it was the most normal thing.

For a beat, Joel didn’t think that he could love you any more than he did in that moment, and then you said:

“Of course you do, daddy. I don’t mind getting sticky.”

[dollyswishingwell]

i need your talented hands to write about reader being needy, clingy, and crybaby with lads husbands who always keep their girl in their lap pampering her, bestie i’m ovulating i need this plz

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ His Crybaby

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, fem reader who cries for no reason. indulgent men who adores their wife. this anon is thinking on the same wavelength as me so im gonna name you star anon. come back to me pookie :p

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ They adore their crybaby wife, after all, they're the ones who spoiled you enough to be this comfortable.

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The morning sun streamed lazily through the wide windows of your beachside home, reflecting soft blues and silvers across the marble kitchen floor. You sat curled in Rafayel’s lap, your rightful throne, wrapped in one of his oversized white shirts, legs thrown over his and arms tucked to your chest, sniffling like the world had ended.

And to be fair, to you, it sort of had.

“They’re round, Raffy,” you whimpered into his chest, voice trembling with betrayal. “You always make them heart-shaped. Always…”

Rafayel blinked slowly, a half-bitten scone in one hand, his other palm gently stroking your lower back. His long lashes fluttered over his dual-colored eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching into an amused smile.

“I was in a rush,” he offered lightly, tone bordering on amused and indulgent. “Shell delivery came early. I had to check for the right pigment.”

You glared up at him with teary eyes, bottom lip trembling. “But you forgot.”

He set the scone down and wrapped both arms around you, nuzzling your hair with a sigh. “I didn’t forget, pretty girl. I just… momentarily neglected aesthetics.” A pause. “Which I see was a grave crime.”

You hiccuped. “You never do round ones. Even when I was mad at you that one time, you still made them heart-shaped.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and fond. “That’s because even when you’re mad at me, you still eat them with those pouty cheeks and kiss me after.”

You turned your face into his neck, voice muffled and pathetic. “But they’re not heart-shaped today, so now everything feels wrong. I was gonna take a picture for my little breakfast diary…”

“Ah.” He tilted his head, brushing his lips over your temple, then lower, along your cheek where a tear had slipped down. “My girl’s so delicate today. You’re like a little seashell that got smudged with morning sadness.”

You sniffled.

Then Rafayel shifted, standing up smoothly with you in his arms, still cradled like a sobbing princess.

“I’m redoing them.”

Your head shot up. “Really?”

“Mhm. You think I won’t shape twenty scones by hand for my favorite spoiled crybaby?” he teased, walking you to the counter like you weighed nothing, setting you down on the stool just beside the mixing bowls. “You’re the only person I even tolerate. If you want heart-shaped, you get heart-shaped.”

You tried to pout again, but his words melted you too quickly.

He was already back at the counter, sleeves pushed up, a tiny ponytail tied loosely with a ribbon you’d left lying around. He didn’t ask for help. Just hummed to himself as he redid the dough from scratch, tossing glances your way every few moments to make sure you were watching.

You sat with your chin in your hands, watching him move, elegant, annoyed at the flour in his rings, muttering about how the heart mold wasn’t symmetrical enough.

You sighed happily. “Raffy?”

“Yes, cutie?”

“…Can I eat the raw dough?”

He turned, expression deadpan. “Will it stop the tears?”

You nodded.

He handed you a pinch. “Then yes, absolutely. Take the whole bowl if you want. I’ll kiss you better if you get a stomach ache.”

Once the new batch came out, perfectly heart-shaped this time, Rafayel pulled you back into his lap, dusted icing sugar from your nose with a dramatic sigh, and whispered smugly against your cheek:

“My wife throws tantrums over pastries. I married a princess.”

You beamed, mouth full of warm scone.

And he kissed you anyway.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

You were sitting sideways in Zayne’s lap, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, sniffing dramatically into the collar of his long coat. His hand rested calmly on your thigh, the other flipping through the patient report he had been trying to review before you burst into his home office in tears.

He hadn’t even flinched when you flung yourself into his lap like it was your natural place, because it was.

Now, you were sobbing softly into his shirt.

“I just wanted the kitty sticker on my water bottle,” you hiccuped. “The pink one. And now I can’t find it anywhere, and it’s just… everything’s ruined.”

Zayne blinked once. Slowly.

“…You’re crying,” he said, tone flat, “over a sticker.”

“It was a limited edition one,” you wailed louder, curling further into him like a miserable kitten. “The sparkly holographic one from the art market you said was overpriced but still bought for me anyway—”

“Yes,” he interrupted mildly, adjusting his glasses with one finger. “That sticker.”

A beat.

“Did you check the back of your phone case?”

You paused. Then went still.

“…Oh.”

You twisted slightly, reached back, peeled it off the case, and stared at it. Whole. Unharmed.

You glanced back at him sheepishly. “Oops…”

Zayne exhaled quietly through his nose, resting his forehead against yours like he was centering himself spiritually. “You’ve cried on four of my shirts this week,” he muttered.

“It was five,” you corrected meekly.

He looked at you, hazel-green eyes dry and unimpressed. “…Of course it was.”

You clung tighter to him. “I’m sorryyy. I just get so emotional sometimes and, and you’re warm and I needed to be held and I thought it was gone forever, and now I feel dumb and—”

“Enough.” His voice cut through your spiral with practiced ease. His thumb slid along your cheek, catching a fresh tear. “You’re not dumb. You’re dramatic. There’s a difference.”

You blinked up at him.

He continued with dry precision: “A dumb woman wouldn’t be able to weaponize her tears so efficiently. You cried, and I halted a coronary consult.”

You blinked again. “…Did you really?”

“I couldn’t hear over the sobbing,” he said, flat as ever. “And I wasn’t about to drag my wife out of my lap when her world was ending over foil cat stickers.”

You hid your face in his chest again, muffling a helpless giggle. “I’m sorry…”

“No, you’re not.”

“…No, I’m not.”

He hummed. “Didn’t think so.”

Then, quietly, Zayne placed the file on the table beside him and adjusted his grip on you, hand under your thighs, the other firm at your back.

His voice dropped, quieter, softer.

“Do you want me to find you more of those stickers?”

You nodded.

“I’ll message the seller.”

You peeked up at him. “Even if it’s overpriced again?”

He leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead.

“I’m a surgeon. I can afford your sticker addiction.”

You grinned through drying tears. “You love me.”

Zayne looked back down at you, mouth twitching at the corners. “Tragically.”

That evening, he returned home from work with three new sticker packs.

When you tried to cry again, this time because one was “too cute to ever use”, Zayne simply sat down, pulled you back into his lap, and muttered against your temple, “You’re banned from Etsy.”

You didn’t listen.

And he didn’t mind.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The penthouse was quiet when Xavier padded in, soft footfalls echoing on polished floors. His hair was tousled from sleep, even though it was nearly evening, and he was still dressed in his off-duty clothes: oversized white sweater, soft grey pants, and socks that didn’t match. One blue. One purple. He didn’t notice.

He found you where he always did.

Curled up on the sunken couch, surrounded by plush pillows and blankets he didn’t remember buying, tissues scattered like a fallen army.

You looked up with teary eyes, bottom lip wobbling.

He blinked. “Are you in pain?”

You wailed.

Xavier didn’t flinch. He simply crossed the living room, lifted you like you weighed nothing, and settled down with you in his lap, your permanent seat, apparently. He tucked the blanket around you both automatically.

His tone was calm. “Did something hurt you?”

You nodded into his chest.

He blinked again, blue eyes soft. “Who do I eliminate?”

You sniffled. “You.”

There was a pause. A long, quiet one.

“…Me?”

“You ate the last sakura mochi ice cream. Mine. The one I’d been saving for a bad day.” You looked up at him with wet lashes and righteous heartbreak. “And now I’m having a bad day and it’s not there.”

Xavier blinked slowly again, as if replaying the event in his mind. “I didn’t know it was yours.”

“It was in the back corner of the freezer behind the emergency dumplings!” you snapped. “You know that means it’s mine!”

“Oh,” he said flatly, as if you’d just told him water was wet. “I thought you were hiding it from ants.”

“There aren’t ants in the freezer, Xavier.”

He tilted his head. “Are you sure?”

You sobbed again. “I just wanted something sweet and cold after I did so many chores and folded your weird space socks and cleaned up after that dumb pigeon that keeps coming to our balcony and now there’s nothing left.”

You buried your face into his chest.

“Nothing but betrayal.”

Xavier wrapped his arms around you gently. “I didn’t mean to betray you.”

“You did.”

He nodded once, solemn. “Then I will bear the punishment.”

You sniffed again, looking up with suspicious eyes. “What’s the punishment?”

“Letting you cry on me for as long as you want.”

“…That’s not a punishment.”

“I know,” he said softly, tucking your head under his chin. “But you seem to like it.”

You sniffled, cheeks heating up.

A silence fell again, this one softer.

“Do you want me to go back to the market?” he asked suddenly, voice muffled against your hair.

You blinked. “It’s like a two-hour round trip—”

He was already standing, carrying you with him.

“I will go,” he said firmly. “You must stay. Crying wives should not be on trams.”

“…You’re just saying that because I fell asleep on one once and missed the stop.”

“You drooled on the pole,” he said, expression neutral. “The conductor filed a complaint.”

You clung tighter. “but take me with you.”

“No.”

“Xaaaaviiiieeer.”

“No,” he said again, voice soft but resolute. “You’ll fall asleep again and cry in public and then I’ll have to destroy someone for looking at you too long.”

You paused. “…Fair.”

He sat back down with you. “I will get the ice cream. You will stay here. I will return in ninety-seven minutes. You may cry until then.”

You blinked up at him, touched.

“You love me.”

He looked down at you like you hung the moon.

“I have risked my life multiple times,” he murmured, kissing your temple, “but I fear nothing as much as my pretty wife crying over desserts.”

When he returned, you were asleep in his sweater on the couch with a new box of tissues, the balcony pigeon perched smugly nearby.

Xavier placed the mochi ice cream in your lap, kissed your forehead, and whispered:

“Victory.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

The safehouse was too quiet.

Sylus knew it the moment he stepped out of his weaponary room and into the velvet-draped hallways. No spoiled chatter echoing through the corridors. No unnecessary purchases being flaunted in his direction. No soft steps scampering down the stairs with a “look what I ordered!”

Silence, in your world, was always suspicious.

He followed the soft sound of sniffling like a predator tracking prey, though the scent of vanilla, luxury skincare, and fresh credit card ink made it painfully obvious where you were.

His smug smirk sharpened the second he entered the lounge.

There you were. Curled on one of the silk chaises, the biggest one of course, wrapped in a fluffy blanket and surrounded by open boxes, designer bags, glittering heels, two jewelry cases, and a luxury drone still hovering in standby.

And you were sobbing. Sobbing over…

He narrowed his glowing eye slightly.

“…Lipstick?”

You turned, bottom lip trembling, eyes glassy and wet. “It’s not rose gold! It’s just shimmery salmon, they lied, Sy!”

He blinked. “And for this,” he murmured, voice lilting, “you’ve called for the end of the world?”

You wailed louder. “It doesn’t match my nails! Or the heels I picked for brunch tomorrow. You said you liked the brunch outfit, you lied to me too!”

He bit back a smirk. “I said I liked the outfit, my kitty. I never said your shoes matched the lipstick.”

You let out a dramatic gasp and flopped back like you’d faint.

He let you. Indulged in it.

He stepped closer, letting his coat slide off one shoulder as he dropped to sit on the edge of your fainting couch. You peeked at him through your fingers.

“I’m being so tragic today,” you whimpered.

Sylus’s gloved hand reached down, tucking your hair behind your ear, a slow curl to his lips.

“You’re being adorable.”

You blinked up. “Even when I cried at the drone for not having better taste?”

“You yell at drones. You sob over luxury packaging. You throw a tantrum when your brunch schedule is moved by ten minutes.” His voice lowered, smug and possessive. “You are the perfect little disaster. And all mine.”

You whined softly and reached for him.

He pulled you into his lap without hesitation, one arm hooking under your knees, the other curling behind your back. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in his collarbone.

“You’re mean,” you mumbled. “You think I’m dumb.”

“I think you’re delightful,” he corrected. “Painfully high maintenance. Obnoxiously bratty. But delightful.”

You hiccuped. “Do you actually like it when I cry?”

Sylus chuckled, low and pleased, the sound curling against your ear like velvet.

“I like anything that makes you run to me. Crying, shopping, scheming, screaming, doesn’t matter.” He nuzzled your cheek, a slow drag of his nose down your tear-stained skin. “You always end up in my lap either way.”

You sniffled again.

“…Can I buy a different rose gold lipstick?”

Sylus smirked against your cheek. “Buy thirty.”

“Okay,” you said immediately, perking up. “I’ll get every brand.”

“Mm.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw. “And while you do that, I’ll call your stylist. You’ll need new shoes to match all thirty.”

You gasped. “You do love me!”

He laughed, quiet, but genuinely. “You’re the only creature who could make me sit through a crying fit over cosmetics and still want to kiss the tears off your cheeks.”

You beamed, messy and smug and still a little wet-faced, clinging to him tighter.

Sylus leaned back on the chaise with you sprawled across his chest, lazy and possessive as ever.

“I’m going to destroy that brand,” he added offhandedly.

You blinked up. “Wait, what?”

He tilted his head, red eyes gleaming faintly. “They lied to my princess.”

“…Sy.”

“You cried.”

“You don’t need to destroy them—”

“You cried.”

The lipstick brand posted a mysterious apology the next day.

You got a PR box with actual rose gold lipsticks inside. Thirty of them.

And Sylus?

He smirked, sipped his wine, and kept your shopping drone “accidentally” hacked so it only displayed items in your preferred colors.

All of them were now tagged as princess-coded.

Because that’s exactly what you were.

And he wouldn’t let the world forget it.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Caleb had faced lots of things.

He’d commanded entire fleets, rewritten gravity, walked through explosions with only one glove smudged.

But nothing, nothing, prepared him for this.

You were crying.

Again.

In the middle of your gilded, bedroom in Skyhaven, surrounded by seventeen fluffy, high-end imported petticoats, with tears in your big wet eyes and your lower lip sticking out like a weaponized pout.

“It’s not puffy enough!” you sobbed, holding up the offending dress like it had personally betrayed you. “I said I wanted maximum puff, Caleb! You promised!”

He blinked from where he stood in full Farspace uniform, his cap still tucked under one arm, black boots gleaming, gloves unbuttoned. He had just gotten home.

And now you were sniffling and stomping your foot, your dainty little slippers slapping against the mirrored floor.

“Pipsqueak,” he started softly, trying not to laugh. “Baby. You have twelve custom princess dresses. They literally fly when you twirl—”

“But they don’t float like clouds!” you wailed. “I want the kind that make a sound when I walk. Like fwah-fwah-fwah!” You stomped again for emphasis. “This one just rustles!”

He couldn’t help it—his lips twitched.

You caught it. “Are you laughing at me?!”

Caleb crossed the room in two strides, lifting you effortlessly into his arms before you could storm away again. You squeaked, clutching his neck, your pout deepening.

“No,” he murmured, kissing your nose. “Never. You know I’d bark if you told me to. Hell, I’d jump off Skyhaven if you said it made your dresses poofier.”

You hiccuped mid-sniffle.

“You mean it?'

Caleb sat down on the edge of your pink chaise, pulling you into his lap so your skirts pooled around both of you.

“I literally rewired the AI in this house cause you said they weren't treating you gently enough. You think I wouldn’t raze the entire fashion industry if it meant you’d stop crying over dress volume?”

You whined and buried your face in his shoulder.

He rocked you gently. “There we go. Let it out. Cry about the bad dress, baby.”

You sniffled again. “I had a whole tea party outfit planned. Now what will the other official's wives say?”

Caleb growled softly under his breath. “They’ll say whatever I tell them to say, or I’ll dump them into deep space.”

You giggled wetly. “You can’t just throw skyhaven's high society ladies out, Caleb.”

“I can do anything,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Especially for you.”

“…Even puffier dresses?”

“I’ll fund a new brand that only makes them.”

You blinked up at him, tears drying fast. “You’d do that for me?”

He nodded solemnly. “I’ll call it... Princess Puff. Only you can buy from them.”

You squealed and kissed him messily on the cheek, smearing your lip gloss. “You’re my favorite boy.”

Caleb, hopeless, clutched you tighter and leaned back on the chaise, letting your frilly skirts bury him like a hero in a fairy tale.

“You’ve always been my favorite girl,” he murmured. “Even when you were a little crybaby who used to throw tantrums over sticker books.”

“I was a sensitive artist,” you huffed.

“You were a brat,” he teased, grinning. “My brat.”

You buried your face in his chest again, the fit of your next meltdown already forgotten.

And Caleb? He didn’t care if Fleet Command pinged his tablet. If the Bureau directors demanded his return.

Right now, his only mission was holding his precious pipsqueak close, wrapped in layers of unpuffy skirts and dramatic demands, and planning a fleet raid on every designer who had ever disappointed her.

Because your tears were sacred.

And Caleb, Farspace Colonel or not, was always going to roll over and play knight for his princess.

Every single time.

[kithtaehyung]

“Hello, this is Suga. I feel like it's been so long since I got to greet you. Army, have you been doing well? I've been spending my time waiting for the day I get to see you again. I miss you so much. I love you, everyone.” -Yoongi ; post ; trans

hearing his voice for the first time since he left just made my heart burst all the way open. he sounds like he always did. we’re gonna be okay. so, very okay.

[darkbluekies]

Edmund coming home to a darling who keeps having "nightmares" but one day he sees a bruise and finds out the maids have been hurting her, causing her to cry

"Name"

Yandere!king oc x fem!reader

Summary: Edmund realises that the maids have been bullying you behind his back ... and he's furious.

Warnings: bruises, bullying, threats of harm and murder, jealousy, darling feels responsible/guilty for their deaths, guilt, mention of murder, possessiveness

Word count: 1.8k

He’s had to work night multiple weeks in a row, leaving you alone in the bed chamber for hours before he joins you, often in the transition between night and the cold hours of the morning. It had been fine in the beginning. Dare you admit you even found it a bit therapeutic? Being alone for once, without him, where else he’s breathing down your neck like some kind of puppy. 

But then it had shifted. The maids who usually patrolled the corridors started sneaking in when it was clear that Edmund wouldn’t come. At first they talked to you about mindless things that seemed harmless, but you could feel something in the air. That feeling, the one where you know the second you part ways, they’ll start talking. Laughing. Mocking. They always asked you about your background, made comments about your clothes and jewelry. Never any direct critiques, but not any compliments either. A grey zone that made your stomach uneasy.

The talking didn’t last long. In a matter of a few days, it shifted. Evolved to something worse. Darker. They have started to mock you to your face when no one else hears, and hit you when you cry. You don’t dare say anything back, just take it … knowing very well what will happen with them if Edmund gets to hear you shout. So every night you bite your lips shut and take it. 

A part of you screams that you should tell Edmund. Let them die, let them see you’re not someone one can mess with and get away with … if only if it wasn’t for the fact that they will die. Edmund’s not a half-assed guy. His love is never a “I would kill for you”-mantra. He has, and will undoubtedly, kill for you again. Over and over. He’d kill anyone you point at, if you wanted to. And oh, how it makes you feel dirty. You’re not the one pulling the trigger or swinging the sword, but you’re the commander. The reason why. In some capacity, you would be a murderer. 

It doesn’t matter how much you hate these women. Death—murder—is never a justified punishment. Not for jealousy. They deserve to be removed and possibly punished, but not killed. Never killed. Their deaths will wreck the lives of innocents who have nothing to do with their behaviour. And you will be blamed. 

You look down at your arms. The darkness hides the marks, but you feel them like bleeding, salt infected wounds. Edmund hasn't noticed. When he comes to bed it's dark enough to hide them. In daylight they're hidden under your extravagant dresses, thanks to Edmund's modesty rules. 

Maybe you want him to notice. Maybe you want a reason to tell, to get comforted and reassured that their words aren't true. To have someone on your side. Maybe you want him to never find them. 

You sob, pulling the covers closer to your body. They've left for the night. You should lay down and try to sleep, or at least pretend to. But you're unable to. Your body refuses to move from its sitting position. If you lay down and they come back you're powerless. Three against one. One laying down. Easy to overpower.

You're not sure what you're most scared of them doing to you. Cut your hair to the scalp? Touch your features and make you unrecognizable? Too ugly to be attractive to him? They've threatened it one time— “what if we just decide to break your nose? Your jaw? Who'll love you then, your majesty? You'll be thrown to the slums, like everyone else. You're not untouchable just because he finds you pretty. That ‘prettiness’ can easily be taken from you.”

Or are you more afraid of them killing you? They've gotten worse over the days. A quick slippery slope down to madness wouldn't be impossible. They could easily pin you down and slit your throat, stab you.

You’re too in your own head to hear the door opening. 

“You’re still awake?” 

Edmund’s voice rips you out of your thoughts. You gasp, breath getting caught in your throat. Your hands are about to move up to your cheeks to wipe your tears, but you know he’ll catch that. Instead you turn your head away slightly, hoping the darkness will hide the tears streaks. His footsteps seem to echo behind him. 

“My jewel, you’re supposed to be asleep by now”, Edmund says and you feel the bed shift as he sits down. “Having trouble sleeping?”

You nod without looking at him. It has the opposite effect you wish for. 

“Why aren’t you looking at me?” 

His fingers touch your cheek, turning your head to him. You’re unable to stop it. You meet his eyes, those ice blue ones that seem to glow in the dark, and feel yourself crumble under his gaze. Your eyes fill, once again, with new tears. Edmund’s jaw clenches and he quickly moves closer. 

“What is it?” he asks, voice tight. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You shake your head, lowering your chin. Edmund’s eyes start to wander, desperately looking for clues. His eyes stop at a particularly dark spot on your shoulder, just below the neck line of the flowy night gown. His fingertips touch it gently, as if trying to see if it’s real, and you flinch away before you can react. 

“Y/N …”, Edmund breathes out. “What the hell? Don’t tell me that’s what I think it is.”

When you don’t answer, he shifts closer. Close enough for you to feel his breath on your skin as he brings a small, electrical lamp close enough to see the bruise clearer. There’s only a word leaving his throat, but it is enough. “Name.”

“No.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“It won’t solve it.”

“It will. It’ll stop them from hurting what’s mine. Give me the name.”

You turn your head down, looking at your hands trembling in your lap. 

“It’s not ‘the’ name—”

“There’s more?” His voice has a sharper edge. “Okay then, give me their names.”

“I don’t want blood on my hands.”

“There won’t be any blood on your hands. Only mine. No one else is allowed to touch you. Nothing else, is allowed to. And if you don’t tell me who gave you these ugly marks I will hunt them down, and I’m sure a few innocent will be struck that way. Give me the cowards names. Do you think a king will let his queen be hurt by unworthy?”

You don’t answer. The sobs come back, rippling through you. You’re on the edge now, so close to ending someone’s life. You have the gun in your hand and all you need is to pull the trigger … or put it down. But if you put it down, he’ll pick it up and shoot without hesitation. As long as you hold the gun … nothing happens.  

“Gosh, these marks makes me nauseous”, Edmund gags as he holds your arm in his hands. He has pulled up the sleeve to get a good look at them. “So brutal.”

“Please don’t look.”

“Tell me their names. My pretty jewel, tell me their names. Please, Y/N. Tell me who did it.”

You shake your head again, sobbing. Edmund sighs heavily. 

“Can you at least tell me how long it’s been going on?” he asks, and you can hear the frustration in his voice, even if half of it is pure worry. 

“Since you started working night”, you mumble, hiccuping through sobs. 

“Since I started work— … you have to be kidding me?”

You shake your head. Edmund bites back a scream and looks around, as if trying to find something to ground himself on.

“So, people have been coming in here when you’re alone and hurt you?” he asks, voice shaking. “And you’ve been silent about it? It’s been two weeks. Why haven’t you said anything?!”

“Because I’m scared, Edmund …”

His eyes immediately soften. Not to a gentle one, but one that isn’t piercing. He pulls you closer, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. 

“Y/N, darling”, he says with his trembling voice. “I’m the king. I am the highest power in this kingdom, yeah? You are my wife, correct? You are the safest person in this country. But I can’t help you if you refuse to tell me when someone is hurting you.”

“You will kill them.”

“Damn right I will. That’s what happens when people think they can touch what’s mine. Touching you is a war crime and I will not let them get away with it.”

He cups your wet cheek, turning you to him. 

“Who hurt my pretty girl?” he whispers sorrowfully. 

Your finger trembles on the imaginary trigger. And, before you can register it, you press. 

His face lights up—not in a happy way, but relief. He’s about to fly up form the bed, but you grab his arm. 

“No, no, Edmund please!” you plead, voice breaking with sobs. “Don’t leave me!”

“I will get those bitches for this”, he tells you, his voice now a venomous deadly calm. “I will snap their necks myself.”

“No … no please, don’t go.”

You hug his arm, pleading over and over again. Edmund seems torn between revenge and protection, but in the end he gives in and climbs back into the bed, pulling you flush against him. 

“Fine”, he gives in, squeezing your trembling form. “I will let them have their final night … but tomorrow they’ll get what they deserve. For now I’ll take care of my beautiful queen.”

He kisses the top of your head. 

“I will never let those creatures near you again", he promises, showering your face in kisses. Too soft for his usual behaviour. “They don’t deserve to touch you. Only I am. I am the only one worthy enough to touch you. To kiss you. To hold you. To be near you. To see you. Tell me what they did to you.”

So you do. His grip on you tightens for everything you tell him, but his lips never leave your skin. They burn. 

“I’ll enjoy tomorrow morning”, he decides, moving even closer to you, snuggling. “I’ll kill them slowly—well, if you can snap someone’s neck slow—and enjoy every bit of it.”

He holds you close, running his fingers through your hair. You feel his cold, golden rings against your scalp. Your face is tucked beneath his chin, against the warmth of his neck. It’s as if he wants to pull you into him, become one with him. As if you’re only safe if you’re beneath his skin. 

“You’re so soft in my arms”, he whispers. “Really soft. Only mine.”

He hums and rests his cheek against your hair, falling asleep. But you? You won’t sleep for a long time. Relieved that you no longe have to carry it yourself … guilty that you’ve pulled the trigger. But you wouldn’t have won anyway. He always does. He always gets what he wants in the end … and this time, it’s to protect you. 

[lovelyhan]

— starcrossed losers ⟢

one night was all it took for your world to unravel. you live now as a princess with no kingdom, a daughter without a family. but when jeonghan reminds you what it feels like to be selfish again, you're torn between reclaiming your birthright and surrendering to the comfort of his arms forever.

★ FEATURING; jeonghan x reader

★ WORD COUNT; 23.8k words

★ TAGS; princess!reader, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, magic & fantasy, angst, grief/mourning, slow burn, yearning if you squint i guess, smut (MINORS DNI)

★ NOTES; remember when i said this was going to have two parts only? yeah about that... :') the lore was just A Lot, so to speak LOL. it's nigh impossible to conclude in two chapters, so surprise! there will be part three hehe (this is real, no more additions i PROMISE). and just a heads up to those seeing this fic for the first time, this is PART 2!! not a lot will make sense if you don't read part 1 (as linked below hehe).

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

★ SMUT TAGS; oral (f receiving), intercrural sex, drunk sex, they're both just yearning so much for each other your honor, jh still calls you 'your grace' in bed lol, explicit letters? they're freaky with their correspondences (think: medieval sexting), masturbation, fantasizing abt ur lover who's half a kingdom away

The portrait hall was colder than you remembered.

Your steps didn’t echo much across the marble, muffled by the hush that clung to the air like dust. It smelled of polished stone, old candle wax, and something harder to name. You weren’t supposed to be here, not alone and not this late, but no one stopped you anymore.

You walked the corridor slowly, trailing your fingers along the stone. Paintings lined both sides—every monarch who ruled before your father, frozen in oil and velvet, with stiff collars and colder eyes. You didn’t know all their names, but they were not the ones you came here for.

The last portrait at the end of the hall is framed in gold. Lit by a dozen quiet candles, it hung just a little higher than the rest.

Your mother.

You tilted your head back to see her face. She looked taller in the painting than anyone ever described—poised, regal, with a kind of beauty that didn’t invite affection so much as reverence. She looked like you. Or maybe you looked like her. You’d heard it since you were old enough to understand words—how you were her mirror. Her shadow. Her echo.

For a long time, you simply stared, hoping something might change. That if you stood still enough, the memory you never had might rise out of the quiet. That she might turn her head to smile and speak with you. 

“Your Highness.”

You didn’t turn right away

Siwon stepped closer, his shoes making no more noise than yours, and bowed low. Neither formal nor stiff, but familiar—the same way he always did with you and your father.

“You take after her more than you know,” he said softly. 

You kept your eyes straight. “But I never met her.”

“No.” Siwon stood beside you as he folded his hands behind his back. “But she’s with you, all the same.”

You hesitated. “What was she like?”

The king’s advisor was quiet for a long moment. When you looked up at him, he was watching the painting with something gentle in his face—like even now, after all these years, he was still trying to remember the sound of her voice.

“The queen was a quiet woman,” he said. “The court often mistook that for softness, for weakness, but it was far from that. I’d daresay, what she had was strength. She didn’t have to raise her voice to be heard.”

You didn’t answer, but you listened anyway.

“Her magic is… unique,” he said. “She could speak to animals.”

Your brow furrowed. “People can do that?”

He smiled faintly. “Not most people. But your mother could.”

Your chest tightened. The thought felt too large for you, too wild and far away.

“Do you think I can speak to animals too?” you asked.

Siwon turned to you fully, studying your face in the candlelight. His expression was unreadable, but not unkind.

“I do not know,” he told you honestly. “What I do know is this, Your Highness—you will be great. Just as the queen was. In your own way.”

You nodded, slowly, but your eyes were already drifting back to the painting. Her eyes were the same color as yours. But hers knew more. As if they had already seen the road waiting for you.

A faint breeze stirred through the corridor. One of the candles flickered, its flame bowing low before righting itself again. The shadows on the queen’s painted cheek shifted just for a moment, as if she’d breathed.

You stood very still.

Beyond the glass, an owl perched silently on a high branch, its feathers blending into the dark. You didn’t see it, but it watched you with eyes the color of tarnished gold—patient, ancient, and strange.

Siwon said nothing more. He only bowed once, and left you alone in the hush. You stayed a little longer to gaze up at your mother, memorizing the lines of a face you somehow already carried. Then, without a word, you turned and walked back down the hall. 

Behind you, the owl did not blink. Its eyes held no judgment. 

Only memory.

The road was longer than it should’ve been.

Ancarra sat beside Seraphia on every map you’d ever seen, but tonight, it felt impossibly far—like a dream slipping out of reach. Ahead, Soonyoung gripped the reins tight as the coach hurtled forward, the horses driving through the dark as if speed alone could outrun the ruin swallowing your homeland.

Minghao’s scheme was an attack on all fronts. He didn’t just seize the capital, he struck it like a blade to the heart, then sent his forces spilling outward into the neighboring cities before anyone could react. Fires erupted within hours. Screams echoed through the streets. Those who resisted were cut down without mercy, their bodies left where they fell as a message.

You hated that you were fleeing while your people suffered. The guilt clawed at your chest, louder than the thunder of hooves or the distant roar of collapsing stone. You should’ve stayed. Fought. Died, maybe. Anything but this helpless retreat into the night.

The carriage jolted over uneven ground, wheels rattling as it sped through the dark. Inside, it was tense and still, save for the tremble in Joshua’s clasped hands. He sat across from you, his usual calm replaced by something sharper. You’d never seen him this shaken before, but how could he not be? He came to this kingdom to partake in your name-day celebration, and now you were all escaping from the ashes of the capital—its streets overrun, its people scattered, its sky lit with fire. 

Every now and then, Joshua looked like he might speak. A prayer, maybe. A scrap of comfort. He was good at those. But you didn’t move. Didn’t meet his gaze. Didn’t say a word.

So he stayed silent too.

Each breath you took was shaky as the night’s events replayed in your mind. From the argument that broke out between Jeonghan and Minghao, to leaving your father and Siwon and Reya behind. You wanted to scream, to cry, to tear the world apart until it made sense again. A pit had settled in your stomach, cold and unmoving, as if grief had anchored itself there before you’d even had time to mourn. 

You hadn’t even noticed Jeonghan shifting closer until you felt the warmth of his shoulder brushing yours. There were no clever remarks. No biting retorts. This silence was unlike him. Jeonghan had always met fear with wit, always masked discomfort with a smirk or a well-timed jab. Now, he just sat beside you like he understood. Like he knew that if he spoke, the weight you were carrying might shatter into something neither of you could hold.

You only realized you were shaking until Jeonghan shifted beside you, just enough that his voice could reach you without disturbing the hush in the carriage.

“Back in Seraphia,” he said quietly, “Joshua and I used to sit through hours of meetings. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even glance at each other without getting called out.”

Joshua stirred across from you, lifting his head just slightly at the mention.

“So,” Jeonghan went on, “we came up with a system.”

He reached down and tapped your knee once, light and deliberate over the fabric of your dress.

“One tap means ‘okay.’ Or ‘understood.’”

Then he tapped twice.

“Two means ‘I’m here.’”

You blinked, the simplicity of it landing with more weight than it should’ve. You turned to look at him, but Jeonghan wasn’t watching you—his eyes stayed focused somewhere just past the smoke-fogged window. He wasn’t trying to fix anything. He was just… offering.

Across from you, Joshua gave a faint, weary smile. “He’d overuse it,” he said softly, his voice hoarse but laced with familiarity. “Especially when he wanted me to lie for him.”

Jeonghan didn’t deny it. But he tapped your knee twice again.

I’m here.

You didn’t know where a trick like that would ever be useful again. But something about it made the carriage feel a little less cold. A little less like a coffin.

With a quaint sigh, you leaned into him just a bit, and finally let your eyes close as the carriage hurtled deeper into the night, toward a future that hadn’t yet begun—and away from everything you could never return to.

You fled Ancarra at midnight. You arrived in Seraphia at midnight, too.

Weary didn’t begin to describe it—there was a bone-deep exhaustion no salve could soothe, no rest could touch. But still, you pressed on because you had to. Because turning back was no longer an option.

The royal gates opened in silence.

No guards shouted. No horns were blown. Only those within the highest circle had been told of your arrival. Soonyoung stayed close. He hadn’t let go of your hand once since you left the carriage. Even now, as the royal halls unfolded before you, too lavish and too golden in the low candlelight, his grip was still tight, still trembling.

Jeonghan and Joshua led the way. Their home was pristine, but it was the tension in the air that choked you. Familiar, but no longer comforting.

You’d been to this castle before—more times than you could count. You’d played in these halls. Danced in that ballroom. Once tripped down those stairs and cried into the queen’s lap until she bribed you with an entire tray of sweets. And still, you’d never felt smaller than you did tonight.

The Seraphian king and queen were already waiting when you were ushered into one of the drawing rooms. They looked exactly as you remembered them: regal, elegant, kind. But this time, the queen didn’t reach for your cheek with a gentle tease. She reached for you like a mother.

“My dear,” she whispered, folding you into her arms. “Oh, my poor girl.”

That was all it took. Your knees nearly gave way, and you had to grip her robes to keep yourself upright. But you didn’t cry just yet. You just clung to her like a lifeline.

Soonyoung bowed hastily, words pouring from his mouth before anyone else could speak. “Your Majesties, I—please forgive me. If Renxing learns you’ve taken us in, they’ll see it as an act of war. We didn’t mean to bring that to your doorstep. We’ll leave at first light—”

“Nonsense,” said the king, rising to his feet. “You will do no such thing.”

The queen nodded. “You are children. Brave, loyal children—but still children. You should not have to live on the run. Not like this.”

Joshua stepped closer to your side, quiet but watchful. Jeonghan on the other hand, hadn’t moved far either—lingering near the door, as though still expecting trouble to follow through the threshold. But the queen looked at him then. 

“Jeonghan. Take them to the west wing. Let her rest,” she said all while smoothing a hand across your hair. “Tomorrow we’ll speak with the court, but tonight… She's home.”

Home.

You didn’t know if this place still qualified as that. But you let yourself be led away anyway, the promise of a bed and safety something you no longer had the strength to refuse.

Shortly after stepping into the west wing, Joshua handed you a change of clothes. The fabric was soft, finer than anything you remembered from Seraphia’s stores—lavender-dyed linen, threaded with silver at the hems. Fit for royalty. 

You barely registered it when he placed the bundle in your arms. Your eyes kept flickering to the stonework. The sconces. The tapestries. All things that reminded you of home.

Of a home that was no longer yours.

Jeonghan said nothing as he walked ahead, guiding you and Soonyoung down the hall. He knew these corridors like the back of his hand. You remembered once accusing him of being born with the entire palace floor plan stamped into his skull. Now you trailed behind him like a ghost, your hand still clasped around your advisor’s. When you reached the two doors at the end of the hall, the older prince opened both. 

“These rooms are yours for as long as you need them.”

Soonyoung started to step away, finally giving you a little space. But your grip tightened, your breath catching in your throat.

“No,” you said quietly, urgently. “Don’t.”

Your advisor blinked. “...Princess?”

You turned to Jeonghan. You hadn’t called him by name once since fleeing the castle, but now, your voice cracked under the weight of formality. “May I share a room with him? Just for tonight.”

It was strange. The way the words sounded in your mouth, like they belonged to someone else. But you couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone. You were used to the velvet canopy of your bed. The tinkle of windchimes outside your window. Reya curled beside your feet, a silent guardian through the night. Tonight, you had nothing. 

No father. No Reya. No home.

You were a princess without a kingdom. A daughter without a family. And Soonyoung—

He was the last piece of Ancarra you had left.

“Of course.”

Your eyes met Jeonghan’s for only a moment. He didn’t press. Didn’t question. Didn’t flinch at the unspoken wound in your gaze. He simply told you, “Rest easy. I’ll be right next door if you need anything.”

And then he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Joshua quickly excused himself to his own bedchambers down the hall as well, bidding the two of you a good night’s sleep. The concern lingered in the younger prince’s gaze, but like Jeonghan, he knew better than to press. You wouldn’t know how to respond in your current state either.

So for tonight, you clung to what was left. To Soonyoung’s hand, and the sound of your own breath.

The council chamber was stifling. Heavy with incense, arguments, and the scent of fear. Seraphia’s nobles lined the carved obsidian table, draped in silk and pride. The royal mages sat to the side, faces sharp with suspicion. You stood beneath their scrutiny like a shadow that did not belong.

“…and still, we do not know the full scope of the damage,” one mage—high-collared and ageless—was saying. “No formal declaration. No surviving messengers. Instead, we’re relying on the testimony of fugitives.”

You flinched at the word.

Soonyoung stepped forward immediately, jaw tight with barely restrained frustration. “Her Highness is not a fugitive. She is Ancarra’s rightful heir.”

“And Ancarra,” one noblewoman drawled, “may very well be gone.”

Jeonghan, seated beside the Seraphian king, said nothing. But you felt his gaze flick toward you, subtle and reassuring. His fingers drummed once, then again, against the dark wood of the table. Two quick taps.

It came and went like a ripple in still water. But you caught the message, and with it, the ache in your chest lightened just slightly. Jeonghan couldn’t speak now, not when the room brimmed with eyes trained on every twitch and breath. But he had found a way to reach you anyway. 

I’m here.

His father leaned forward.

“We have no confirmation,” the king said. “There have been no proclamations from Renxing. No movement at our borders either. Everything surrounding Ancarra has been… suspiciously quiet. We mustn’t act hastily.”

“You are asking us,” another noble spat, “to shelter the target of an imperial coup. The general of the Renxing army ransacked her castle—what happens when he turns his gaze here?”

“And what happens,” Soonyoung countered, “if we do nothing? If we let Renxing consume one kingdom after another while we pretend not to see?”

A harsh silence fell.

Someone muttered under their breath, “We are not ready for war.”

“We don’t have to be,” Jeonghan said at last, voice calm but deadly precise. “Not yet, at least.”

All heads turned.

“The princess and her advisor will remain under our protection,” he went on. “If Renxing wanted to make a move, they would have done it already. Minghao isn’t a fool—he’s waiting to see how the other kingdoms respond. How we respond.”

“And if our response is weakness,” someone murmured, “he’ll strike.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Not with the sight of your father’s blood still fresh in your memory. Not with Reya’s last words still echoing through you like the toll of a funeral bell. But you felt Jeonghan’s gaze on you again, a flicker of warmth in a room gone cold.

Two taps on the table.

I’m here.

Time passed like molasses. Slow and suffocating.

In the weeks that followed, you learned what it meant to haunt a place while still being alive. You were a ghost in the Seraphian castle—seen but untouched, spoken of but rarely spoken to. After that council meeting, the king swore every noble and mage present to silence. A blood oath of secrecy. Your name, your survival, your very presence within Seraphia’s marble halls became a state secret punishable by death.

You knew it was necessary. Still, it left a hollow sort of guilt in your chest. How many of them resented you for it? How many feared the noose for sheltering the broken thing Ancarra left behind?

You had nowhere else to go.

So you stayed. Hidden.

Some days, you didn’t rise from bed. Others, you sat at the same window for hours, watching the sunlight shift across the floorboards without ever touching your face. Birds came sometimes—tiny, curious things you would have spoken to once without thinking. But now their songs only deepened the quiet inside you.

You didn’t speak to them.

You didn’t speak much at all.

Soonyoung tried, in his quiet and patient way. But even he couldn’t always get through. He gave you space, and Jeonghan filled in the spaces you didn’t know how to ask for. He never pushed. Never chided you for letting yourself drown in your grief. 

Instead, he left things for you to have. A fresh cup of tea on your bedside table. A shawl when the castle halls turned bitter cold. A book he thought you might like, even if the pages remained untouched for weeks. Joshua would come by to spare you the exact same kindness every now and again, but it was different when it was Jeonghan. 

You weren’t used to this version of him. It even unsettled you at first. You’d built your walls tall and sharp, braced for the inevitable moment he’d strike a nerve just for the fun of it. But it never came. Jeonghan did not demand anything from you. Not even conversation.

He simply remained.

Sometimes, you would catch him watching you from the doorway of whatever room you’d choose to linger in that day. Not like a hawk, but like a boy who’d once laughed too loud and too often, now standing very still for fear of making you disappear. You weren’t sure what to make of it, but you let him linger. 

One morning, you actually made it to the dining hall.

You weren’t even that hungry, but Soonyoung had pressed gently and Jeonghan had waited in the corridor without saying a word, just long enough for you to force yourself out of bed and into something clean. That was how most things happened lately. Not because you wanted them to. But because the people who hadn’t left you yet… waited long enough.

You sat alone at a small table in the far end of the hall, poking at a bowl of warm barley stew. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the morning sun slanted through stained glass in ribbons of gold and violet. You barely noticed.

“Princess?”

You looked up.

The woman that approached you was unfamiliar. Mid-thirties, maybe. Her pale robes were brushed with ink black sigils and constellations. You’ve studied Seraphia's geography before, so you vaguely recognized the embroidered crest on her clothes. She was a royal mage of Aragorn, one of the southern cities.

You blinked at her, unsure what to say. The woman didn’t bow, but she placed her hand gently over her chest in a gesture of greeting.

“I hope I’m not intruding, Your Highness. My name is Taeyeon,” she said softly. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

You stared for a second too long, then dropped your eyes back to your half-eaten bowl. 

“I’m… still alive.”

The words escaped your lips with no real thought. You hadn’t meant to say them aloud, but they were true. And in some small, exhausted part of you, it felt like that was enough. However, Taeyeon didn’t smile at your answer, nor did she grimace. All she offered in response was the slightest nod of her head. 

“It’s a relief that you’re very much alive,” she said. “But, Princess, are you truly living?”

You couldn’t answer.

Because that sentence cut straight through you like a drawn blade. Your spoon fell gently back into the bowl as your chest started to ache. Your breath hitched before you could stop it, and in that flicker of pain, you remembered:

Ancarra will never die as long as you live.

You had survived that night; you were surviving still, but you weren’t living.  Not in a way Reya would have believed in. Not in a way your father would have wanted for you.

Taeyeon didn’t press you for an answer. She simply stood there, hands folded loosely in front of her, watching with the kind of stillness that made you feel like she saw more than she should. Not just your body seated at the table, but the frayed thing beneath it trying not to come apart.

After a moment, she spoke again. 

“In Aragorn, when we lose someone,” she said, “we say: May your shadow return when your heart is ready to follow it.”

You lifted your head. Taeyeon gave a small smile before continuing.

“It means there’s no shame in not feeling whole,” she explained. “Sometimes the part of us that knows how to live stays behind with the ones we lost. But that part can find its way back, when we’re ready to want it again.”

You couldn’t respond, but you didn’t turn from her, either.

Taeyeon inclined her head again. “Forgive me for interrupting your morning, Princess. I’ll take my leave.”

And just like that, she turned and walked off, robes trailing soft behind her, the sigils on her sleeves catching light like starlight on ink. 

That evening, the castle was quiet. 

You sat by the window, letting the breeze pull through in slow, whispering drifts. Moonlight spilled across the floor in a soft silver veil. You hadn’t lit a candle. The dark felt easier somehow—like it knew how to hold the ache without asking you to explain.

Taeyeon’s words still echoed in your chest.

May your shadow return when your heart is ready to follow it.

You repeated it in your head like a spell, tracing it over the ache in your ribs, the hollow behind your sternum. And for the first time in weeks, you felt… lighter. As if some part of you was no longer curled in on itself.

A knock at the door broke the quiet.

Soonyoung stepped inside after your soft murmur of permission. His brows were drawn, a solemn expression fixed to his face as he closed the door behind him. He looked exhausted—but it wasn’t just that. You recognized it now. Determination. The kind that didn’t come without a cost.

“…There’s something I need to tell you,” he said.

You looked at him. And your stomach twisted before he even began.

“I’ve made the decision to return to Ancarra. Or beyond, if that’s where the truth leads.” His voice was calm, but beneath it, his hands were clenched. “It’s been more than a month, and we still don’t know what Minghao truly wants. Or if the Renxing emperor is even complicit in his actions. That silence is not mercy—it’s misdirection.”

“... So you’re leaving me?” Your body tensed, the words spilling from your mouth before you could stop them. “You’re leaving me alone?”

Soonyoun’s expression grew even more pained. “I must, Your Highness. It’s the only way we can take back the kingdom.”

You stood too quickly. The chair screeched behind you.

“But you don’t even have magic, Soonyoung!” Your voice cracked like glass. “How will you protect yourself? What if—what if—”

“He won’t go alone, Your Grace.” 

The interruption came from the doorway.

Jeonghan leaned against the frame with his arms crossed. You didn’t even notice him slipping into your bedchambers. 

“Soonyoung asked for my counsel before he made this decision. Seraphia will assign him two of our finest knights. They’ve been given clearance to act under our name, and they shall die before they let harm come to him.”

But none of that comforted you. None of it made the hollow, aching grief in your chest feel any less unbearable. Because it wasn’t just about strategy or survival.

It was about losing the one constant you had left.

“I can’t…” Your voice was hoarse as tears slipped past your lashes. “I can’t lose you too.”

Soonyoung crossed the room in three strides, and this time, he didn’t wait for permission. He held you as your breath shook, as your hands clutched at his sleeves, as all the agony you’d kept buried for weeks came tumbling loose from your chest.

“You won’t lose me,” he murmured into your hair. 

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “Swear it. Swear you’ll come back to me alive. Swear you won’t even think about letting yourself get killed out there.”

Soonyoung  raised a hand to his heart and bowed his head solemnly. 

“I swear it. “On Ancarra. On my life. I will return to you.”

At that moment, you believed him.

Because you had to.

The library was quiet this afternoon.

You sat tucked into your usual corner, nestled between shelves that reached toward the vaulted ceiling like ancient sentinels. A book rested open in your lap—one Jeonghan had brought you days ago—its pages worn at the edges, words curling like ivy down the margins. The scent of dust and cedar wrapped around you, warm and unintrusive.

You'd begun venturing beyond your chambers more often now. Not much. Not far. But it was something. The worst of the weight had lifted, even if grief still hung from your shoulders like a veil. You could breathe again, even if each breath was fragile.

But you still kept your distance.

The Seraphian nobles who roamed the castle in silks and polished boots looked at you like a stain on the tapestries—an echo of a ruined kingdom. Their glances were sharp and slick with quiet disdain, and so you’d learned to disappear before they could speak your name.

Here in the library, though, no one expected anything of you.

You had just tucked your knees beneath you, settling deeper into the window seat’s cushions, when the door eased open with a soft creak.

Jeonghan stood in the doorway with a bundle of red roses in his hands.

You blinked. “What… is this?”

The prince stepped inside, the edge of his cloak brushing the floor like a velvet shadow. “What does it look like?” he said, one brow lifting. “Am I not allowed to bring flowers to my betrothed?”

You stared at him. Then at the roses. Then back again. “…Did you pick those from the palace gardens?”

“Not quite. Shua bought them for me from a florist in the city.” A crooked, boyish smile tugged at his lips. “So maybe it’s a gift from him, too.”

You took them slowly, careful not to crush the velvet petals. The scent was unexpectedly sweet—deep, almost honeyed. “They’re beautiful,” you murmured. Then, with a bitter little laugh, “But… can I still be called your betrothed when my kingdom is in ruins?”

Jeonghan didn’t even hesitate. He crossed the room without hesitation and sank into the seat beside you, close enough that your shoulders touched.

“I’m betrothed to you,” he said, brushing your cheek delicately with his knuckles. “Not your crown. Not your court. You.”

The roses trembled slightly in your grip. You looked down at them, then at his other hand resting between you. That warmth beneath your ribs stirred again. Like the first hint of spring in frozen ground.

You lowered your gaze, letting the silence settle between you.

The roses in your lap were the same deep red as the ones that always bloomed late in your garden back home. You hadn’t thought about those roses in months. Maybe longer.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the stems.

You’d spent over ten years loathing Jeonghan. Not because he was a stranger. but because he never missed a chance to get under your skin. He’d tease you until your temper frayed, smirk when you snapped, and always walked away looking far too pleased with himself.

And by some twist of fate, the two of you fell into each other in ways that would have made his mother faint. You hadn’t stopped being confused. Not when he kissed you back behind that statue of a winged-lion. And certainly not now, with red roses in your lap and his breath soft beside your cheek.

If only he’d been like this from the start, you thought. We would’ve been married at eighteen.

But you didn’t say it aloud. You didn’t dare. Because what if this was just another version of him you didn’t know how to keep?

“…Thank you,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Jeonghan didn’t look away when you voiced your gratitude. He just nodded once and then leaned back slightly, letting the weight of the moment stretch into something more familiar. 

“You know… since you’ve been out and about lately, I was wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“If you’d be interested in getting a bit of exercise.” His mouth twitched. 

You blinked. “What kind of exercise?”

“The kind that gets your blood moving. Not a walk in the gardens or a stroll in the city,” he added, as if reading your mind. “Something a little more… hands-on.”

You arched a brow. “Are you offering to fight me?”

“Please.” He huffed a laugh. “I like my bones unbroken.”

You snorted despite yourself.

“I was thinking,” he continued, “the captain of the royal guard is in the capital for once. He’s only around for a few days, and I figured… he might be a good sparring partner. If you’re interested.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the roses in your lap. You hadn’t picked up a sword in—gods, months now. Maybe longer. Before everything fell apart, you’d been too busy preparing for your name-day. For the wedding. For the future you were supposed to have. But now that future was uncertain, and you were tired of feeling like a ghost inside it.

You let out a slow breath. “All right. It’s about time I stretched my legs.”

“Perfect. Seungcheol gets cranky in the mornings, but it’ll be worth your time,” he reassured.

That’s how you found yourself following Jeonghan to the castle’s training grounds. You were given a set of training clothes before you left—the fabric lighter than your usual garments, loose enough for movement, fitted enough not to snag. 

The castle’s training grounds were nestled behind the east wing, flanked by low stone walls and a cluster of blooming trees that masked the sound of the city beyond. A rack of weapons stood at the far end, well-maintained and meticulously ordered. You could see chalk lines on the ground, which Jeonghan said were for marking the sparring space.

Everything here breathed discipline.

The captain of the royal guard was already at the center of the yard, shirt damp with sweat, muscles taut with the effort of repetition. He held a longsword in one hand, his other arm wrapped loosely behind his back, and swung with precise, unhurried control—over and over, like a pendulum. 

“Seungcheol does that a thousand times every day,” Jeonghan whispered. “Exactly a thousand. He won’t stop until he hits the count.”

You watched the glint of the blade arc through the air again. “Why?”

“He says if his body forgets how to move, his men might not live long enough to remind him.”

At the sound of your footsteps, Seungcheol paused mid-swing. He didn’t sheathe the sword—just lowered it, slow and steady, turning to face you both. His expression was unreadable. Eyes sharp beneath dark brows, jaw set in a way that suggested he didn’t approve of being interrupted.

“Captain,” Jeonghan greeted, polite but casual. “Hope we’re not intruding.”

Seungcheol’s gaze flicked between the two of you before sparing a shallow nod. “Your Highness.”

The prince gestured toward you. “We were hoping you’d spare some time. She wants to spar.”

Seungcheol’s frown deepened. His eyes settled on you again, more pointed now. “Pardon the bluntness, but I’ve heard from the staff you’ve barely left your bedchambers these past few weeks. You’ve been… recovering.” His tone didn’t mock—but it didn’t soften either. “You’re in no condition to spar.”

You met his scrutiny with a calm smile.

“Then,” you said gently, “would you please help build my strength back up?”

For a moment, the only sound was wind through the leaves, and the faint creak of leather as Seungcheol’s grip tightened on his sword.

He didn’t answer right away. He studied you for a moment, like someone measuring the weight of a blade before deciding if it would bend or break. Then, wordlessly, he turned and walked toward the weapons rack.

Jeonghan leaned in, voice low beside your ear. “That’s as close to a yes as you’ll get from him.”

You followed the captain, pausing at the display of steel. Seungcheol gestured for you to take your pick, and you scanned the rack quietly until something caught your eye. 

A light looking blade with a slender edge and a modest curve—closer in length to a saber than a broadsword. It wasn’t built for brute force. It was built for speed and control. For footwork and momentum. You tested the balance with a quick flick of your wrist, feeling it settle in your palm like it belonged there.

“I’ll go easy,” Seungcheol said once you faced him across the chalk-marked sparring circle. His tone wasn’t patronizing, just careful.

“Don’t,” you replied simply. “I won’t learn anything that way.”

His eyes narrowed just slightly. Then he lifted his blade.

You moved before he did.

Not because you were faster, but because it was how you fought. Nimble and reactive. Fencing had been etched into your body since you were a child; every muscle remembered the rhythm of lunge and parry, advance and retreat. That grace had bled into your swordsmanship over the years, giving you a certain elegance that traditional soldiers often lacked. Where Seungcheol’s footwork was grounded and economical, yours was fluid—almost like you were dancing. You ducked and pivoted, letting your momentum carry you in and out of reach.

Still, the difference in strength was undeniable.

Even with Seungcheol clearly restraining his strikes, each blow sent shockwaves through your arms, your shoulders, your core. You felt it everywhere—sinew, bone, the spaces between your ribs. It didn’t help that your body was still readjusting to this level of activity. Your blade met his again, sparks flaring where metal scraped metal. You twisted your body, slipped past his side, and landed a touch against his arm. It wasn’t a real wound, but a point nonetheless.

Seungcheol adjusted his stance, looking more serious.

Despite his earlier protests, it was clear he wasn’t holding back where it counted. He saw you not as a princess, or Jeonghan’s betrothed, or a grieving shadow—but as a fighter. And he responded accordingly.

It wasn’t easy. But that was the point.

For the first time in weeks, you felt something more than the dull ache of loss. You felt fire in your muscles, purpose in the press of your feet against the dirt. Your pulse thundered in your ears—not with fear, but focus.

By the time the sparring session wound down, your limbs ached in the best possible way—burning from use, not from injury. Seungcheol lowered his blade and gave you a curt nod, sweat darkening the collar of his tunic. 

Jeonghan, ever dramatic, clapped twice as he stepped back into the ring. “I thought nothing could top your archery, but clearly, I was mistaken. If I’d known you could dance like that with a blade, I might’ve started picking fights even sooner.”

You gave him a flat look, but the smile you tried to suppress betrayed you.

Nearby, the palace maids arrived with a tray of refreshments: cool water, fresh fruit, and honey-dusted pastries. Jeonghan plucked a slice of melon and collapsed dramatically onto the grass, gesturing for the two of you to join him.

Seungcheol accepted a waterskin and sat with a soldier’s ease, posture still straight. He glanced at you over the rim as he drank. “You don’t fight like most nobles, much less a princess. Who trained you?”

You wiped your brow with a cloth, accepting a small plate from one of the maids. “The captain of the royal guard in Ancarra,” you replied, selecting a piece of apricot. “Yesung. He was my master since I could walk straight. My father trusted him a lot.”

Seungcheol paused mid-chew.

“You know him?” you asked, catching the subtle shift in his eyes.

“I’ve heard of him,” he said eventually, voice neutral. “Respected name, even here in Seraphia.”

But there was something else—something he didn’t say. The tension around his jaw hinted at it. His gaze drifted off, distant, like he was weighing the risk of continuing.

You watched him carefully, but he said nothing more.

Instead, you exhaled and reached for your cup. “I regret not spending more time training,” you said softly. “When I got older, there were just… too many duties. My blade started collecting more dust than not.”

Seungcheol looked at you then. “You’ve still got the edge. It’s not gone. Just dulled from disuse. You get it back by doing what you did today.”

Jeonghan leaned his head back on the grass and let out a satisfied sigh. “And by winning dramatically in front of handsome soldiers,” he added unhelpfully. “That helps.”

You snorted into your drink. Seungcheol rolled his eyes.

The walk back to your bedchambers was quiet, the sun already dipping behind the spires of the palace, painting the corridors in molten gold and deepening shadows. The soreness in your shoulders had begun to settle into something warm and satisfying, and your thoughts floated somewhere between the scent of red roses and the weight of Seungcheol’s blade against yours.

Jeonghan walked beside you with an easy, unhurried gait, arms folded behind his back. For a while, he said nothing.

Then, casually, “You two got along fast.”

“Hm? Who?”

He glanced at you. “You and Seungcheol.”

You laughed. “You set that match up, remember?”

“I did,” he said simply. “Still. You didn’t hold back.”

“Neither did he.”

You stopped at the entrance to your chambers and turned to him with a no-good smile. “Wait—are you jealous?”

The prince scoffed. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” You stepped forward, narrowing the gap between you, your voice dropping into something deliberately teasing. “Prince Jeonghan of Seraphia, green with envy because someone dared to match me blow for blow.”

“I’m not envious of Seungcheol.”

“Oh? Then why the face?”

“I do not envy his swordsmanship,” he clarified slowly. “But I don’t particularly enjoy watching someone else touch what’s mine.”

You opened your mouth to remind him that one: you do not belong to anyone; and two: sparring with Seungcheol was his idea, but Jeonghan moved before you could get the words out.

The prince pushed you gently but firmly against the nearest wall, the cool stone kissing your spine through the thin fabric of your tunic. Your eyes widened instinctively, darting down the hallway for any unfortunate witness. But no one was there. 

“Jeonghan—”

His face was too close. You could see the mischievous glint in his eyes now edged with something darker, something you weren’t used to from him. His palm rested just beside your head, the other curling lightly around your hip.

“I may not be a fighter,” he whispered, “but you know very well how good I am as a lover.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

And just like that, Jeonghan stepped back, smirking faintly as if nothing had happened at all. “I’ll let you have your bath,” he said lightly, already walking away with a brief wave. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Princess.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as he disappeared around the corner, carrying the heat of the moment with him.

To Her Highness, the Princess of Ancarra,

I hope this letter finds you in a place of quiet strength. It has been a few weeks since we last spoke, but your presence has lingered with me. I write to you not only to offer my continued condolences, but also to speak plainly of something I withheld during our first meeting.

You see, I sought you out not only because of political curiosity—but because I had heard whispers of your beast magic. There are few in this realm who bear such a gift. Beast magic, as I know it, is more than just communication or communion with the animals you encounter. And in the right hands, it can move worlds.

Forgive my boldness in bringing this to you now. I know you may still be in mourning. I know healing rarely follows a straight path. But if your heart is ready—if your spirit stirs with the thought of reclaiming that part of yourself—I wish to offer something more than words.

There is a mage here in Aragorn. Older than most, and not fond of titles, but a veteran in every sense. She has mentored magi of all kinds, but has always been drawn to those with wild souls, whose power doesn’t stem from structure, but from instinct. I believe she would take you as a student, if you so wish. You will have space, safety, and the freedom to shape your magic on your own terms. 

Should you agree, sign the edge of this letter in ink. I have enchanted the parchment to alert me of that choice, and I will come to you shortly, wherever you may be. But please only do that when you’re certain that you wish to leave the capital. My method of travel takes quite a toll on me, and I must prepare accordingly. I ask for no immediate answer. Only that you consider what your power might become, and what peace you might find in knowing it better. 

May your shadow return when your heart is ready to follow it.

With respect and warmth,

Kim Taeyeon Royal Mage of Aragorn

You had already read the letter by the time the light slanted low across the windows, gilding the old stone floors in gold and ash. It lay open on your lap, creased in the middle where your fingers had pressed too tightly—half from surprise, half from the rush of hope you hadn’t meant to feel.

When it first arrived, you thought of Soonyoung. Your heart had leapt, sharp and high into your throat. But no, Soonyoung wouldn’t send letters. He wouldn’t risk a paper trail, not when enemies watched every corridor and whisper. 

Still, the disappointment lingered. And yet... Taeyeon’s letter had been a surprise. 

She’d written with care, but she hadn’t danced around her purpose. You read the letter twice. Then a third time. The ink smudged faintly where your thumb had lingered too long.

Now, hours later, you sat in the small borrowed study near Jeonghan’s wing, the one with the wisteria vine crawling halfway across the outer windowsill. The Seraphian castle was beautiful, but it wasn't home. You missed the way the light fell in Ancarra’s hallways. You missed Soonyoung’s presence like a missing sleeve in winter—a functional, familiar part of you.

You’ve been training your swordsmanship again even when Seungcheol had already departed for his next mission. But gods knew that adjusting had been slow for you. On top of the fact that you were practically inconsolable for the first few weeks, the guards didn’t know how to speak to you, the maids were too kind, and the Renxing forces remained ghastly quiet. Taeyeon’s letter didn’t fix any of those things. But it gave you something you hadn’t had in a long time: direction.

A quiet knock stirred the air. You tucked the letter under a book, as if it were a secret.

The door creaked open to reveal Jeonghan, relaxed as ever in a loose cream shirt and embroidered vest. Behind him trailed Joshua, who offered you a polite smile, hands folded behind his back.

“Fancy going out for a drink?” Jeonghan asked, like he was inviting you to a garden stroll and not suggesting a public outing for a supposedly hidden political exile.

You stared at him. “A drink?”

“Mhm. In the city.”

“You mean the city city? Where people... live?”

Jeonghan tilted his head. “Well, yes. Unless you’ve found a secret tavern in the catacombs.”

You glanced from him to Joshua, as if the latter might somehow provide clarity—but Joshua only gave you a sheepish little shrug, like he’d already tried and failed to talk Jeonghan out of this idea.

“Jeonghan,” you said slowly, “your father threatened the entire royal council to keep my presence here quiet. And now you want to parade me around in broad daylight?”

He snorted. “First of all, it’s past dusk. Second, I’m not parading anyone. Third,” he clapped a hand on Joshua’s shoulder, “this one sneaks around all the time and hasn’t been caught once. If anyone can get you in and out without raising suspicion, it’s him.”

Joshua rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “We’re going to The Bitter Swan. My—uh, my lover works there. She’s a bartender. Best in the kingdom.”

That actually made you pause.

Joshua had been engaged some time ago—before Ancarra fell, before the world started collapsing beneath your feet. You didn’t know the full story, only that it hadn’t ended well. But now, he looked... different. Not visibly changed, but lighter in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re seeing someone?” you asked, more surprised than you meant to sound.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Yes. For a while now.”

You nodded, something soft brushing against your chest. It was relief, you realized. You were glad for him.

You glanced at the hidden letter, then back at the two boys. “Fine,” you said, rising reluctantly from your seat. “But if I get recognized and we end up sparking an international incident, I’m blaming both of you.”

Jeonghan grinned, wholly unrepentant. “Noted.”

The Bitter Swan was tucked between two shuttered bakeries and lit by a pair of storm glass lanterns swinging above the doorway. The place was alive with sound—laughter, the shuffle of boots on worn floorboards, the clink of glass—and warm in a way that most Seraphian halls, no matter how finely gilded, never quite managed.

You kept your hood up until you were past the threshold, nerves twisting sharp beneath your ribs. But no one gave you a second look. No one whispered. No guards came bursting through the door with drawn blades.

Joshua led the way, weaving easily through the crowd with Jeonghan at his heels. You followed, careful not to draw attention. Then you saw her—behind the bar, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair tied back with a leather cord. Her smile cracked open the moment she spotted Joshua.

“Well?” she called. “Did you bring me anything worth my time or just more of your sweet talk?”

Joshua grinned and flicked his fingers, conjuring a small daisy out of thin air. It hovered for a moment, pale and delicate, before he caught it and stepped behind the bar to tuck it behind her ear.

His lover groaned. “Every time. It’s always a daisy.”

“And you always keep it,” he said, smug.

You tried not to stare. Not at her, or at the way Joshua’s magic came so easily now. You hadn’t realized how long it had been since you saw him do that. Since he let himself do that.

Then he turned to you. “This is Yoona,” he said, gesturing proudly. “Yoona, this is—”

“Yes, yes, I know.” She rolled her eyes and wiped her hands on a cloth. “You already told me. Don’t say it out loud or you’ll blow her cover.”

That startled a laugh out of you. “You told her?”

“I trust her,” Joshua reassured. “Besides, she would have figured it out before I even said anything. Might as well cut to the chase.”

Yoona winked. “Your cloak screams ‘I’m totally not a royal in disguise.’ Kind of reminds me of someone who used to do the same thing around these parts.”

You blinked. Then laughed again when Joshua’s ears flushed red. 

Jeonghan slid onto the barstool beside you like he belonged there. “Could I get an Oak Walker for myself and the lady? Shua said he’ll be our designated chaperone for the evening.”

You blinked. “You just decided I’d like it?”

Jeonghan shrugged, a faint glint of mischief in his eyes. “Everyone likes an Oak Walker.”

The night unfolded slower than you'd expected.

At first, you stayed stiff, elbows tucked, back straight, eyes flicking toward the door every time it creaked. You scanned faces, counted exits. Even as Yoona poured drinks with practiced ease and Joshua lingered at her side like a puppy off-leash, you couldn’t quite unclench your shoulders. You kept your hood up for the first half hour.

But then Yoona started talking.

She shared funny little anecdotes from her years working the bar. About a traveling bard who sang so terribly he cleared the room, or the night a drunk warlock accidentally enchanted every pint glass to sprout legs and sprint off the counter. Her storytelling was effortless, the kind that made even strangers lean in. Somewhere between the second and third tale, you realized you'd relaxed. Your hand had drifted away from your hip. You weren’t glancing at the door anymore.

The Oak Walker helped, too.

It was deceptively smooth—sweet with oak and vanilla, warm with something spiced—but it hit harder than it had any right to. You told yourself you were sipping, pacing yourself, being careful. Then your empty glass would surprise you again and again.

Yoona snorted every time you ordered another. “You’re going to end up horizontal if you keep that up,” she warned, sliding yet another refill your way.

You stuck your tongue out at her.

At some point—when exactly, you weren’t sure—Jeonghan had moved closer. He was sitting right beside you now, his thigh brushing yours every so often as you shifted. His posture was lazy, but there was a sharpness to his eyes that suggested he’d been tracking your slow descent into tipsiness for some time.

“You’re swaying,” he murmured near your ear.

“I’m not,” you argued before promptly hiccuping.

“Gods, you’re such a lightweight.”

You glared at him. Or tried to. “Shut up or I’ll stab you with a sword next time I get my hands on one.”

Jeonghan barked a laugh. “Drunken threats. Very classy.”

But his arm, which had come to rest around the back of your chair somewhere between the second and third drink, stayed where it was. Steady, warm, and protective. You didn’t even notice when you let yourself lean into the space he made for you. Just a little.

The three of you left Bitter Swan not long after your fifth—sixth?—Oak Walker.

To be fair, it wasn’t your idea. You were perfectly content demanding another glass while challenging a very large, very confused sailor to an arm-wrestling match you absolutely would have lost. But Joshua caught Jeonghan’s eye across the bar, and that was all it took.

“Time to go,” Jeonghan said, patting your shoulder lightly. You squawked in protest but didn’t resist too hard when they flanked you—Joshua at your right, Jeonghan at your left—as if you were some rare treasure they had to smuggle back to the castle.

The streets outside were quieter than you expected. Somewhere in the distance, bells were ringing curfew, and the fog had begun to settle low over the cobblestones.

You, however, were a menace.

“I’m not drunk,” you declared at one point, even as your boot missed the edge of a step and Joshua had to steady you with a hand to your elbow.

“Of course not,” Jeonghan said. “You’ve just decided stairs are beneath you.”

“They are. Stairs are a scam. A royal scam. Heh, royal. That’s funny.” You paused, frowning. “Wait, no. That was supposed to be a joke. Go back.”

“I’m afraid we can’t rewind time, Princess,” Joshua said patiently.

By the time they got you to the carriage, you had insisted on giving a passionate speech to a very disinterested cat, tried to compliment a streetlamp, and proclaimed your full, undying allegiance to the Bitter Swan and all its patrons.

Inside the carriage, nestled between velvet seats, the city slowly falling away behind you, you finally slumped back with a long sigh.

“This was nice. I never got to go out like this back home,” you mumbled, head tipping toward Jeonghan’s shoulder. “I also like when you’re like this. All... not princely.”

He made a quiet sound in his throat, something between a scoff and a laugh. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended.”

“No, you don’t get it,” you said, voice softer now—slurred at the edges, but anchored by something true. “You walk around like nothing touches you. You flirt like it’s a game, like none of it matters. But it’s like… no one actually knows you. Not even me, and I’ve been engaged to you for ten years.”

A breathy laugh slipped from your lips before fading into a quiet, almost wistful smile.

“But when it’s just you like this... it makes me feel like I can breathe.”

Jeonghan stilled beside you.

Joshua’s brow furrowed across the seat. He looked at his brother, then back at you. You didn’t seem to notice. Your head lolled back against the cushion, eyes fluttering shut.

“Even if you’re a smug bastard,” you added faintly. “Don’t get ideas.”

The silence stretched, thick with something unspoken. Joshua turned, meeting Jeonghan’s stunned gaze with one of his own. Neither of them said anything.

But the look they shared said enough.

Back at the castle, the journey to your room was a blur of hushed giggles, missteps, and Jeonghan hissing at you to keep your hood up while Joshua kept watch for wandering guards.

By the time the three of you reached your door, you were hanging heavily off Jeonghan’s arm, still swaying from the Oak Walkers. Joshua muttered something about returning to the pub to keep Yoona company until closing before slipping away into the shadows like he’d done it a thousand times before.

Inside your chambers, Jeonghan helped you sit at the edge of your bed. “You’re going to regret all six of those drinks in the morning,” he said mildly, crouching to unlace your boots.

“Mm, but they tasted like joy,” you mumbled, tugging at the laces of your bodice.

Jeonghan helped with the ties carefully, without looking where he didn’t need to. He passed you your nightgown and turned his back while you changed, though that didn’t stop you.

“You’re very noble all of a sudden,” you said, grinning lazily. “Trying not to peek?”

“I’m showing you the courtesy of basic decency.”

“You didn’t care about basic decency when we—” you hiccuped, then giggled, “—when we kissed behind that statue of a winged lion. You still remember, don’t you?”

He paused, his back still turned, jaw tightening faintly.

Once you were dressed, Jeonghan turned to tuck the covers around you. “Get some sleep,” he said quietly, smoothing the blanket near your shoulder.

But before he could pull away, your arms slipped around his waist from behind.

“Are you really going to go,” you murmured against his back, “just like that?”

He sighed, long and steady. “You’re drunk, Your Grace. It wouldn’t be proper.”

You tilted your head, voice featherlight and slurred with sleep and something else. “It wasn’t proper either,” you said, “when you touched me like that in the solarium. What’s your point?”

He stilled.

Then slowly—almost reluctantly—he turned to face you. His hands found your shoulders, firm but not rough. His expression had lost all pretense of ease. For once, Jeonghan didn’t smile.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said firmly.

But he didn’t move away.

You could feel his heartbeat beneath your fingers when you reached out to touch his chest. His pulse rabitted beneath his sternum, like this moment held more weight than the two of you were willing to admit. Jeonghan didn’t move. He could only grip your shoulders like you might shatter if he didn’t. Or maybe the one he’s keeping from unraveling is himself. 

You watched him through half-lidded eyes, your breath warm against the hollow of his throat. “You haven’t kissed me in so long,” you said softly. “Why is that, Jeonghan?”

His jaw tensed. “You’re mourning. It isn't the right time.”

You tilted your head, defiant despite the haze in your mind. “When is it ever the right time with you?”

“Princess—”

“You always hold back,” you murmured, stepping closer, your voice a thread pulled tight. His grip on your arms tightened just enough to betray the shift in him. “You flirt. You tease. But you never let yourself go too far. As though anything beyond stolen trysts is suddenly too dangerous for you. Tell me—” your eyes searched his, “is that why you haven’t married me yet? After all this time?”

Jeonghan was right. You didn’t know what you were saying at all. 

If you were sober, these words would’ve stayed buried behind the iron seal of your mouth. You hated the thought of being bound to Jeonghan. It was why you’d begged Soonyoung to delay the wedding for as long as he could.

So why were you spouting all this nonsense now?

“That’s not true,” Jeonghan said hoarsely.

You leaned in, lips brushing the corner of his mouth—not quite a kiss, but enough to burn like one. And with a quiet, tantalizing whisper, “Then prove it.”

That did it.

His restraint, so carefully held, snapped in an instant. His hands slid to the sides of your face, cradling it like something precious right before his mouth crashed against yours. There was nothing tentative in it—no diplomacy, no distance. Just months of longing, of near misses, of moments swallowed by duty and danger, unraveling all at once.

When you gasped against his lips, his hand curled around the back of your neck, and you thought, dizzy and triumphant: 

Finally.

You reached for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling. The fabric shifted under your clumsy fingers, but coordination was beyond you now—your limbs soft, your blood warm and slow with drink and heat. Jeonghan caught your hands gently. 

“Be patient,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to your knuckles.Then he moved slowly, guiding you back against the pillows. You shivered as his hands slid down your sides, a reverent touch that made your breath hitch.

You could only arch into him as he settled between your thighs, drunk not just on the Oak Walkers but on the ache of him, on months of silence breaking like a tide. And when his mouth found your skin, your name a prayer between his teeth, you thought:

Let them find out. Let the whole castle burn. Just not this. Don’t take this away from me.

His lips traced fire along the inside of your thigh, and you bit down on a moan—more out of disbelief than modesty. Jeonghan, with all his control and quiet arrogance, was unraveling before you, piece by piece.

“Say something,” he murmured. “Tell me this isn’t just the alcohol acting out for you.”

You blinked down at him, flushed and breathless. “It’s not. And you know it.”

“If I keep going, I won’t be able to pretend nothing’s changed tomorrow.”

Jeonghan met your eyes, and without thinking, you reached for him—hands threading through his deep red hair. 

“Then don’t pretend.”

Once the words left your lips, he surged upward to kiss you again. It was deep and consuming, like a dam finally giving way. You clung to him, pulling him closer, and the weight of him, the feel of his breath tangled with yours, made your head spin more than the whiskey ever could.

You felt the tremor in him, not from fear, but from feeling. From how deeply this meant something.

“I should’ve said something,” he murmured into the curve of your neck, voice wrecked. “Back in Ancarra. Before everything fell apart.”

“You still can,” you whispered, tilting his face to yours. “We’re not gone yet. I’m still here.”

Maybe that was the most dangerous truth of all—that despite the kingdoms collapsing, despite Renxing’s siege and the shadows gathering at every border, this moment felt more real than any prophecy, any throne. Just skin and breath and the way Jeonghan looked at you like you were the only thing tethering him to this world.

He pressed his forehead to yours. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

You smiled faintly, heart thudding. “I think I’m starting to.”

Then he kissed you again—fierce and open and hungry for all the time you’d lost. And this time, you didn’t hold back either.

Not when his hands tangled with yours above your head, not when his mouth trailed lower, slower, lingering in places that made you gasp his name like a prayer. 

When his mouth finally touched where you wanted him most, it was with unbearable tenderness. A gasp escaped you, sharp and involuntary, your hips twitching toward him. He moaned softly at the sound, as if the taste of your pleasure was more intoxicating than wine.

Jeonghan didn’t rush. He mapped out your cunt with his mouth, tongue tracing patterns that made your legs shake. His lips sealed around the most sensitive parts of you like he wanted to unravel every breath, every thought, until only he remained.

And you let him.

Your back arched as a wave crested inside you, and still he didn’t stop—drawing moans from you like music. His hands anchored your hips, firm but never demanding. 

It wasn’t control. It was devotion.

When release finally came, it tore through you like a storm, and Jeonghan held you through it, never looking away—his gaze dark, intense, and awestruck. You reached down breathlessly, pulling him up to you. His lips were wet, his cheeks flushed. You kissed him without hesitation, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Jeonghan’s breath was still heavy as he hovered above you, eyes searching your face like he was memorizing every inch. His hand cradled your cheek, thumb brushing over your lip. 

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured. 

You tilted your hips toward him, guiding him between your thighs. His breath caught as he realized, as your legs pressed around him, skin on skin, warm and slick and aching.

“This,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I want you like this.”

For a moment, something flared behind his eyes. Hunger, need, maybe even love. But then he huffed a soft laugh and shook his head. 

“Not when you’re drunk, Your Grace.”

You blinked up at him, still breathless, heat pulsing in every part of you as disappointment started to simmer just beneath the lust. “But—”

“I can give you something else,” he said, and leaned down to kiss your cheek—gentle yet maddening. “Something that can make you feel good regardless.”

Confusion started to seep into your face, but Jeonghan answered by grabbing both of your thighs as he let both of your legs dangle across one shoulder. The angle was odd, but something told you he wanted your thighs pressed closely together. 

You were about to let out a quiet protest until he undid his trousers, hauling his cock from the confines of his clothes with a sigh. 

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like the weight of your mutual desire was too much. Then, tentatively, he slid his length between your thighs, fitting perfectly into the space where your heat welcomed him, even without the final joining.

The friction was maddening.

He rocked forward, slow and careful at first, your slickness easing every motion. The head of his cock dragged against the seam of your sex with every thrust, the pressure hitting just right, over and over. You squeezed your thighs tighter, gasping his name as he groaned—low and hoarse, like the effort of holding back was burning him from the inside.

“Gods, you feel—” He cut himself off with a sharp exhale, hips stuttering against you. “I’m not going to last if you keep looking at me like that.”

“Then don’t,” you breathed. “Don’t hold anything back.”

And he didn’t.

His rhythm grew faster, desperate. The sounds he made were nothing like the prince the world saw. This was Jeonghan stripped bare, undone by the feel of you, by the friction, by the intimacy of it all. Your hands gripped his back, your bodies flush, breath tangled between moans and whispers of each other’s names.

His thick head caught on your clit with each pass. Part of you just knew Jeonghan deliberately did that to spur your pleasure just as much as his own. And as he continued to piston his hips, you found yourself growing dangerously close to the edge once again.

“J-Jeonghan,” you whimpered, tears streaking your vision. “I… I—”

The words were lost as your orgasm crested like a tidal wave, washing over your entire body until the water pulled you under. You shook beneath him as ecstasy rushed  through your veins, but Jeonghan remained steadfast in fucking himself between your thighs, letting you ride it out.

When he came, it was with a trembling cry whispered into the air, spilling between your thighs as his body shuddered against yours. You held him through it, stroking his arm, grounding him all while he collapsed into you.

You stared at the ceiling, the soft hush of dawn just beginning to graze the edges of the sky. There was no clock here, no crown, no war bleeding at the borders of your memory. Only the warmth of his body, the scent of him lingering on your skin, and the echo of your name on his breath.

And for a moment, you wanted to stay like this.

You wanted to forget Ancarra. Forget Minghao’s blade slicing through everything you’d ever built. Forget the looming war and the kingdom you were supposed to save. You wanted to let the world burn and bury yourself in this fleeting mercy.

You shifted slightly, curling closer to Jeonghan.

Maybe just a little longer.

The capital of Ancarra was a corpse wearing its own crown.

Soonyoung kept his head low beneath the hood of a merchant’s cloak, blending into the flow of hushed voices and weary footsteps. Smoke still clung to the skyline, the charred bones of once-proud towers jutting upward like broken fingers. The flags bearing the royal crest were torn down, replaced with strange foreign emblems—Renxing’s deep red and black, fluttering like bloodstained silk in the wind.

Where once there had been music, laughter, street hawkers and flower-sellers, now there was silence. Watchful, suffocating silence. Soldiers patrolled every alley, every market. People avoided eye contact. The bakeries had stopped baking. The temples stood shuttered.

The king was dead. 

The princess had vanished. 

And Minghao had claimed a throne he never earned.

Soonyoung moved quickly through the ghost of the city he once knew, slipping through side streets and old guard passages, the kind of hidden routes only a fixture of the palace could recall. He’d asked his knightly chaperones—the ones Prince Jeonghan loaned—to stay back for this one. They’d refused at first, but Soonyoung always had a gift for convincing others to his whims.

He reached the outer walls of the castle, scaled the crumbling servant stairwell, and ducked behind fallen scaffolding before finding a familiar breach behind the armory—one that led straight into the lower corridors.

Inside, the air was damp with mildew and blood. Tapestries had been ripped down, and the scent of iron lingered in the halls. He heard boots echo overhead and paused, listening. Then, with careful precision, he descended into the dungeons.

That’s when the strangeness began.

Locked behind rusted bars weren’t just criminals or dissenters—but beasts. Hunched and hostile things with glowing eyes and matted fur. Creatures with scales, tusks, or too many limbs, some caged and chained, others muzzled or sedated. All trembling in the cold. All watching. It made no sense.

And then came a low growl.

Soonyoung turned just in time to dodge a lunging wolf—wild-eyed, massive, its teeth bared. It would’ve ripped his throat out if not for the blast of cold that knocked the beast backward. Ice exploded against the wall, sending a dusting of frost across the floor.

“Easy,” came a low voice from behind another cell. “You’ll spook the rest of them.”

Soonyoung turned, breath caught. “Siwon?”

The older man looked tired but alive, dark hair damp with sweat, his hands bound but his magic clearly not entirely suppressed. “Nice disguise,” he muttered. “You always did look better in rags.”

“You’re alive.” Soonyoung rushed forward, already brimming with questions. “What happened? Why are there beasts in the dungeon? What the hell is Minghao planning?”

But Siwon raised a hand, glancing toward the stairwell. “Quiet. They’re keeping me alive for now—to broadcast Minghao’s ‘generous new rule’ when the time comes. And for when the princess resurfaces. I’m leverage.”

“Leverage and locked up with beasts?” Soonyoung hissed.

Siwon nodded grimly. “They’ve been experimenting. Testing something. I don’t know what it is yet, but—” His eyes flicked to a cage where another animal that looked too much like Reya lay unnaturally still. “I think it has to do with cursed magic.”

Soonyoung paled. “Cursed magic? But that’s—”

He didn’t finish. Footsteps echoed down the corridor accompanied by shouting. Torchlight flickered around the corner as Soonyoung felt his stomach drop.

“Go,” Siwon said, voice urgent. “You can’t be caught.”

Soonyoung hesitated, hand curling into a fist. “I’ll come back. I’ll get you out.”

Siwon gave him a thin smile. “Just bring her back in one piece. That’ll be enough. Oh, and Soonyoung?”

“What?”

“...Tell the princess it was Yesung who did it,” he said with bated breath, “The one who betrayed us. The one who sold the kingdom off to Renxing.” 

The information struck Soonyoung like lightning in the middle of summer. Yesung? The captain of the royal guard? But as much as he wanted to probe Siwon for more details, time was running out.

With one last glance at the wolf pacing behind the bars, Soonyoung turned and vanished into the shadows.

Morning hadn’t come yet. The world outside was still cloaked in that hushed, pre-dawn blue, the kind that made you wonder if time had stopped altogether. Your head pounded and your body ached in places you didn’t expect, even though Jeonghan was careful. Even though you didn’t go all the way.

He was still asleep beside you, one arm draped lazily across the bed, red hair spilling over his cheek like spilled ink. His face looked softer in sleep. Open, vulnerable. You found yourself staring too long.

You didn’t hate yourself. Not like you thought you would. Instead, you felt something worse. The slow, terrifying crawl of something tender. Something like the beginning of love.

Because for a moment, you forgot everything that mattered. Jeonghan let you forget what it meant to survive, and helped you remember what it felt like to simply exist.

But now, in the quiet, it hit you like cold water: staying here made you complacent. Safe. Soft. You were a princess without a kingdom. A daughter without a family. And every second you spent here pretending otherwise was another second lost.

Your gaze drifted to the window. The letter still sat on the table beside it, right where you left it. You rose without a sound, careful not to disturb him, and took up the quill and ink.

Taeyeon warned you that her method of travel required preparation, that you should only sign when you were sure. You expected it would take a day or two—maybe more. So you thought you’d have time. Time to think, time to say goodbye. Time to figure out how to look Jeonghan in the eye and explain why you couldn’t stay. You thought you could sign it now and still have a moment to breathe.

But the moment your name met the parchment, the magic activated with a pulse of light.

The letter glowed gold, the ink lifting from the page like threads spun from starlight. Then it curled in on itself, folding and folding until it collapsed inward and blossomed into a glowing portal—right there, in your room. You stumbled back in disbelief, heart hammering, the rush of air from the magic tousling your hair.

And then, from the other side of the portal, Taeyeon stepped through.

There was no fanfare, no sound but the hum of power quieting in the air around her. The royal mage surveyed the room calmly—eyes briefly catching on the prince still fast asleep in your bed, shirtless and oblivious—before settling on you with a look somewhere between curiosity and disapproval.

“You were going to leave without saying anything?”

You hesitated. You planned to write him a letter. Maybe to wake him with a kiss, or not at all. You hadn’t decided. But none of that mattered now, not with Taeyeon already standing there, the magic still warm and thrumming behind her like a living thing.

You glanced at Jeonghan, at the peace on his face you almost convinced yourself you deserved to see one last time. 

Then you nodded.

“It’ll be easier that way,” you murmured. “It’s not like I have anything to bring with me anyway.”

Taeyeon didn’t argue. She only lifted her hand toward you.

You took it.

And with one final glance at the life you nearly let yourself want, you stepped into the portal. The air folded around you like silk and silence.

The letter vanished. The portal closed. The room was empty.

And all you left behind was the shape of your absence.

You stepped out onto the balcony and caught your first real glimpse of Aragorn.

The southern city stretched far beyond what you expected—sunlit and sprawling, built into cliffs and winding hills, with a hundred mismatched rooftops like shattered pieces of stained glass. It didn’t have the symmetry of the capital, or the soft elegance of Seraphia. It was a riot of color and sound even from a distance. Banners flapped. Smoke curled from chimneys. Somewhere below, someone shouted, and laughter followed like a wave.

It was chaos. But it felt alive.

You’d bathed and changed in Taeyeon’s estate, which wasn’t so much a home as a half-forgotten villa carved into the side of a ridge, overtaken by vines and mountain wind. It had a well-worn warmth, like someone had lived here a long time and only kept what they needed.

Taeyeon joined you on the balcony, pulling her hair into a loose twist. Out of her usual robe dotted with magic sigils, she didn’t look like a royal mage. She looked like someone’s older sister. Someone who could disappear into a crowd.

“Southern cities like Aragorn are free,” she said, following your gaze. “Too far from the capital for the crown to keep a firm grip. That’s why I brought you here.”

You blinked. “And the king?”

“Doesn’t know.” She smiled faintly. “Nor does the queen.”

Your chest tightened. The guilt sat bitter on your tongue, but before you could speak, she added, “There’s another reason.”

You glanced at her, and she said, quietly, “Refugees from Ancarra have been trickling into the southern cities. Mostly women and children. Soldiers who deserted. Farmers who fled. Those far enough from your capital to not be held hostage by that tyrant general.”

The words knocked the wind out of you.

“What—why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m telling you now,” she said calmly. “But you’re not ready to see them. Not yet.”

You tried to object, to insist—but your voice caught, and she looked at you like she could see every fracture in your heart.

“I know it’s been a while, and you’ve been waiting on news from Ancarra as much as the rest of us. But even I can tell you’re still bleeding, Princess,” she said. “There’s a time for reunions. And a time to gather yourself. Let’s start with food.”

Taeyeon led you down into the city, into the belly of Aragorn, where stone staircases spiraled through sloped streets, and balconies overflowed with drying laundry and flowerpots. She took you to a tavern built into the bones of what might’ve once been a watchtower. 

It was cramped, loud, and the air was thick with spice and woodsmoke. You couldn’t imagine someone like her here. But Taeyeon walked in like she’d been coming for years.

“Lady Taeyeon!” a woman called from behind the counter.

Another man shouted, “She’s brought a friend! Should we be nervous?”

The royal mage raised a hand in greeting, utterly unfazed.

You watched in quiet disbelief as the room seemed to fold around her presence, not with reverence, but with the easy familiarity reserved for someone who belonged. No one bowed to her or whispered about her greatness. They greeted her like someone who knew the names of their children and the best time to buy peaches at the market. 

It was strange to see someone like Taeyeon received not as a myth, but as a neighbor.

She didn’t hesitate. She ordered for you both without ceremony—“You need to try the stuffed flatbread,” she said—and waved off your hand when you reached for coin. With practiced ease, she slipped through the crowd and guided you to a table tucked beneath a cracked window, where the breeze carried in the mingled scents of rosemary and dust.

As you settled into the corner seat, your plate still steaming between your hands, a flutter of movement caught your eye. A small brown bird—scruffy, no larger than your palm—landed neatly on the cracked windowsill beside you. It tilted its head, eyes trained on the food, and let out a sharp chirp. You smiled, at first thinking nothing of it. But then the bird spoke.

That smells like heaven. Is that stuffed with cheese? I’d kill for cheese.

The voice was bright and insistent in your mind, clear as thought but not your own. For a moment, you froze—your fingers tightening around your fork. It had been so long since you let yourself listen. You’d shut that part of yourself away the moment you left Reya behind, too afraid that hearing the voices of animals would remind you of everything you abandoned.

But here, now, something in you had gone quiet enough to let it in again. No pressure. No grief. Just the sound of the wind, the hum of the tavern, and a hungry bird with far too much personality.

Without thinking, you broke off a corner of your flatbread and offered it up. The bird hopped forward with greedy joy, clutching the crust in its beak before flying off again, wings catching the light like a wink. When you turned back to the table, Taeyeon was watching you with an amused look.

“You haven’t been listening lately,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

You looked down at your plate. “No.”

“Why?”

You didn’t answer right away. “Because if I heard them, I’d remember Reya. And if I remembered him, I’d start mourning. And mourning takes time I didn’t want to lose.”

Taeyeon nodded, slow and knowing. She leaned back in her chair, arms folded loosely across her chest. “Instinct magic like yours is a funny thing. It doesn’t demand permission—it just lies in wait until you’re ready to use it again.”

You paused, fork halfway to your mouth, the word catching like a splinter in your thoughts.

“Instinct magic?” you echoed. “Is that what I have?”

Taeyeon didn’t answer immediately. She was watching the bird again, which had settled on a rooftop across the street, fluffing its feathers against the wind. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet—not lecturing, not grand, just a simple truth shared over brunch.

“Magic like mine—you study it, shape it, discipline it until it bends to your will. It’s rigid and mathematical. A spell goes here, a sigil there. If you mess up the sequence, things fall apart.”

She looked at you then.

“But yours… yours doesn’t wait for a spell. It listens. It lives in your body, in your breath. It’s older than theory; wilder, and much closer to the roots of things.”

You frowned slightly. “But I can’t control it.”

“No,” she agreed. “You don’t control it. You coexist with it. That’s why it scares people, or why they don’t think it’s real magic. And probably why you stopped trusting it.”

You turned her words over, trying to fit them into the corners of yourself that had long gone quiet. You’d never thought of your gift as anything so dignified, it was just something you had. Like a birthmark. Something no one else quite understood, even when they pretended to.

But instinct magic—that felt like a name you hadn’t known you needed.

After brunch, Taeyeon turned to you with that same unreadable calm. “Do you want to meet Hanya now? The veteran mage I mentioned in my correspondence?”

You didn’t have anything better to do. And something in you—maybe curiosity, maybe restlessness—said the sooner, the better. You nodded.

Taeyeon gave a short hum. “Then we better bring her a gift first.”

She led you into a narrower, more tangled part of the city, where the buildings leaned in on each other like gossiping friends and flowering vines crept along every fence. A painted sign above a crooked door read Vines & Embers.

“The shop’s run by a plant elemental named Hyejin,” Taeyeon explained as she pushed open the door, “and her husband Chan—he’s a fire elemental. Bit of an odd couple, but they make it work. Somehow.”

A little bell jingled overhead, and a young man with tousled hair and a permanently sunburned grin looked up from the doorway.

“Lady Taeyeon?” he greeted, eyes lighting up. “What can we do for you today?”

Behind him, a woman waved lazily from the counter, where she was pruning something that looked like a rose crossed with a starfish.

“Just the usual for old Hanya,” Taeyeon called back.

Hyejin gave a knowing nod and disappeared into the back room.

Chan lingered near the door, folding his arms as he looked between the two of you. “And this must be…?”

Taeyeon didn’t miss a beat. “My niece from the coast. She’s visiting for a while. Poor thing needed some fresh air after the capital.”

You blinked once, then remembered to smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Ahhh, makes sense,” Chan said, beaming. “You’ve got her eyebrows. And the general look of someone who's been breathing too much palace air.” He winked.

You didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but you let it slide.

As Hyejin worked in the back, Chan kept the conversation going, bouncing from gossip about the midday heatwave to which blossoms had opened early this year. Eventually, the topic veered toward the refugees.

“Some of the Ancarra folks came through here last week,” he said. “Quiet lot. Tired eyes. They don't ask for much—just space to rest. Hyejin's been growing nightshade and balm to help with the headaches. Too many of 'em wake up screaming.”

You kept your face as still as stone. 

Taeyeon didn't look at you, but you felt her shift ever so slightly—her sleeve brushing yours in what could have been an accident. Or not.

Just then, Hyejin emerged with a bundle wrapped in waxed paper and tied with gold thread. It smelled of lavender, iron, and something like starlight or ozone. A few pale blue feathers, still shimmering faintly, had been tucked beneath the twine.

“She’ll know what it means,” Hyejin said simply.

“Of course she will,” Taeyeon replied, reaching for the package. “Thanks, Hyejin. And tell your husband to stop setting fire to the begonias.”

Chan coughed. “I swear they like it. It’s character-building.”

You followed Taeyeon out of the shop with the bundle in hand, still wondering what kind of person received a gift like this—and what exactly you were walking into next.

Taeyeon brought you to the edge of the mountains the same way she fetched you from the capital—through a shimmering cut in space. You stepped through the tear in the air and landed on solid ground, but she stumbled slightly as the portal winked shut behind her.

“You okay?” you asked, catching the way her hand gripped her hip a second too long.

She straightened, gave a breathless laugh. “I’m fine. Spatial magic has its price. It would be too powerful otherwise.”

You frowned. “What kind of price?”

Taeyeon shrugged. “Call it the law of equivalent exchange. Power doesn't come from nowhere. I burn a little bit of myself every time I open a gate like that.” She glanced back toward the now-empty air. “Doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”

You didn’t press further. Because ahead of you, nestled into the foothills, was a crooked little house stitched from stone, ivy, and old wood, half-sunken into the slope like it had grown from the mountain itself. A windchime of bones clicked gently from the awning. Chickens wandered the yard, unpenned. A goat napped on the porch. A monkey dozed in the rafters.

You could hear them all. Thoughts like quiet murmurs in the back of your head—curious, distracted, and alive. It had been so long since you let yourself listen to animals, yet here, among the clamor, you felt your magic stir like an old song.

Taeyeon stepped onto the porch and knocked once, sharply. No answer.

She knocked again.

A rustle, then a grumble. “Go away! I’m not buying anything and I’ve got enough potions to last through winter.”

Taeyeon didn’t flinch. “It’s me. I brought someone who wants to study under you.”

For a while, there was only silence. But then came the groan of old hinges. The door creaked open to reveal an elderly woman with tangled gray hair and a face carved deep with lines. She squinted at Taeyeon first.

“I told you, I’m too old to be anyone’s damn teacher.”

You stepped forward quickly, holding out the bouquet from Hyejin’s shop. “These are for you, ma’am,” you offered.

Hanya didn’t even look at the flowers. Her gaze landed on you—and stopped. Her face went still. For a second, it was like she didn’t see you at all, but something beyond you. 

Then she slammed the door shut.

“Teacher,” Taeyeon said flatly, rubbing her temple, “that’s not very polite.”

“Get that girl away from here.”

“She came all the way from the capital.”

“I don’t care if she came from the moon. I’m not touching that cursed magic. You hear me?” A pause. Then quieter, like a huff of disappointment: “You should’ve known better.”

You stared at the door, still holding the flowers. “What does she mean?” you whispered. “Cursed magic? I just talk to animals. That’s all I can do.”

Behind the wood, Hanya hissed, “That’s not all you can do at all. And if you don’t know it yet, you will. And when that happens, you’ll wish you’d never come knocking.”

Taeyeon only sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with quiet resignation. “Leave the gift,” she murmured. “There’s no getting through to her today.”

You hesitated, glancing again at the shut door. But you obeyed, setting the bundle of paper and twine neatly by the threshold. The goats watched you with interest. The monkey stretched out a lazy limb and scratched its side. You stepped back down onto the grass and asked, “What even is it? The gift, I mean.”

“She’ll feed her beasts with it,” Taeyeon said.

You blinked. “Beasts?”

Taeyeon nodded, gesturing toward the scattered creatures dotting the property. “Hanya practices beast magic. Like you, she can understand and talk to animals.” Her eyes lifted toward the awning, where the monkey now dangled by its tail. “These ones? They’re naturally drawn to her. But sometimes, more dangerous ones come too. Wild wolves. Mountain cats. I’ve even seen a wyvern once.”

You stared. “And she just… lets them near her?”

“They come and go. She doesn’t cage them. She tames them.” Taeyeon smiled faintly. “They all love those flowers we brought. It’s called cindersong. Has a scent only beasts can smell, something sweet and strange and grounding. Hyejin grows them by hand. That bundle will be gone by nightfall.”

You looked again at the door, now just a closed shadow in the stone. “If our magic isn’t so different… why’d Hanya refuse to teach me?”

Taeyeon was quiet for a long time.

Then she glanced once more at the shut door and said, “Let’s head home. We’ll talk more there.”

Back at the estate, the portal spit you out into stillness. The sun was lower now, and so was Taeyeon’s energy. You noticed the tremble in her fingers as she straightened her robes, the slight wobble in her step. 

But before you could offer help, a maid appeared—someone you hadn’t seen this morning, with cropped hair and quiet hands. She moved without a word, as if she’d known what was needed long before you arrived.

A steaming towel was pressed into Taeyeon’s palms. A small vial uncorked beneath her nose. A flask of something bitter and glowing, passed from hand to hand as she gulped it down. By the time you reached the study, Taeyeon looked a little less hollowed-out, though her eyes were still rimmed with strain.

You both sat. She didn’t waste time.

“She was from Ancarra too, you know,” the royal mage said quietly. “Hanya.”

Your breath caught. “She was?”

Taeyeon nodded. “She never talks about it. I didn’t even know for years. I only knew her as the former royal mage here, in Aragorn. She was the one who taught me everything I know.” She exhaled slowly. “But beast magic... that’s an old kind of magic, almost ancient. It was hers long before she came here to Seraphia.”

“She said I’ll regret coming to her,” you murmured.

Taeyeon’s eyes softened. “She doesn’t mean that. But there’s a theory—just a whisper, really—that instinct magic, beast magic, whatever you want to call it, was born in Ancarra. That it came from there and nowhere else. But no one remembers how. Or why.”

You tilted your head. “No one?”

“I tried looking,” she said. “I went to Ancarra once. Searched your libraries. Your temples. Nothing. No records. Not even mentions. It’s like the world agreed to forget it.”

Your chest tightened. “So now they call it... cursed?”

Taeyeon’s lips pressed into a line. “That’s the word people use. Cursed. Dangerous. Unnatural.” She shook her head. “But I don’t know why. Teacher never explained.”

The silence came like a tide. You let it wash over you.

Then, softly: “But she recognized you. Your blood. That voice inside you. It frightened her. Maybe you reminded her of who she used to be. Or what she ran from.”

You looked at your hands. They didn’t feel cursed. But they didn’t feel innocent either.

Before you could form a proper response, there was a knock at the study door. Taeyeon raised her head. “Come in,” she called, and the quiet maid from earlier slipped in with barely a sound. She didn’t speak. Just walked up to you, placed an envelope in your hands—not Taeyeon’s—and bowed before disappearing again.

You stared at the envelope, then at Taeyeon, who was already laughing under her breath. “Minjeong,” she explained. “A woman of few words. But I promise she knows everything before the rest of us do.”

You barely registered the words. Your gaze had dropped to the wax seal now pressing cold against your thumb. The crest of Seraphian royalty gleamed there in deep red, too familiar to mistake.

Your heart sank. “Oh.”

Taeyeon’s smile faded into a sigh. “That boy’s fast. I thought we had at least a week.”

You blinked. “What?”

She didn’t elaborate. So you cracked the seal and opened the letter.

Jeonghan’s handwriting was sharp as ever—elegant and scathing in equal measure.

Dear Princess,

Congratulations on your daring escape. Truly, I admire the stealth. Slipping away in the morning without so much as a goodbye kiss? Bold of you. One might say... cowardly, but let’s be generous.

I’m writing this from my private study, where I’ve spent the last several hours wondering if you were kidnapped, murdered, or simply decided I was a regrettable phase of your mid-royal crisis. I even considered the possibility that you ran off with Choi Seungcheol, but he just came back to the castle again, equally clueless of your whereabouts. 

In case you're wondering how I tracked you down: say hello to Dandelion. He’s the highly trained storm petrel currently biting your finger, unless someone else suffered that fate and handed this to you instead. He can locate anyone in the world by scent. (Yes, even yours, and yes, you smell like roses and rain, it’s weird.)

Now. If you do not respond—promptly—and assure me that you have not been carted off by Minghao’s forces or worse, eloped with a royal mage named Kim Taeyeon, I will stop at nothing to find you.

I am, after all, a very concerned fiancé.

Yours unwillingly, Jeonghan

By the time you reached the bottom, Taeyeon was sipping her tea again, trying to hide a smirk behind the cup. 

“Storm petrel?” she asked mildly.

You stared at the paper. “He named it Dandelion.”

Taeyeon hummed. “Affection is such a strange language.”

Later that evening, you decided to dignify the whining prince with a correspondence of your own, lest he level his own kingdom the same way Minghao did to yours. 

You lit the candle with a flick of your fingers and settled at the desk in the bedchamber Taeyeon lent you. The flame wavered with the breeze drifting in from the open window, casting long shadows over the parchment. Dandelion the storm petrel hadn’t left yet. He perched like a judgmental gargoyle on the bedpost, fluffing his feathers with great, self-important fuss.

“I’m not writing a novel,” you muttered.

I’ve been waiting, he chirped back, more sullen than stern. The eldest prince said I’d be plucked and roasted if I returned without your reply.

“Dramatic as always,” you sighed, but the guilt twisted in your stomach anyway. You pulled the blank sheet toward you and smoothed it flat. The ink smelled sharp, like iron and smoke.

And then, under the dim, flickering light, you began.

Jeonghan,

Thank you for your concern. Truly, the mental image of you pacing around your study, catastrophizing my disappearance, is something I’ll cherish. 

I’m safe. Not kidnapped. Not murdered. Not swept away by a charming stranger (though Taeyeon did try to buy me stuffed flatbread, which I’m beginning to suspect was a bribe). No need to summon the cavalry.

You may relax your Very Concerned Fiancé act. I didn’t vanish to hurt you. I left because I needed clarity—on my magic, on myself, on what all of this means now that Ancarra isn’t mine to call home. I didn’t say goodbye because I knew you’d try to stop me, and I didn’t want to leave angry. I wanted to leave clean.

But you found me anyway. Of course you did.

I’ll write again soon. Don’t storm the continent in the meantime.

Not yours, Go Die

P.S. You are the regrettable phase of my post-royal crisis. Get your timeline straight.

P.P.S. Dandelion lives in constant fear of becoming your next lunch. He’s feathered, not marinated. Be nicer to animals, Your Highness.

You tucked the letter into the envelope with a final sigh, sealing it with the wax Taeyeon had left on the writing desk. Dandelion, still perched on the bedpost like a little sentinel, fluttered down as you approached.

“Here,” you said, offering him the letter. “To Jeonghan. Straight to the capital.”

The storm petrel took it delicately in his beak, clamping down with practiced care. But when you eyed him skeptically, wondering how on earth a creature his size could cross a continent with a letter in his mouth, he made a raspy scoffing sound that sounded an awful lot like offense.

“Right. Sorry for doubting you,” you muttered, raising your hands.

He tilted his head. You’re not so bad, he seemed to say. Tell that fiancé of yours to feed me something better than dried sardines next time.

With that, Dandelion turned, wings unfurling in one smooth movement. He took off toward the open window, a flash of white feathers disappearing into the night sky. You watched him vanish into the starlight, feeling oddly... lighter.

Still alone in the room, you crawled back into bed, the mattress soft but unfamiliar. You lay in the dark, arm tucked beneath your head, and tried to make sense of the day. The bizarre flower shop. Hanya’s slammed door. Taeyeon’s reluctant honesty. You still had no leads on improving your magic, not when your supposed mentor treated you like a plague, so maybe you’d go back to the one thing you could rely on—your body. Training. Swordwork. Something solid. Something that didn’t vanish the second you thought you understood it.

Just as your thoughts began to settle into that decision, the sound of flapping wings returned. You sat up, expecting to see Dandelion again. Maybe he forgot something.

But it wasn’t him.

An owl now perched on your window’s edge, dark-feathered and still as a shadow. Its eyes gleamed gold in the candlelight. It didn’t blink. It didn’t move. And yet, it didn’t feel ominous. Quite the opposite. You couldn’t explain it—but something about its presence was… calming.

You barely noticed the way your eyelids started to droop. A deep, sudden fatigue swept over you like mist.

When you finally fell asleep, it was under the owl’s silent, unblinking gaze.

It had been a few days since you arrived in Aragorn, and the stillness was starting to press in around the edges. Jeonghan hadn’t written back—not a word, not even a feather—and though you tried not to let it bother you, his silence echoed louder than you expected.

Taeyeon was doing what she could. She promised she’d talk to Hanya again, try a gentler approach in-between her duties as a royal mage. But even magic couldn’t untangle years of someone else’s pain overnight.

And you… you’d been trying too. You'd crept through the market in borrowed clothes and a pulled-down hood, heart racing, hoping to slip by unnoticed. The refugee quarter wasn’t far. You made it to the edge more than once—close enough to hear voices in your own dialect, smell the cooking you remembered from your palace kitchens—but each time, something in you buckled. You turned back. Not yet. Not today.

So instead, you trained.

Taeyeon had told you that Chan trained under a warrior named Jongkook, and now here you were—bruised, panting, and flat on your back in the dirt.

"You're dead again," Chan said sheepishly, hovering over you with a hand outstretched. "Sorry about the fire."

You blinked up at him, still trying to catch your breath. The edge of your tunic was charred, the singed fabric curling at the hem like dead petals. He’d almost set your entire sleeve ablaze during a block that got a little too passionate. Again.

"I noticed," you muttered, grasping his hand and letting him haul you to your feet.

Jongkook only watched from the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, unreadable behind his weather-worn face. “How many times do I have to tell you—you’re relying on your feet like they’re swords.”

“Force of habit,” you said through clenched teeth.

“No habit survives the battlefield if it gets you killed.”

You didn’t argue. You couldn’t. Not when you knew he was right. You'd been trained in precise swordplay, elegant footwork, and quick reflexes—all the hallmarks of a princess pretending to be a warrior. But Jongkook wouldn’t let you touch a blade, not until you learned to fight with your body alone.

No weapon. No titles. No shortcuts.

Only fists, breath, and bruises.

Back in Ancarra, the very idea of you brawling would’ve caused a scandal. Fencing was already a rebellion in silk; hand-to-hand combat would’ve been cause for exile. And yet, here you were, sweating like a farmhand and aching in places you didn’t know existed.

Jongkook finally grunted and motioned for the two of you to follow. “Enough for today. Come eat.”

You didn’t expect lunch to be anything more than a few dried rations or stew on a stone fire, but Jongkook surprised you. His home was humble, tucked into a cluster of pine trees, but the smell of simmering broth and grilled meat hit you before the door even opened.

"You cook?" you asked, incredulous, as he set down bowls with a practiced hand.

“I fight. I eat. I survive.” His voice had no hint of ego—just fact. “Same as you’ll do.”

Chan handed you a bowl and gave you a crooked smile. “I can’t feel my shoulders.”

You lifted your own bowl, still wincing as you sat. “I can’t feel my dignity.”

Chan snorted. Jongkook said nothing, but you swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. You might’ve been losing the fights, but something told you that you were starting to win something else.

You returned to Taeyeon’s estate just before sundown, dust and sweat clinging to your limbs after another brutal round of training. The moment you stepped past the threshold, Minjeong was already there—silent as ever, like she moved on ghosts’ feet.

“My Lady won’t be back until morning,” she said.

You blinked. “Sorry—what?”

It was the first time you’d heard Minjeong speak. Her voice was soft but steady, like a stream running beneath snow. She tilted her head at your reaction, not bothering to answer.

“Any requests for dinner?” she asked next, as if nothing strange had just occurred.

You shook your head. “Anything will do.”

Minjeong nodded once and disappeared into the house, leaving you standing there with the peculiar weight of her words hanging in the air. Taeyeon wouldn’t be home tonight. That… felt strange. She’d been a constant since your arrival—a reliable north. The house felt too large without her.

You marched up to your bedchambers, peeling off your outer tunic, planning to draw a bath after grabbing a change of clothes. Taeyeon had filled the wardrobe with outfits tailored for your size—soft cottons and loose robes you wouldn’t have been allowed to wear in Ancarra. She really had thought of everything. You were in her debt more than you could say.

But before you could open the drawers, you noticed the flick of movement by the windowsill.

A storm petrel.

Not Dandelion. This one was sleeker, darker, its feathers almost blue in the candlelight. It perched stiffly, an envelope clenched between its beak.

“Are you alright?” you asked gently, stepping closer.

No answer, just a quiet ruffle of wings. You took the letter from its beak and the bird lingered like some feathered guardian by the window. Even if it didn’t bother talking to you, you could tell that this one was waiting for you to write up a response as soon as you could, too. 

You turned the letter over, and your heart stuttered when you saw the same dignified wax seal as before. You broke it with one finger.

Princess,

So you can write. I was starting to worry the storm petrel union had gone on strike. You know, I thought I’d be angry when your letter finally arrived. But I read it three times instead. I think I hate how well you know me.

Dandelion is alive, thank you very much. Traumatized, perhaps, but alive. He’s been flapping around like a nervous maid since his return. The cook offered to pluck him for stew and I haven’t had the heart to correct her yet. I might. Depends on my mood.

As for you—don’t vanish again. Not without telling me first. It’s very hard to be a dramatic, wounded fiancé without an audience. Also, if you think you can just slip away from me after that very passionate night we shared, you are sorely mistaken. My spine still hurts, by the way. I’m convinced you were trying to kill me.

I miss you. That’s the part I wasn’t going to write, but here we are.

I’m glad you’re safe. Even if you’re halfway across the continent dodging affection and soul-searching.

Your eternal headache, Jeonghan

You didn’t realize you were grinning until the nameless storm petrel let out a low coo from his perch—watching you with the bored impatience of someone who had five more deliveries to make and a schedule to keep.

So you picked up your pen and got to it.

Jeonghan,

Three times? That’s almost romantic. I would accuse you of sentimentality, but we both know your ego would never survive the scandal.

I’m glad Dandelion survived his brush with death and domestic labor. He deserves better than you, frankly. If you let him become soup, I’ll never speak to you again. 

As for that very passionate night—I wasn’t trying to kill you. If I were, you wouldn’t have walked again, let alone written me such a smug letter. But I’ll take the compliment. I’ve been told I leave an impression.

Don’t worry. I won’t vanish again. Not without warning. Not unless I have to. (There it is, my honesty for the week.) I didn’t expect your letter to hit as hard as it did. You miss me—and I believe you. That’s the part I wasn’t going to write. But here we are.

I’ve been training these days, sparring with my fists instead of a sword. I lose a lot, but I think that’s the point. You’d laugh if you saw how bruised I am right now. My fellow mentee said it builds character. I told him I liked mine just fine before.

I miss you too.

Don’t let them make a martyr out of you while I’m gone.

Still not yours, Ancarra’s rightful heir

You didn’t sleep well.

The letter from Jeonghan sat folded beneath your pillow, like a charm you pretend didn’t matter. You read it again before the sun rose, and again while pulling on your boots. 

Every morning since arriving in Aragorn, you told yourself tomorrow. Tomorrow, you would go to the quarter Taeyeon had quietly given to the displaced people of Ancarra. Tomorrow, you would face the ones you’d left behind. But “tomorrow” kept slipping further out of reach, buried under bruises, training drills, and the uneasy ache of being both too much and never enough for the person you used to be.

Taeyeon had done more for them than you could have asked before you even set foot in the city. The district she gave them had once been a lively hub of artists and potters, abandoned years ago after a flood rerouted the river. Now it stood reclaimed—tent cloth strung across old balconies, makeshift hearths glowing behind broken windows, and gardens sprouting defiantly between the cracks of sunbaked stone. 

The people of Aragorn had helped them, quietly and without fanfare—sharing food, teaching them how to barter, offering stories instead of suspicion. Their reception of your people was so much warmer than how the royal council welcomed you and Soonyoung the day you arrived, and you received that knowledge with quiet relief.

You didn’t know what you expected to feel, walking into that space. Guilt was a given. Shame too. But the nausea that coiled in your gut—that was new. You kept your hood up and your hands hidden, as if either could disguise the lineage stamped across your face.

Hyejin spotted you first.

She stood beneath the faded awning of an old workshop, sleeves rolled high and violet-stained hands doling out jars of nightshade balm. Her presence was a calm one, even surrounded by the sick and weary. You watched her laugh gently with an elder as she re-wrapped the woman’s wrist, murmuring something too soft to hear.

Then her eyes flicked up.

“Oh!” she called, brightening. “You’re Lady Taeyeon’s niece, right? What are you doing all the way out here?”

You froze. Right. That was the description Taeyeon gave to them—her niece, a woman just visiting from the capital. Nothing more. It was safer that way.

You opened your mouth, but then someone else called out to you.

“…Princess?”

You turned.

A middle-aged woman stood at the edge of the path, a basket of foraged roots slipping from her arms. Her eyes widened as if she were seeing a ghost. You didn’t know her. Not by name, not by face. She was one of thousands you’d failed to protect. But the way she looked at you made your throat tight. It wasn’t just recognition, it was faith. And that was harder to bear.

Now she fell to her knees.

“Princess,” she choked, tears welling fast. “It’s really you. Thank the gods, you’re alive. We—we thought you were gone. We thought they—”

Her voice broke, and you dropped beside her, grasping her hands before she could press her forehead to the dirt.

“Please,” you whispered. “Don’t. You don’t have to—”

But more eyes had turned. More voices picked up. Murmurs of your title wove through the narrow street like wind in dry leaves. And the nausea returned when you dared to look at Hyejin.

She stood very still, a jar of balm still cradled in one hand. Her gaze swept from the kneeling woman to you, her expression unreadable. You braced for a question. A quiet who are you, really? But it never came.

Instead, Hyejin held your gaze for a moment longer, then offered a small, knowing smile. With a slight dip of her head, she turned and slipped away into the crowd, leaving you exactly what she had given the others: space.

You stayed kneeling beside the woman longer than you meant to, your hands still wrapped around hers. She was trembling, her tears falling silently now, one after the other.

Then the others began to gather.

They didn’t crowd, not exactly. But one by one, they drew closer—shuffling feet and hesitant steps, eyes wide with something like reverence. One man offered you a stool. A girl no older than ten held out a cup of watered tea with both hands. Someone murmured something about fanning you, someone else about soup.

You tried to stand, to wave it all off, but the attention followed like a tide. Hands reached to steady you, voices overlapped.

"Let her sit, she must be exhausted."

"Princess, do you need anything? Say the word—"

“No,” you said, gently but firmly. “There’s no need for that.”

They quieted.

You looked around at the faces—lined with fatigue, hollowed by worry, but still somehow soft. Still kind. “I’m no different from any of you,” you said. “Titles don’t matter now. I’m just another child of Ancarra who had to run.”

A few exchanged glances, unsure. Still, the space around you loosened. Their fussing eased, retreating into murmured apologies and lowered gazes. You hated the way the word princess seemed to build a wall no matter how gently you tried to tear it down.

You accepted the tea from the little girl with a nod of thanks and turned to the group.

“Has there been any word?” you asked, voice quiet. “From home?”

The silence that fell was louder than words.

A few exchanged glances before a younger man finally spoke. He had a bandage along his forearm and eyes that looked far older than his face.

“There’s been nothing since we crossed the border. No letters, no couriers. Not even smuggled word from the traders. It’s like the land itself closed up behind us..”

He paused, voice growing rougher. “But before that... we saw enough.”

Another woman nodded, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “The new king… He’s changed everything. The patrols. The laws. People vanish, sometimes whole families if they so much as defy him. The soldiers say it’s for peace and order—but they act more like hunters than guards.”

Your heart ached with every word. For the longest time you could only assume that Minghao would seize the throne the moment he’d killed your father, but hearing from the citizens’ mouths that he’s been bastardizing the place you called home… You couldn’t even begin to fathom how to feel about it. 

All of a sudden, someone else muttered, “And the animals...”

You turned toward the speaker, a boy barely in his teens.

“They're not right,” he said. “Things from the mountains and the marshes showing up in the city. Creatures we’ve only heard in stories. I saw one—twice the size of a horse, with eyes like glass. The guards didn’t even flinch. They walked it like it was trained. And when they ordered it to kill my parents…” 

Your hands tightened around the cup.

“Minghao has been gathering beasts all across the kingdom, Your Highness,” said an elderly man, leaning on a carved cane. “My daughter told me that his armies brought them into the capital in droves. Those that he wasn’t interested in experimenting on were given as pets to his high-ranking soldiers…”

Experimenting? For what? 

Minghao had always been a steady, gentle presence in your life. Despite the harshness of his upbringing as a Renxing royal, he never let it harden him, at least not with you. He was the one who first placed a bow in your hands, one of the few who stood beside you when others scoffed at the idea of a princess learning to fight. He never saw you as less for wanting more. And for a long time, you remembered what it felt like to trust him.

So why did this sound like something he’d planned for a very long time?

Your people’s eyes clung to you, heavy with hope that hadn’t been asked for, but had somehow taken root the moment they recognized your face. It wrapped around you like ivy, quiet and persistent, tightening with every breath.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“You’re the rightful heir,” the woman in front of you whispered with hope. “We don’t ask for miracles. Just… tell us you haven’t given up. Tell us we’re not waiting for nothing.”

A few others murmured in agreement.

You met her eyes. Then the eyes of the boy who’d lost his parents. The man with the bandaged arm. The old man with the cane. Each one etched with wounds and wear, and yet—each one daring to hope again.

And in your chest, something twisted.

I don’t know what to do.

The thought tried to rise, thick and shameful. You didn’t know how to reclaim a kingdom, or face someone you once trusted with your own life. You didn’t know what it meant to be queen, or even if you wanted to be.

But you remembered your father—how even in the face of every problem the throne had to face, he never once let the people see the storm in his heart. His spine had been a spine for all of Ancarra. When grief nearly drowned you, his voice was still the one you searched for in the dark. 

You rose slowly to your feet, pressing the tea back into the girl’s hands with a soft smile. The circle around you widened just slightly, respectful and watchful.

“I know it’s been hard,” you said, your voice calm, steady—more than you felt. “For all of us. We’ve lost so much. But we’re here, we’re still alive. That means something.”

A few people nodded faintly. Others just watched, unmoving, like they were afraid this moment would vanish if they blinked.

You turned to look at them one by one, drawing strength from their presence even as their weight settled deeper on your shoulders. “We may not be in Ancarra anymore, but Ancarra still lives—in us. In our choices. In what we fight for. That hasn’t changed. That won’t change.”

You breathed in slowly, deeply, like your father used to before addressing a court that expected miracles. You remembered how he never flinched when the weight of the country bore down. How he didn’t always have the answers, but he never let them see his doubt.

He was gone.

Now it was your turn.

“We don’t know what’s coming next. But I promise you—” You paused, squaring your shoulders. “Whatever it is, we’ll meet it. Together.”

A long silence followed. Then someone whispered, "For Ancarra."

Another voice echoed it. Then another. Until the street hummed with the quiet beginnings of belief. You didn’t let yourself cry, though you wanted to. Because you were not just some girl lost in a country that wasn’t her own. 

You were Ancarra’s future. 

The sun had begun to dip when you returned to Taeyeon’s estate. The cobbled path was golden in the light, and the silence of the grounds wrapped around you like balm. You half-expected to find the courtyard empty again, but as you stepped through the arched gate, a familiar voice called out:

“You’re just in time for tea.”

You blinked, surprised.

Taeyeon sat on the front porch, a delicate porcelain cup in one hand, the other resting loosely across her lap. She looked far too serene for someone who had been managing half the city’s magical logistics. Her dark hair was pinned back today, but loose strands shimmered around her face in the late light. A second cup sat beside her, already steaming.

“I thought you were still out,” you said, walking closer. 

Taeyeon smiled apologetically and gestured to the seat beside her. “I had to tend to some administrative tedium. The mage’s guild gets skittish every time I miss a meeting—afraid I’ve gone off to start a war, probably. But now I’m back. And far more free to help you with the Hanya issue.”

You sank onto the cushion beside her with a sigh and reached for the tea. “Minjeong’s cooking was plenty company,” you said truthfully, a little grin tugging at your mouth. “Seriously. I’ve never had noodles like that.”

“She takes it as a personal offense if anyone walks away hungry,” Taeyeon said fondly.

For a few beats, the quiet settled in. Then you set your cup down and turned toward her, more serious now. “About Hanya…”

Taeyeon arched her brow.

“I wanted to tell you… you don’t have to scheme on my behalf.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I want to speak to her myself.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head, lips twitching. “What spurred this on?”

“I met with some of the Ancarrian refugees today,” you said quietly. “They’re still holding on. Somehow. And they looked at me like I’m still someone worth believing in.”

Her smile deepened, warm and proud. “You are someone worth believing in.”

You looked away, the words settling somewhere too close to the bone.

“Okay,” Taeyeon said. “I’ll take you to Hanya at first light. But for today—rest. You still have bruises from your sparring sessions at Jongkook’s. I’m afraid Prince Jeonghan will have me maimed alive if he finds out I permitted those blemishes on you.”

You snorted, the tension easing from your shoulders. “He would not.”

“Speaking of that prince,” she added, “he sent another letter for you. The bird’s already waiting by the window of your room.”

You blinked. “Already?”

Taeyeon laughed cheekily. “I think he’s working through separation anxiety in written form.”

You thanked Taeyeon quietly and slipped back into the house, the scent of roasted nuts trailing from the kitchen. As you passed, Minjeong barely looked up from her chopping, but she gave a small nod, and the faintest smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. You returned it before heading upstairs.

Your room was bathed in amber light. The shutters had been opened just enough to let the sun filter through, casting golden stripes across the floor. Perched on the windowsill was a familiar bird—indignant, and unmistakably sulky.

“Dandelion,” you breathed.

He stared at you like he’s been waiting for hours.

Took you long enough.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re in a mood.”

You would be too if someone plucked you out of the royal aviary at an ungodly hour reeking of alcohol. Dandelion fluffed his feathers with great offense. Is that guy really your type? He’s a little insane, you know.

“He’s plenty insane,” you corrected, not bothering to answer his question as you reached for the letter he’d placed on your nightstand. “Jeonghan woke you up just for this? Couldn’t even wait until morning?”

With no bribe, too! Not even the crust of a honey biscuit. Ungrateful bastard.

You stifled a smile, already recognizing Jeonghan’s dramatic scrawl on the parchment. But as your eyes parsed through the words he’d written, a scowl slowly rooted itself on your face.

Princess,

Do you know what the problem is with Oak Walker? It makes a man honest.

I was going to write something refined. Polished. The sort of letter your new mage friends would be proud of. But then I started thinking about the way you looked the last  night we were together—moonlight on your collarbone, moaning like the pretty thing you are—and suddenly, grammar didn’t feel that important anymore.

Do you ever think about it? The way you ruined me?

I haven’t slept a full night since. My bed’s cold. My back still aches. My staff won’t meet my eyes. They think I’m possessed. And maybe I am because every time I close my eyes, I see you beneath me, skin flushed, breasts bouncing, my cock nestled between those supple thighs of yours.

You should come home. I promise to let you pin me to a wall as revenge for the last time I did that to you. Or the floor. Or the damn balcony—I’m not picky.

Yours in body and soul,  Jeonghan

P.S. If you burn this, I will know. I will feel it.

You stared at the letter.

The words were very much still there.

Your ears burned. Your soul burned.

“…He did not just—”

Your voice strangled itself in disbelief as your gaze flitted wildly across the page, trying to make sense of the absolute audacity bleeding from every line. And oh, there it was again—my cock nestled between those supple thighs of yours—and—

You slapped the parchment face down on your desk like it had personally wronged you.

From the desk, Dandelion ruffled his feathers. You alright? Did he insult your ancestors or something?

You made another strangled noise and slapped the letter facedown, as if that would undo the image now seared into your brain. Gods, you could see it all again—Jeonghan’s mouth on your skin, the way his voice had gone hoarse whispering your name, the heat of his body against yours, the—

You groaned and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes. “He’s actually insane.”

You keep saying that, Dandelion said dryly, and yet you’re redder than a boiled beet.

“I’m not—! Shut up.”

Just say the word and I’ll drop something in his bathwater. Maybe something that turns his voice high-pitched for a few hours.

You gave him a look. “You’re supposed to be neutral.”

I’m not that neutral. A pause. So. Am I taking a response back? Or should I just cough dramatically near his ear for a full day and let him know it’s from you?

You groaned again—but this time, you reached for a fresh sheet of parchment. “He’s not getting the last word.”

Dandelion chirped happily. That’s the spirit.

Jeonghan,

Have you completely lost your mind?

Actually, don’t answer that. I already know the answer. No sane person sends that kind of letter via bird in the middle of the night, without so much as a crumb of food for the courier. Dandelion is offended. I am mortified beyond belief. 

Do you even remember what you wrote? You’d better hope not, because if you ever say any of that out loud to my face, I’ll make good on the “pinning you to the wall” part, but not the way you meant.

Gods, Jeonghan. I came to Aragorn to figure out who I am outside of what the world made me. To breathe for a moment. To think clearly. And then you go and send that? You really are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met.

But since I’m concerned that my lack of a direct response to your… debauchery might result in further punishment for Dandelion, then yes. I think about that night more often than I’d like to admit. However, unlike you, I don’t write important correspondences while under the influence of Yoona’s evil Oak Walker, so that’s all you’re getting out of me. 

Sincerely, Dandelion’s only friend

P.S. Your staff thinks you’re possessed because you are. I should know. I’ve spent more than enough time in your orbit to recognize the symptoms.

P.P.S. Get some sleep. I mean it.

You folded the letter with great precision, like you were packing away something volatile. Sealed it with the little copper signet Taeyeon had given you, stamped with Aragorn’s flame. Then you turned to Dandelion, who was very visibly preening like he hadn’t just been dragged into a royal sex scandal against his will.

“Here,” you said, handing over the rolled parchment. “Straight to the prince. No stops. No flirting with the bluebirds on the southern cliffs.”

I have done no such thing! 

You shook your head, trying not to laugh. “Just go. And if he tries to read this out loud to anyone, claw his face off.”

Dandelion took off in a sweep of dark wings and indignant muttering, leaving you alone once more in your sun-dappled chambers.

For a moment, you simply stood there, the silence hugging your shoulders. Then you sank into the bed, curling onto your side as your eyes drifted toward Jeonghan’s most recent letter. You’d tossed carelessly on your quilt like it wasn’t responsible for the blush creeping up your neck.

You reached for it. 

(You shouldn’t have. You absolutely shouldn’t have.

But you did.)

Your gaze traced the lines again, the scrawl that grew progressively less elegant the filthier it got. You could almost hear his voice in it—drawling, drunk, and smug. And unfortunately for you, your treacherous memory filled in the rest.

The curve of moonlight over his skin. The way your names had blurred on each other’s tongues. The pressure of his mouth between your thighs, and your fingers tangled in his red hair as you gasped for—

You groaned into a pillow, mortified.

What was wrong with you?

Why did your body remember every second with such vivid, burning clarity? You pressed your legs together and tried not to think about the fact that you were embarrassingly warm all over. You’d literally just met with the remnants of your people this morning, and now you’re fantasizing about an uncouth prince?

He’d ruined you, and he wasn’t even in the damn room.

You buried your face deeper into the pillow, as if suffocating yourself could somehow drown out the memory. It didn’t. If anything, the darkness behind your eyelids made it worse. You could still feel Jeonghan bracing himself above you with that maddening smile before stealing the breath from your lungs. You reached blindly for his letter again, the parchment crackling beneath your fingers. Read the lines a third time. Maybe a fourth. Your thighs shifted.

“Stop,” you groaned at yourself.

But the memory was a wildfire now, licking across your skin—his mouth, his hands, the weight of him, the way he'd said your name like it was holy. And gods help you, your hand started moving before you could talk yourself out of it.

You bit your lip as your fingers brushed over the waistband of your trousers, breath catching in your throat. 

But your body didn’t seem to care—because your mind was already there. Back in his arms. Back in that room lit by moonlight and madness, where the air had smelled like sandalwood and wine and something distinctly him. 

Tell me what you want.

You slipped your hand lower, hips shifting as heat pulsed through you.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

Your fingers moved slower, firmer, guided by the rhythm of memory. His hands on your thighs. His mouth at your neck. You moaned softly, biting down on the edge of the pillow as your heart  raced. The ache built steadily—hot, urgent, and overwhelming. His name fell from your lips again, this time as a whimper.

That night you hadn’t gone all the way. But what if you did? What if Jeonghan had sunk his cock into your needy heat? You just knew he’d fuck you until you saw stars; knew he’d whisper how good your tight cunt felt around him. And then you’d take everything he gave, let him mark you, make you his—

And when the wave crested, when it shattered through you like a tremor beneath the skin, you clung to the sheets like they were him.

You lay there for a while, panting, flushed, half-glaring at the ceiling.

Jeonghan. That infuriating man. 

Even half a world away, he still had you wrapped around his goddamn finger.

The morning sun hadn’t yet burned off the dew clinging to the leaves when you and Taeyeon stepped through the shimmering veil of her portal, landing on the mossy path outside Hanya’s crooked little house.

You still couldn’t meet Taeyeon’s eyes.

Not after last night.

Every time your thoughts wandered, they wandered—and your cheeks burned hot all over again. If Taeyeon noticed anything strange about your stiff posture or the too-casual way you’d greeted her this morning, she didn’t mention it. She just handed you a piece of toast, opened a portal, and strolled through it like nothing was out of the ordinary.

Which, thankfully, gave you room to pretend nothing was.

The animals were already stirring around Hanya’s porch. You saw the same monkey from last time perched on the railing, along with a sleepy fox curled beside the doorstep. As you approached, the fox cracked open one eye and regarded you lazily.

Most give up after the first rejection, it said.

“I’m not like most,” you murmured back, steeling your resolve as you lifted your hand to knock.

The door creaked open as Hanya filled the doorway like a shadow, her sharp gray eyes already narrowed in irritation. Her lips curled into something resembling a snarl.

“I thought I made myself clear last time,” she said. “I don’t want your cursed magic anywhere near me.”

You met her gaze head-on, spine straight. “But don’t you carry the same cursed magic too?”

There was a pause. Barely half a breath. But you saw it—the way her shoulders tensed, the way her eyes widened slightly, just for a second. Behind you, Taeyeon gave a quiet, knowing laugh. Hanya’s glare returned full force, but something about it had changed. She muttered something under her breath—probably a curse—and turned with a huff.

Honestly, this was a bit of a surprise. You didn’t think that was all you had to say to change her mind.

“Well,” she grumbled, stomping inside. “Don’t just stand there.”

You exchanged a glance with Taeyeon, your chest still tight with nerves. But you followed, stepping into the home of the one mage who might finally understand what had always made your magic feel wrong.

Hanya stepped back with a grunt and a reluctant flick of her wrist, gesturing for you and Taeyeon inside. “Don’t touch anything,” she muttered. “Especially if it hisses.”

The moment you crossed the threshold, the air changed.

The interior of the house felt less like a home and more like the heart of a living, breathing wildwood. The scent of moss, singed herbs, and fur lingered in the air. Wooden shelves lined the walls, cluttered with bundles of dried grasses, enchanted bones, claws from creatures you couldn’t name, and glowing vials that pulsed with slow, otherworldly light. 

A spiral of thick roots twisted up through the center of the room, acting as a natural column. Hanging from it were dozens of charms: teeth strung on thread, bits of crystal, and bells that rang with no breeze. A fat marmalade-colored cat blinked at you from the top of a high shelf. The fox from outside slinked past your ankles like mist, its nine tails fanned with interest.

Hanya poured steaming water over crushed bark and a cindersong bloom in a chipped stone teapot. The scent was bitter, like burned honey and pine. She set it on the hearth without ceremony, then turned to you.

“If you want me to teach you, girl,” she said, “you need to know where you come from. What you carry.”

Taeyeon gave you an encouraging nod, stepping aside as if to say: this part is yours.

Hanya motioned for you to sit. “There are two kinds of beast mages left in Ancarra—those who speak, and those who become. You think you’re the first kind. But you need to understand both.”

You sat down, back straight, heart pounding.

“In the beginning,” Hanya said, settling across from you, “beasts ruled those lands. Not animals, but spirits. The First Beasts. Embodiments of instinct and truth. They were united by a trifecta: the Owl of Wisdom, the Tiger of Loyalty, and the Serpent of Vengeance. Humans were nothing but prey. Until some brave soul knelt before the trifecta and listened instead of running away from them.”

“A covenant was made between the First Beasts and the Ancarrans of old, and two kinds of magic were born,” she continued, “The Tongue of Beasts—this is yours; the path of the Speakers, of empathy and true listening. The other is the Shape of Beasts, which belongs to Shapeshifters. Borrowed form. Physical memory. The two were meant to exist in balance.”

“But something happened,” you murmured, voice hushed.

Hanya nodded, dark eyes unreadable. “A warlord rose and called himself the Beast King. He thought speaking was weak—why whisper when you can devour? He took the forms of the spirits without their permission, without their wisdom. Killed them. Absorbed them. And in doing so, shattered the pact.”

The fire popped behind her, sending sparks up the hearth. 

You thought about Hanya’s words long and hard. The two kinds of beast magic, the story of the Beast King usurping the First Beasts… Was this what Minghao was planning? The reason why he was bringing those creatures to the capital of Ancarra?

“Your mother was a Speaker, too,” Hanya said. “She may not have worn the title openly, but she carried the gift. So did her mother before her. The Royal Bloodline wasn’t just made to rule humans—it was made to speak to what came before humans. The First Beasts. Your voice can stir them from slumber.”

You swallowed, a lump forming in your throat. “Why… why didn’t anyone tell me? About the truth behind our magic? All I was told was that Mother could speak to animals, too…”

“Because the world calls it cursed now,” she said, voice cool. “Because after the Shapeshifter betrayal, they lumped all beast magic together as dangerous. Dirty and forbidden. And so the stories died. The line was broken. And you, little Speaker—” her gaze flicked over you with something between scorn and pity—“were left to figure it out alone.”

A kind of aching clarity poured in. You had spent your entire life speaking to animals in whispers, never knowing why the birds sang back, or why Reya’s voice rang louder in your heart than most people’s ever did. You’d been told it was a blessing, then a curse, then something to be hidden. Now, finally, it had a name—a legacy. You weren’t broken. You weren’t a mistake. 

You were part of something ancient.

“I want to learn,” you said, quietly. “I need to.”

Hanya gave a slow, grudging nod, already rising to her feet with a determined look on her face.

“Then let’s see if your blood remembers what the crown forgot.”

The castle halls were quieter than usual when Joshua went looking for his brother. Morning light filtered through the tall stained-glass windows, casting blue and gold patterns on the stone floor. When he asked after Jeonghan, the maids exchanged uneasy glances.

“His Highness left at dawn,” one whispered. “Didn’t say where.”

Joshua sighed. Of course he didn’t. Jeonghan hadn’t been himself since you disappeared. He told everyone you were safe—that you’d gone somewhere to train, and that your letters proved you were alive—but even Joshua could see the cracks beneath that assurance. His brother doubted it. Every second of every day.

So he followed instinct, rather than logic. Out past the castle gates, through the eastern woods that had long since been declared off-limits to servants and guests. There was a place there that no one else knew about; a clearing only he and Jeonghan used to sneak away to when they were younger.

And there, in the center of that clearing, was a black dragon.

It lay curled in a bed of flattened wildgrass, wings folded tight to its back, smoke curling from its nostrils. Massive and ancient, yet somehow familiar in posture. A creature no longer supposed to exist. Joshua froze, breath caught in his throat. Then his boot crunched softly against a patch of dried leaves.

The dragon cracked open one enormous eye, golden and slitted. It narrowed slightly at the sight of him, but did not move. Joshua swallowed and smiled, trying not to be overwhelmed by awe. 

“You know,” he said, voice casual, “you’re a lot more talkative when you’re human.”

A puff of smoke answered him. Clearly irritated.

Joshua tilted his head. “Come on, brother. I know it’s you. Talk to me in a form I can actually understand.”

There was a pause.

Then, with a low rumble that shook the leaves, the dragon began to shift. Bones and scales folded inwards; wings collapsed; the long tail vanished in smoke. What remained, standing amid the dissipating steam, was a man—naked, barefoot, breathing a little too hard. His hair was black again, same as the dragon’s scales.

Joshua stared at him. “Really?”

“You came looking for me. You get what you get.”

The younger prince tossed him his cloak. “I swear to the gods, I’m the only thing standing between you and a dozen traumatized gardeners.”

Jeonghan caught it, but didn’t laugh. He sat down in the grass, folding the cloak loosely around him, gaze lost in the distant treetops.

Joshua sat beside him, knees drawn up. “You didn’t even tell me you could do that. Back then you only transformed into… simpler things. A dog. A squirrel. But a dragon?”

“It’s not exactly something I advertise.”

“No,” Joshua said quietly, “but it’s something you should have told me.”

Jeonghan didn’t answer. The wind stirred the grass. Smoke still lingered faintly in the air, curling around them like memory. Joshua leaned closer to feel for his temperature with the back of his hand, the fussy brother that he was.

“You’re burning up from the inside,” he frowned. “That form… You shouldn’t hold it for too long.”

“I know.”

“Then why use it?”

Jeonghan looked down at his hands, still trembling. “Because when I’m a dragon,” he said, voice soft and raw, “I don’t have to feel how much I miss her.”

Joshua blinked, taken aback. Not by the words themselves, but by how easily they’d fallen from his brother’s mouth. Jeonghan wasn’t one for confession. He wore his emotions like armor: controlled, polished, impossible to pierce. But here, now, stripped of everything—title, pride, even clothes—he looked like a boy again. 

A boy mourning something that hadn’t died, just disappeared. And Joshua, who had always been his quiet shadow, his tether to the world, suddenly felt the full weight of that love. Not just longing, but devotion. The kind Jeonghan had never been able to unlearn, no matter how much time passed or how far you had gone.

Jeonghan let out a shaky breath. “And gods help me, Shua… The longer she’s gone, the harder it is to believe she’s coming back.”

Joshua didn’t answer him.

He had always known his brother loved you. That part had never been a mystery. It was in the way Jeonghan lingered at the edge of your world—never gentle, never far. Even as children, he needled and provoked, the way some boys do when affection is too sharp to name. He kept you close by keeping you off balance. He orbited you like gravity—not because he was soft, but because he didn’t know how to let go.

And he’d known about the shame, too. About the curse.

His shapeshifting magic had always been a secret, one locked behind palace doors, spoken of only in whispers within their family. Their parents never acknowledged it directly, but Joshua had seen the signs. The fear in Jeonghan’s eyes after a transformation gone wrong. The burn marks on his skin that no one ever treated aloud. The way he would disappear for days whenever the magic overwhelmed him. Their mother’s cold silences. Their father’s refusal to meet his gaze.

So no—none of this was new to Joshua.

But what he hadn’t understood, not until now, was how tightly Jeonghan’s self-hatred was knotted around the fact that he loved you.

Being betrothed to the girl he adored should’ve been a blessing. But it became a terror. And so he did what he did best: pushed, provoked, made himself unbearable. He gave you every reason to hate him. Because if you loved a cursed thing, maybe the curse would claim you, too. And Jeonghan—fool that he was—would rather be unloved than be the reason you were ruined.

Joshua reached over, not saying a word, and rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. In the quiet, the trees swayed. Somewhere far off, a hawk cried.

And the two princes sat alone in the clearing—one still smoking from old magic, the other quietly holding him together—as the last vestiges of dragonfire cooled to ash.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

⟢ end notes: i'm having SUCHHH a ride writing this, you guys have no idea lmfao!!! and if you noticed, joshua's mc from his fic in the series finally has a name too + chan and hyejin appearance, who else cheered? i was supposed to have this up next week, but today's a holiday for me, so i got around to editing and finally cleaning up this part :3c i really really tried to make two parts work but... :( however, like in my jeongcheol x reader fic, inflection point, all the best things come in threes! that said, thank you oh-so much for the overwhelming reception on the first part T T i was gone for more than a year, so i didn't expect people to like my stuff after all this time UEUEUEUE see you in the finale!!!!

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

[woollypoison]

Pearl Necklaces

IVE wonyoung x reader (but also all of IVE is in this so...) a/n: I've had this idea of starting a fic with a terrible blowjob for a really long time already. I woke up really horny with tons of free time on my hands and with the puzzle pieces clicking in my head. Thank you, wisdom teeth removal surgery. Anyways, I KNOW I promised full focus on itzy miniseries next AND YOU'LL GET IT!!! I'm working really hard on it, just accept this little out of control dribble as a free gift. Shout out to @valentinedrifter and @kwilquib for the beta read, much love amigos <3333 Word count: 2.2k

This is, by far, the worst blowjob you’ve ever had.

Wait, does this even count as a blowjob? Wonyoung’s just sitting there, knees on the floor, legs spread apart. Her tongue’s out, sure, and the tip of it is touching the underside of your cockhead. The eye contact is making it work, and the way she’s jackhammering her own cunt is a sight to behold, but can you really call it a blowjob if the only thing rubbing your cock is your own hand?

Isn’t this more like an assisted hand job?

“Can you hurry the fuck up? I have to be out—on fucking stage—in 10 minutes in front of a crowd full of horny college students,” Wonyoung barks at you, retracting her tongue, causing you to whimper for losing the only source of contact you still had. “And you know I orgasm a lot faster with a load on my face.”

“I’m sorry Wony, but this is my fourth time already today. I’m not some endless fountain of sperm,” you say. “It would go a lot faster if you helped out some more.”

“What the fuck do you mean, fourth time today?! You should be saving up for me, you dog!”

“It’s not my fault,” is the weakest form of an excuse you could come up with. You’re IVE’s manager. It’s all your fault. “First was this morning… You know how ridiculous Gauel’s been lately.”

And of course she knows. Gaeul’s been playing the part of a bratty sleeping beauty.

“I can’t believe that bitch is still saying she refuses to wake up unless you cum on her face,” she spits back, and it really does sound ridiculous when she says it out loud.

“What about the other two?”

“Well,” you start, but you already know you’re going to get chewed out. “I was having trouble getting everything ready to wake Gaeul up—”

“Just like you are now, right.”

“Right. And I accidentally left the door open, and when Yujin saw me struggling, she came to help out.”

Wonyoung rolls her eyes with a sharp flick, finally sticks her tongue out again but still too far to touch, and twitches her eyebrows to let you know to continue.

“She helped jerk me off onto Gaeul’s face. Said it was her responsibility as a leader as well.”

“That still makes just one load blown, right?” Wonyoung intervenes.

“Yeah, I’m getting there,” you continue, seeing the way her eyes refuse to let you know she’s really enjoying your retelling of the defiling of her members, but doing a terrible job at keeping it hidden.

“After I came on Gaeul, Yujin dragged me out towards her room. Said she was expecting a ‘give and take’ for her help.”

“What kind of ‘give and take’?”

You sigh. She pretends to want to chastise you, but with the way her hand is pounding into her sloppy cunt beneath you and how she’s dripping on the floor, it’s obvious to see. She’s just getting off on this. “I ate her out until she came and then she jerked me off onto her face. Load two.”

“That slut,” Wonyoung murmurs with a smirk. “What about the last one?”

“Okay, I admit, this one might be my fault,” you meekly let out. Wonyoung raises one eyebrow, like she can’t wait to find out what kind of dumb shit you did. “I was helping Rei and Liz clean up the breakfast table, and they were talking about what kind of snack they could still have.”

“Okay?”

“So I jokingly said I had a delicious snack tucked away in my pants for them.”

Wonyoung looks at you like you’re an actual idiot. Look. You might be. “You’re serious?” she asks, almost in disbelief.

“I didn’t expect them to jump me like that. It only took a couple of seconds before they had my dick sandwiched in between their lips,” you explain, getting lost in the thought of how great they felt.

“You’re a pervert,” she snidely remarks.

“God they looked good, licking my seed off of each other’s faces. IVE really is the best…”

Your reminiscing and your pace get interrupted as the door behind you opens, and Leeseo pops her face in with a loud message. “Wonyoung-unnie, it’s 5 minutes till showtime,” she cheers gleefully before opening her eyes, and taking in the sight. You, towering over Wonyoung with your cock out, her on her knees with her mouth open.

“Get the fuck out, can’t you see we’re busy? I’ll be right there,” Wonyoung snaps at Leeseo.

Leeseo just holds her hand in front of her mouth in mock surprise. She giggles a small melody to your ears, before taking her leave, but not without a final remark. “Okay, but don’t forget I finally get manager tonight. Don’t wear him out too hard for my first time, please!”

Wonyoung rolls her eyes again, and looks towards you as you slowly start pumping your cock again. “So, where were we? You were telling me about how you already came three times today, and making excuses for why I’m still waiting for my share.”

“It’s a lot faster if you help, Wonyoung…”

She gasps in shock, looking at you like you’re not only an idiot, but actually insane now. “There’s no fucking way I’m touching your filthy cock. Not after everywhere it’s been today.”

“I don’t think I can finish in time if it’s by myself,” you plead, and it’s not even a lie. If anything, you’re more scared of how upset Wonyoung will be if she has to go on stage without relieving her usual tension.

“Ugh, fine! But only if you ditch Leeseo tonight for me,” she argues back, and it’s a grin that tells you everything. You have no real choice when it comes to Wonyoung’s tantrums.

“What? I can’t! She’s been looking forward to this for months,” you try to argue nevertheless.

She negotiates a better deal back, the desperation of having to go out on stage any moment getting to her. “No condom this time. So what will it be? Paint our maknae’s face, or get me to touch your dick and fill my insides up as much as you want?”

“Deal, but I’m not letting you off the hook for that,” you reply in an instant, so eager your cock twitches at the mere thought of it. The glint in her eye says enough, her two hands balling into little fists as she shakes them, heralding her victory.

She forms a circle with her left thumb and index finger, wrapping it around the base of your cock and presses tightly against you. Her other hand is still occupied with her own needs. Her mouth opens up, hot breath heralding your end. You wish it took more, but the moment she plants a kiss on your cock, you burst.

It’s a full-body, shuddering embarrassment of an orgasm, the kind that makes your knees buckle and your face hot with shameful delight. Wonyoung doesn’t break eye contact—not once.

Your cum splashes out in a blinding, white arc, catching Wonyoung square on the tongue, painting her lips, her nose, even a bit on her lashes. Wonyoung squeals at the sheer volume, and then, with a balletic flick of her wrist, jerks you out for the last spurt, milking every drop onto her own eager face. She scoops up a glob with her pinky, pops it in her mouth like it’s frosting, and lets out a theatrical moan.

“God, you’re such a fucking mess,” she says, but she drags her hand down to her slit and starts furiously rubbing, as if her own orgasm is right there, like a red button she can’t stop slamming. You’re still dizzy, your vision swimming, when she shoves her face against your softening cock and lets out a high, tight whine. She cums like a disaster: messy and loud, bucking her hips so hard she nearly topples backwards, her legs kicking out and slamming the top of her head against your thigh, making you nearly collapse on top of her. She’s painted and panting, mouth slack, chest flushed scarlet. You’ve never seen her look so proud, so utterly victorious. “I’m going to look so hot on stage,” she says, but she’s smiling now, the kind of mischievous, post-orgasmic smile that could start wars. Then, she wipes the semen off her cheek with her thumb. “Is this look too much for university boys?” She chuckles, then licks her thumb with a showy little curl of her tongue in front of you, eyes locked on yours, as if daring you to disagree. You manage a shaky breath, still not recovered, and watch her collect herself with the efficiency of an idol who’s both a world-class diva and a world-class pervert.

She’s in full glam: lashes thick enough to sweep the floor, cheeks rouged to cartoonish perfection, and now this decadent pearl necklace of your making as her accessory.

“You can’t go out there like that,” you manage, voice hoarse and a little too loud.

Wonyoung’s standing, one foot in her heel, blouse still wide open, neck and chin and cheek freckled with the evidence. She stares at herself in the mirror, cocks her head, and lifts her phone. 

Snap. Snap. Snap. 

She’s taking selfies, for fuck’s sake. Her tongue pokes out, cute and obscene above her ruined makeup. “Why not?” she purrs, not even pretending to button up. “It’s a good look. Besides, the fans would fucking die.”

The front-facing camera captures the whole tableau: your deflated cock wilting against her cheek, the ropes of cum criss-crossing her face, and her absolute, shameless delight at the mess. And just like that, you’re incriminated.

“I’ll die if you get in trouble for this,” you hiss, glancing at the door as if Leeseo might be waiting with a live feed. “Please, just clean up.”

She’s not even listening. “Oh, don’t be a prude, manager. I’m doing this for you,” She winks, then switches to video mode, recording a quick little snippet of her slurping a glob of cum off her own chin, then blowing a kiss to the camera. “If you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll let you watch it later.”

You’re about to protest, but then she’s shoving the phone in your hands, angling her face for you to get the best shot. “Take one for me. I want to remember how you love me the most.”

You do as you’re told, because you always do, and she’s right: this is her at her best, her most dangerous. The flash goes off, and she shivers at the sound. “God, you’re lucky,” she purrs and you know it.

“Here, let me—” you start, reaching for the tissues on the table.

But Wonyoung’s already got her own solution. “No, no, no. If you really want me cleaned up, you have to do it.” She tilts her chin up, eyes fluttering closed. “With your tongue. Or I’ll tell everyone in the company you’re a chronic masturbator who can’t keep his hands off his own dick around us.”

She grabs your chin and pulls you into a kiss, her tongue pushing past your lips, and you can taste yourself, bitter and astringent, and her, sweet and sharp. She bites your lip, hard enough to sting, then breaks away and wipes the rest off with a practiced hand. “You’re such a pushover,” she says, patting your cheek with the now-ruined tissue.

You just watch as she stands, legs shaky as she fixes her hair, retwists her ponytail, and tugs her miniskirt down over her thighs, still glistening from her own mess. She checks herself in the mirror, then gives you a once-over, eyes lingering on your still-exposed, still-leaking cock.

She’s devilish, a forbidden fruit, the kind of ice cold beauty typically reserved for fairy tales. “Now, here’s your job,” she says, wagging her finger at you. “Go to the green room, watch my performance, and edge yourself until I get back. I want you leaking for me all night, so when I get back, you can fill me up for real. If you cum before I’m done, I’ll make you eat it off Yujin’s shoes.”

You sputter, “What?”

She grins, all dimples and devilry. “You heard me. And don’t even think about cheating. I’ll know.”

She blows you a kiss and flounces out, heels clacking, leaving you dazed and semi-hard in the aftermath.

You could’ve been a manager in any group, for any label in Seoul, but fate delivered you into the hands of the most terminally horny, irrepressible, and power-mad girl group in the country. You can’t even process it. You just sit there, cock in hand, trying to figure out how your life turned into a kpop bukkake sitcom. You ponder briefly if this is a privilege or a curse, and then, as your thumb scrolls aimlessly through the photo log on her phone (she left it behind by “accident”), you realize you don’t even care anymore.

The latest shot is still her, tongue out, glazing herself like a goddamn donut, winking at you through the digital shrapnel of your own undoing. Your cock jumps, traitorously.

Whatever Wonyoung wants, she gets.

[rooster-the-love-of-my-life]

Idiots At a Wedding pt1

Summary: Pretending to be Bob's girlfriend in front of his family had to be easy right? Right...??

Pairings: Bob Floyd x fem!reader

Warnings: slight unholy thoughts, self pitying, oblivious idiots

A/N: Tell a friend to tell a friend SHES BACKKK!!! I know it's been so long since I posted but I'm finally back, and this time I've tried something different. So please be kind and don't be a stranger. Enjoy!!!!

series masterlist || part 2

"Hey Bob, you got a date for the wedding yet?"

The whole squad was gathered around Rooster and Hangman's coffee table in their shared apartment, having their ritualistic Friday night dinner when Phoenix asked her backseater the question. After the success of your mission, you all were asked to stay back and become a part of a special task force led by Maverick. Everyone jumped on the opportunity, eager to see what the future held and delighted to see it with friends.

Bob, who as usual was sitting on the floor near the edge of the coffee table, snapped his head up upon hearing his name. "No, not yet." He mumbled with delicious chinese food stuffed in his mouth.

"What wedding?" You jumped into the conversation, eyes moving between Bob and Phoenix from the couch you were sat on, curious to know what they were talking about.

"Of course that piques your interest." Hangman butted in, putting a peace of chicken in his mouth. "The entire night you've been awfully quiet and suddenly when you hear the word wedding you almost burst out of your seat out of excitement."

"Shut up Jake." You rolled your eyes, shoving him with your left elbow, getting a soft grunt out of him. "Did your mama never teach you to not talk with your mouth full?"

"You didn't say anything to Bob when he did it." The blonde argued.

"What wedding?" You asked again, completely ignoring the man on your left, laser focused on finding out who was getting married and when.

Ever since you were a child, weddings had always been your favorite, maybe it was because of all the free food or maybe it was because of how good everyone looked. Nevertheless, weddings were your favorite thing in the world, and hearing someone from your squad was going to a wedding just excited you to the core.

"My younger sisters getting married next week." Bob explained. "I'm supposed to be the best man at the wedding."

"And supposed to bring a date." Phoenix added, nudging him with her knee as if to send him some secret message no one else understood.

"That too." He added, face a little flushed. "Haven't found anyone willing to go with me yet, so I guess I'll just have to endure my mama's wrath. Nothing I haven't handled before."

"Did you even ask anyone?" Coyote asked.

"No." Bob whispered as Natasha groaned in frustration.

"I told him weeks ago to ask someone but he still hasn't done it. Do you really want Mrs. Floyd to kill you?"

"She isn't going to kill me if I don't bring a date right." Bob said with confidence which wavered the second Phoenix raised an eyebrow and gave him a look which clearly said otherwise. "Right?"

"Talking from experience of having a Texan mother myself, I can assure you she won't kill you. But there is no way in hell she's ever letting you live it down." Jake added, trying to console Bob but failing miserably.

Bob groaned, running a hand over his face and through his hair. "What am I gonna do?"

"I'll go with you." You offered with out skipping a beat to no one's surprise. You were always one to jump on the opportunity to help someone, it was almost as if you were put on this earth for the sole reason of helping people. So when you offered to help Bob out, no one was supried. "I'll go to the wedding with you, I love weddings. Besides, Maverick has been begging me to use my vacation days, so I'll finally get to do that to."

"Yo-you don't have to." Bob stuttered out his words, looking down at his plate, the red blush creeping over to his ears.

"No I want to. I love weddings and I would love to meet your family too, you always talk about them so fondly." You repeated, smiling so brightly at Bob he feared he might be blinded by you.

"You don't have to Sunny, really. You don't have to come out of pity or anything."

"I'm not offering out of pitty." You reassured him with a soft smile. "I have no problem accompanying you to your sisters wedding. Unless you don't want me to of course." You added quickly, not having taken Bob's wishes into consideration.

"No no, it's not that. It just that I-" Bob started but you quickly stopped him, over taken by excitement.

"It's settled than, I'm going to the wedding with you." You said gleefully, getting up from your seat and towards the kitchen to get yourself a drink.

The night went on, everyone chatted normally and stuffed themselves full of food until they couldn't breath. For the rest of the night, your spirits were higher than ever. You were already known to be the yapper of the group, but now no one could get you to stop talking. On the other hand, Bob got eerily quiet, more quiet than he had ever been before, almost as if he was having a mini existential crisis in his head.

By ten it was time for everyone to go back to their homes. Having said your goodbyes, you were walking towards your car in the parking lot when Bob called out your name from behind you, jogging slightly to catch up to you.

"Hey, what's up?" You asked, leaning against your car as the blue eyed man approached you.

"I um, I wanted to talk to you about the wedding." He said, stuffing his hands inside his jacket as chilly winds rose up in the air.

"I'm so excited. You'll have to text me all the details." You replied, adrenalin pumping through you.

"It's not about that." He cleared his throat, looking down at the ground, clearly uncomfortable.

"Is everything okay? Did I say something wrong? Should I have not offered in front of every-"

"No no, it's not that. Not that at all." He quickly stopped you. "It's just that, my mother's a bit too much. She always nags me about everything and at times it gets a bit unbearable. A couple of months ago she was complaining about me not dating and was about to set me up with the daughter of someone from her bookclub. So to get her off my back and save myself from embarrassment I kind of told her that I'm already seeing someone else and now she expects me to bring that someone to the wedding."

You couldn't believe your ears as Bob's confession filtered out of his mouth. He had lied to his mother and told her he had a girlfriend when in reality he hadn't been out on a date in almost a year. And now his mother was expecting him to bring the woman who stole her son's heart to the big wedding and you had just accidently signed up to be that woman.

"So that means-" You started slowly, still processing what you had just heard.

"If you come to the wedding with me she'll think you're my girlfriend." Bob finished the sentence for you, red faced from his confession. "You can say no now if you want to."

You looked up at the man standing in front of you, looking like a puppy in the rain, and something inside of you just could not let you say no to him.

"It's fine Bob, I'll still go with you." You whispered, as Bob's head snapped up, staring at you with hope and nervousness.

"Really? But everyone would think you're my girlfriend. I just don't want you to be uncomfortable or feel as if you're obliged to say yes."

"No, I-I want to. I mean what kind of a friend would I be if I don't help you out in a tough situation." You said, giving him a soft smile.

"Oh thank god." He sighed, shoulders visibly relaxing. "Thank you, I know I've put you in a tough spot, but thank you so much for helping. I don't know what I'd do without you. Probably get a beating from my mama for lying to her at the ripe age of thirty."

"It's alright Bob, you don't need to thank me." You out your hand on his arm to get him to calm down and stop his rambling. "You can text me the details tommrow okay. For now just go get some rest, we'll figure it all out later."

With that you both went back to your apartments to get some well needed rest. But from the second you got into your car, your mind kept thinking about what you'd just done. Anyone who knew you could always rely on you to help them out id they were ever in a though spot, but this was a bit too much, even by your standards. Part of you thought it was just because you were desperate to go to a wedding, but deep down inside you knew the real reason. You would do anything for him, anything for Bobby.

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

Bob Floyd was freaking out. He was absolutely losing his mind, pacing back in forth in his apartment, flipping out in front of his best friend.

"Oh my god, what have I just done." He said, grabbing his head with both of his hands, still pacing. "What have I just done? What have I done Nat?"

"Hey, hey, calm down." She said, moving forward on the couch, resting her elbows on her knees. "Stop pacing, I'm getting vertigo just from watching you."

That made Bob instantly stop and stare at her with wide eyes and disheveled hair, waiting for her to continue.

"Now, listen to me carefully." Natasha started. "You haven't done anything wrong, you've just asked a girl to be your date. A girl you've had a stupid high school crush on for forever."

Bob blushed immediately upon hearing Nat talk about his crush on you. It wasn't much of a secret that he liked you. He had liked you from the moment he first saw you at the hard deck, laughing and playing pool with the rest of the squad, looking like an absolute dream. Since that moment, he looked at you with so much yearing that it didn't even take Phoenix a week to figure out her backseater was smitten by you.

You were the absolute opposite of Bob, extroverted, loud spoken, so vibrant, always the life of the party, always ready to lend people a hand even if you had just known them for a few hours, the literal embodiment of you callsign, Sunshine. Bob was someone who lived in the shadows, keeping to himself, and speaking only when spoken to. When you entered his life, it was as if he was taken by a storm, he had never seen someone so exuberant in his life and yet here you stood, as real as real gets.

"You just have to keep your cool and spend the week with her. Then you can go back to pining from afar. All the while pretending to be in love with her and hoping she'll give a convincing performance as well." She finished, adding the last part awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck, finally realizing that Bob may have landed himself in a sticky situation.

"Keep my cool?" Bob said, scoffing loudly. "Keep my cool, I can't even keep myself sane around her for an hour how do you expect me to be around her for a week?"

He slumped into one of the arm chairs, massaging his temple, clearly stressed. Natasha knew he was right, he couldn't even spend an hour with you and here he was, about to convince his whole family that you were in love.

"That's not even the worst part." Bob added, sounding defeated. "The worst part is that the whole time we're going to pretend to be in love, it's all going to be an act for her, but not for me. Not for stupid Bobby." He slapped himself hard on the back of his head as if to reprimand himself.

"Hey, stop it." Phoenix said, getting up from her seat, having had enough of Bob's defeatist attitude. "You are not going to be pitying yourselves, not on my watch. Now, what you are going to do is man the fuck up. You've liked the girl for forever, what could go wrong if you just told her?"

"She could hear me." Bob mumbled, being completely ignored by Natasha.

"And this trip is the perfect way to do it. You take her to the wedding, woo her with your country charm and bam she's yours." Natasha declared, standing in front of Bob with her hands on her hip.

"Um, no. I'm pretty sure it'll be more like bam she never speaks to me again." Bob mumbled. "And what country charm? My sisters inherited all the charm. She's going to realize this the second she meets them and figure out how big of a loser I really am."

"Bob, believe me when I say this, she does not think you're a loser. You're amazing guy, you don't need any country charm, you just need to be yourself. I get it can be scary telling someone you like them, but there are some points in your life you just have to take a chance and this is it. If she likes you back, it'll be the best thing that ever happened to you."

"And if she doesn't?" Bob whispered.

"Then it's her loss."

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

For the first time in his life, Bob finally understood why Garfield hates Mondays so much. The dreaded day was finally here, you were leaving for Texas on the afternoon flight and were going to return back on Sunday evening. A full week later.

Bob was sure he was going to die. Or spontaneously combust. Or throw up. Or all of those in that particular order- which would be weird- but definitely something that was going to happen. The coming week was going to be a torment, a humiliation ritual for him. Not only is he going to have to be glued to you the entire time, he has also got to pretend to be in a relationship with you.

Pretending wasn't the hard part, he had pretend to be a lot of things he wasn't in his life. No, the hard part was going to be making it seem convincing. Enough to fool his hawk eyed mother.

You on the other hand did not know what to feel. You were excited to be attending a wedding, feeling like a kid on Christmas day. But you were also riddled with anxiety. How were you going to pretend to be Bob's girlfriend. Of course you and him had had a vigorous conversation and had come up with all the details of how you met and started dating, but that was all theoretical. Practically pretending was going to be a different story altogether.

It was established early on that you two will have to share a room, possibly even a bed, which you didn't really have a problem with. You would also have to be close to each other the whole time, with a pinch of pda here and there to throw people off your scent. But the thing that scared you the most was that you would have to kiss him, even if it's just on the cheek, you would have to lean up to the tall man's rosy cheeks and press your lips on his soft skin, all the while trying not to jump his bone then and there.

It wasn't a secret how attractive Bob was, tall muscular with those stupidly cute glasses, anyone with half and eye would want him. But ever since you first saw him sitting quietly near the pool table at the hard deck, you were a goner. You had never seen a man so handsome in your life, for a moment you thought you were hallucinating. But then he opened his mouth and introduced himself in his charming southern accent, and boy were you screwed. No other man in the world mattered to you anymore.

You contemplated telling him multiple times on various sleepless nights, but eveytime your heart wandered down delusion street, you mind pulled you back to reality. Bob was respectful, always exchanging pleasantries with you, engaging in polite chatter while you both waited for the rest of the squad to show up, but thag was all he ever was. Polite. Polite and distant. The time you had spent with him coming up with a cover story was probably the most you had ever talked to him, much to your dismay. But once Bob had made it clear he wasn't one for mingling, you backed off.

By the time you arrived the airport, Bob was already there, waiting for you outside, looking devilishly handsome in his civil clothes. Sure you had seen him in cvs before, but this new laid back version of him was almost giving you a heart attack.

"Hey, hope I didn't make you wait too long." You greeted him, getting out of the taxi and moving towards the trunk to get you bags out.

"No not at all. I just got here myself" Bob lied, having arrived 25 minutes earlier. He moved faster than you, pushing open the trunk to take out your bags instead.

"Oh you don't have to do that, I can do it myself." You tried to stop him, but he just effortlessly lifted your heavy suitcase with one hand and your carry on bag with the other, muscles flexing under the white t-shirt.

"I wouldn't be too good of a boyfriend if I don't help you with your bags, now would I?" He replied, giving you the softest smile you had ever seen, melting your heart.

How in hell's name were you going to survive being with him for an entire week when he kept doing stuff like this. It was hard enough for you already to be playing his pretend girlfriend, knowing how much you actually wanted to be his, and now he had to go and be the best pretend boyfriend there ever was.

This was going to be a long week.

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

The flight was hell, hell in an airplane. There were not one, not two but four screaming babies on the flight, and as your luck would have it, three out of the four were all placed near you. You were already sitting in a cramped area when the man sitting behind you thought it would be a wonderful time to show off his soccer skills by nudging his knees into the back of your seat time and time again. And then finally, you were stuck between a fighting couple who made you their personal therapist for the entire plane ride, leaving you absolutely drained by the time you landed.

Thankfully, you didn't have to deal with Bob the entire flight, otherwise you might have just lost the plot.

"How was your flight?" Bob asked once you two were off the plane and making your way towards the baggage claim.

"Terrible." You replied, massaging your temple with a long sigh. "Every cranky baby on the plant seemed to be seated near me and the couple I was stuck between treated me like a couples counsellor the entire time. I was debating jumping off the plane halfway through."

"Oh, you should have told me. I would've switched with you." Bob said, looking at you sympathetically.

"Bobby, you can't even handle it when Rooster and Hangman are fighting, how would you have handled two strangers having a lovers spat." You raised an eyebrow, placing your hand softly on his shoulder as he ducked his head and chuckled.

"That's true." He nodded, before continuing. "But the baby sitting next to me was really sweet. Played with me the whole fight."

"It's parents must be really thankful." You commented.

"Yep, they slept the whole way through, even offered me the job of a nanny." He told you as you snorted with laughter.

"Bobby Floyd, the babies princess." You teased, giving him a cheeky smile that he returned with rosy cheeks. In that moment you swear you fell in love.

"Oh, there they are!" Bob exclaimed, suddenly grabbing hold of your left hand with his free one, guiding you through the crowd. "There's my sister."

A woman, who looked a bit older than Bob was standing at the arrival gate, accompanied by a man holding a toddler in his arms.

"Bob!" The woman squealed, throwing her arms around the pilots shoulders and pulling him into a big hug.

"Annie." Bob said through laughter. "How're you doing?"

"Oh, much better now that ma has someone new to torture." She replied, before turning towards you with a smile. "And who might this pretty lady be?"

"This is my girlfriend." Bob introduced you, and you would have melted right there if it wasn't for Annie pulling you into a warm hug.

"My, my. You never told me she was this pretty Bob." She commented, holding you're cheeks in her hand, inspecting you thoroughly.

"And he never told me his sister was so gorgeous either." You finally spoke.

"And a smooth talker as well, mama's gonna love you." Annie chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, turning towards the man with the baby. "This is my husband Jeff." She introduced as you shook hands with him.

"And this little menace here is Andy." Bob cut in, taking the little boy from his father's hand, softly tickling his tummy, earing loud laughs out of Andy.

"Uncle Bob's his favorite, isn't he." Annie stated in a baby voice before turning to help Jeff with the bags. You were about to reach out and help before she swatted your hand away. "Nope, we've got it."

You flashed her a thankful smile and turned to look at Bob, clearly enjoying the two year old company.

"You really are the baby whisperer aren't you?" You whispered, amused how children were so comfortable with Bob.

"What can I say, I am the chosen one." He joked, making you throw your head back and laugh. As horrible as the flight had been, seeing Bob home and happy was definitely worth it.

The car ride to his childhood home was short, during which he you learned that Annie was Bob's elder sister who had gotten married a few years back, and now it was his kid sisters turn.

"Everyone had always thought it would be Bob getting married before Lucy." Jeff commented. "But I guess she beat him to the altar."

"Oh I don't think we'll have to worry about that any longer." Annie whispered, just loud enough for you to hear.

The only response Bob gave was his classic red cheeks. The rest of the drive was filled with Bob and his older sister chatting, catching up on their lives while Andy quietly played with the aviator. You looked out the window for most of it, taking in the soft countryside, trying to memorise every inch of Bob's hometown. Upon arriving at his childhood home, you were immediately awestruck by it's beauty. It wasn't a massive house, you'd seen bigger ones then it, but something about it screamed home from the moment you laid your eyes on it.

All four of you were walking towards the front door, when an older woman, you figured Bob's mother, threw open the screen door. "Finally, took you long enough." She started, voice dripping with a heavy southern accent. "Now come here and give your mama a hug."

Bob ran up the stairs and right into the arms of this mother, the same way he used to as a kid. "Hi ma, sorry for the delay."

"Eh, don't worry bout it, atleast you're here now." She replied with a bright smile, kissing both his cheeks softly. "And you've brought me a guest." She moved to take a look at you.

"Pleasure to meet you Mrs. Floyd." You put your hand forward for her to shake, standing in proper military posture, trying your best to make a good impression.

"Mrs. Floyd was my husband's mother, please call me Mary dearie." She replied, pulling you into a hug with the same intensity as Annie. You figure this was a family problem that Bob hadn't inherited, though you would have minded getting a bone crushing hug from him.

"Yes ma'am. Mary." You quickly corrected yourself with a smile, feeling more welcomed with Bob's family in a second then you had ever before.

"Very well, now come in, let's get you both settled. There's going to be a small gathering in a while so why don't you go freshen up." She ushered you both inside the house and towards the steps right up to Bob's room. Jeff helps you with your bags as you climbed up to Bob's childhood bedroom.

"There you are." Jeff placed your bags in front of your door with a heavy groan, but there was no hint of disdain on his face. Rather all there was was happiness of having his brother-in-law back home. "I'll see you in a bit okay? Just holler if you need anything."

With that he went back downstairs leaving you and your fake boyfriend all alone for the first time. You both walked in, happy to finally be able to put your feet up. But upon seeing the size of the bed, all you desire to rest immediately vanished. It was already decided that you'd have to share a bed, but this one was barely big enough to accommodate one person, let alone two adults.

"I can take the floor, you take the bed." Bob spoke, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"You don't need to do that Bob, we can share the bed." You offered. "Or I'll sleep on the floor. This is your bed anyways."

"I've dragged you into this mess with me, the least I can do is give you the bed."

"You didn't drag me into anything, I offered to be a part of your mess." You pointed out, sitting on one side of the bed, patting it lightly, indicating Bob to come and join you. "Besieds, I think I'm already in love with your family. They're all so-"

"Overwhelming?" Bob butted in, making you roll your eyes playfully.

"So much like a family. I mean, everyone was so happy to see you. No one from my family has ever-" You stopped yourself before you got ahead of yourself, quickly reminding yourself that no one from the squad knew about your family and you weren't going to let it slip out now. "Anyways, your family is really nice, I can't wait to spend the week with them."

"Really?" Bob asked, actually intrigued by your excitement. For him this was all normal, infact this wasn't even the tip of the iceberg, they were a about to get much more overbearing. "I never really liked all of this. Sure it's nice to be greeted so lovingly, but knowing them, they're going to get really annoying real fast. And there are going to be so many people to interact with, I can already feel my cheeks hurt at the thought of all the fake smiles I'm gonna have to give."

"Don't worry bout it, I'll come and save you from all the fake laughs." You declared. "I'm great with people."

"My knight in shining armor." Bob replied bashfully. "I've always admired that about you, you know. How easily you can talk to anyone. Sometimes I get quiet jealous of that, I can't hold a conversation with a stranger to save my life."

The words coming out of his mouth seemed unreal. You just couldn't believe your ears, Bob admired somthing about you. Something you hadn't really liked about your own self. You always thought you talking so much must have annoyed people, but here was than man of your dreams, telling you it was one of his favourite things about you.

"You think my yapping is admirable Floyd?" You blushed, ducking you head down.

"It's one of your best qualities." He affirmed. "I'm gonna use the bathroom now of you don't mind?"

"No, not at all. Think of it as your own home." You joked, earning a hearty laugh form him before he disappeared into the bathroom.

Outside you were going insane. Was he flirting with you or is this all part of the façade? If it is the latter, then you're in for a heartbreak. And if it's the former, you might just die with giddiness. Inside the bathroom Bob was pinching himself. Had he really made you blush with just a small compliment? Where he had gotten this confidence from, he didn't know. But if this false confidence of his made you look like a tomato, then he'd happily fake it for life.

Taglist:

@4margaritasalex @futurecorps3 @thisisgracetrying @clairejpg @fangirlinc @thespeeders @igotmajordaddyissues @m3laniehearts @mayafatimakhan @starkleila @itscheybaby-blog @spookycupcakepirate @dcamelia @americaa @paulina1998 @lgg5989 @datingbtr @thatchickwiththecamera @luckyladycreator2 @kanevill @dempy @saramaple @hockeyboysarehot @redhoodedtoad @nobody7102 @icemanslove @blake-tc-fan @alexwinchester23 @unstablecaffeinatedmind @mslizziesblog @teti-menchon0604

Please tell me of you would like to be added or removed from the taglist💞💞

[jung-koook]

250613 - namjoon on weverse: “Hello everyone, Happy Birthday, BTS.

So 06/13 has come again.

It's 06/13 once again Last year’s 06/13 was really tough… But now, June 13th 2025 is truly here. Honestly, I waited for this even more than all of you. I waited & waited & waited—truly.

12th anniversary… twelve years old! It’s like you’re the nephews/nieces of my multiverse. I’m glad you’ve grown up so well. Listen well to your parents—wait, no, listen just a little. These kinds of silly thoughts keep coming to me this evening.

Since it’s also my younger sibling’s birthday today, I spent time with family, and before showering, I broke the tip of my pencil pressing too hard, writing down these strange/bizarre thoughts. Honestly, I never thought this day would come. (T_T..)

Looking back, It always felt overwhelming. Every album, every project, every comeback— How dare I create like that and confidently hand out my business/name card? They say this is love, that this is us.

After resting for a year & a half, I can hardly remember it. Even now, the path still isn’t clear (to me). Each time, I just try desperately to find it.

I love the book called 'The Precision of Love' . Being loved precisely and loving precisely— That seemingly impossible task, I always wanted to try and achieve it. Although ironically, I myself know the least of all how accurately my love reaches.

I think I’ve lived my life trying to interpret & meet your love, to receive it as precisely as I can. I’ll try to go somewhere again—somewhere unknown (to me).

Although I still don’t know well how many people, of what kind and where, are by my side now, I want to walk romantically with you all. Will you come with me?..

Let me ask one more time.

Althrough days of fatigue & sleepless nights, through incomprehensible people and thoughts that cling like tails— I’ll push through all those obstacles once more, & venture bravely into the tomorrow.

At every overwhelming crossroads, it’s because of you that I endured, because of you that I moved forward. I’m grateful, so grateful.

When I try to keep it short, it always ends up long. Guess I’m still too young & immature to be concise. But talkativeness is also proof of clumsy love, so please look on it kindly.

We’ll really do better this time. Thank you for giving us another chance. Once again I love you. It’s a beautiful day. Good night!

- From Free Citizen Namjoon” (trans. cr. dalbitbangtan)

[sixeyesonathiel]

nerd!satoru who yaps nonstop about the multiverse while you’re just trying to eat your lunch, waving his hands around dramatically as he explains the concept of alternate dimensions with half a rice ball in his mouth and crumbs stuck to the corner of his lips. who pokes at his food with a mechanical pencil because he forgot his chopsticks again, and then insists with wide eyes and a mouth half full, “technically, pencils are just wooden utensils for intellectuals.” he gets giddy over a new graphing calculator update like it’s a new iphone drop, tapping the screen like it’s a baby animal, and once dragged you into a 40-minute rant about ant communication hierarchies while you were just brushing your teeth, half-asleep and mouth foaming with toothpaste.

he has no less than ten tabs open at all times—reddit conspiracy theories, physics forums, a paused youtube video on quantum tunneling, a spreadsheet titled “do cats defy newton’s laws?”, a google doc labeled “reasons why kissing might be a form of molecular alignment,” and none of it has anything to do with the assignment he’s supposed to be doing. he zones out during lectures, doodling black hole spirals, equations shaped like hearts, and cats in lab coats in the margins of his notes. once, he drew you holding hands with a worm in a bowtie and captioned it “me and my universe.” somehow still manages to get top marks every single time, even though he once turned in an assignment with a greasy fry stain in the corner because he used it as a napkin in the library mid-cram session.

he mutters the weirdest things under his breath like “i feel like a misaligned proton today” or “the moon’s energy was too sarcastic last night” and you just blink at him like🧍‍♀️while sipping your drink. he wears mismatched socks on purpose and says, “it’s a metaphor for duality.” has five alarms labeled “wake up genius,” “ur gonna flunk,” “your girlfriend will leave you,” “pls satoru,” and “EMERGENCY: CUTE, PRETTY AND SCORCHINGLY HOT GIRL WAITING” and still manages to sleep through all of them unless you call him. his glasses? perpetually smudged, held together with washi tape. his notebooks? an unholy fusion of complicated theorems, grocery lists, pressed flowers, cat doodles, love notes to you, and a page just titled “top 10 reasons why my girlfriend is cuter than entropy.”

his laptop is a biohazard—dusty, overworked, full of files like “time_is_an_illusion_final_FINAL_reallyfinal_actuallyfinal.pptx” and “uRwrong_iMright.docx.” the case is covered in anime stickers, tiny equations, stars drawn with glitter pen, and a wrinkled polaroid of you sticking your tongue out that he keeps taped on like it’s a sacred relic. he listens to lo-fi while studying and pauses every few minutes just to sigh dreamily and whisper, “this part sounds like you looking at me for the first time.”

and yet… he’s so fine it’s borderline illegal. tall, messy white hair that sticks up in all directions and defies every known force of nature, ice-blue eyes that melt when they look at you, and a cocky little smile that makes your chest hurt even when he says things like, “do you think our cells are spiritually linked?” he doesn’t even try to be charming—he just is, like he spawned with a flirt trait.

you fw it. you fw him. every unfiltered ramble, every hyperactive explanation about wormholes or why he thinks bees are secretly time travelers. the way his voice speeds up when he’s excited, and how his hands start waving like he’s conducting an invisible orchestra of nerdiness. you don’t even bother trying to follow every word—you’re just watching him, heart doing somersaults, because he’s so beautiful when he’s passionate. and the fact that you never laugh at him? only ever smile and let him go on? yeah. that cracked his emotional firewall a long time ago.

so now he’s all sunshine and sparkles around you. a literal bundle of joy. grinning at his phone like a middle schooler when you text him “lol ok.” kicking his feet while giggling, voice memos full of stuff like “what if we held hands inside a particle accelerator 😳👉👈” sent at 2:13 a.m., followed by three minutes of him wheezing into a pillow. he calls you his “favorite constant,” even if you don’t get the joke. and if you do? he twirls his hair, blushes, and stares at you like you just split the atom and made it cute.

he makes playlists named “gravity got nothing on how hard i fell for you,” draws you in lab coats saying “ur the thesis to my hypothesis,” keeps your photo in his pencil case and shows it to random people like “this is my girlfriend. she understands my quantum jokes.” if they blink weirdly, he’ll just smile and say, “it’s okay, not everyone gets theoretical perfection.”

being loved by you makes him goo. makes his neurons do the macarena. you make all his bizarre little pieces light up like neon signs. you walked into his strange little world and said “yeah, i’ll stay,” and now he’s rearranging every cosmic thread to make sure it’s perfect for you. adds fairy lights. labels his notebooks “our theories.” buys matching pens. you made his chaos feel like a cozy little planet. he buys you plushies shaped like atoms and puts your name in the acknowledgements of his lab reports. tells people “she’s the reason the data graphs came out prettier.”

nerd!satoru who’s helplessly, hopelessly, tooth-rottingly in love with you. who grabs your hand mid-ramble just to feel you close. who brings you hot cocoa and explains entropy like it’s a bedtime story. who kisses your forehead and tells you “you’re my favorite anomaly in this whole universe.”

and he thanks you—not in grand declarations, but in the quiet moments: when he scoots closer to you without saying a word, when he tugs on your sleeve with glassy eyes after a long day, when he looks at you after an hour of nerding out like you built the whole galaxy just to hear him talk.

his world was spinning way too fast. then you walked in and gave it gravity. and now he orbits you—and he’s never been happier to revolve around anything in his life.

[damselneedssaving]

BATBOYS BUT THEY WITNESS A STRANGER PULL F!READER INTO A HUG AND CLAIM TO BE HER BOYFRIEND. FT. MARK GRAYSON! P.T.2

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, everyone is 18+, mention of death, romance, mark is utterly devoted to you, jealousy, lots and lots of jealousy, little bit of dark!batboys, kind of dark!mark too

★ A/N: tim didn't get to speak much last chapter so i'm hoping this one makes up for it!! also also, you guys have acc overwhelmed me with all the support, thank you all so much 😭💞💞💞

★ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕 ★ | ★ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ★ | ★ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ★

MARK DID, IN FACT, SAY 'DIFFERENT DIMENSION'—

—and now, he's sat on your bullet-hole-covered couch, head moving from side-to-side as he watches you pace the room behind your broken table, one hand holding your elbow, the other situated beneath your chin.

You're half paying attention to him, half stuck in your own thoughts, his earlier words repeating in your mind like a mantra, a broken record player you can't seem to fix no matter how much you move its lever.

"Okay," you whisper, maybe to him, maybe to yourself, "let's... let's run this back. You said you're my... boyfriend, right?"

Mark nods in time with a few growls in the background.

"But... from a different dimension?"

He nods again.

"Right, okay." You echo his action, nodding to yourself like any of this makes sense, like you don't have a million thoughts running through your mind right now.

"This is ridiculous," Damian voices one of them with a scoff. "How do we know this isn't another one of Darkseid's schemes? Something to lower your guard with so that he can capture you as leverage against us?"

You breathe in through your nose, pinching it again. "C'mon, Dami, would you really let him follow you to me?"

He purses his lips, not another word falling from his mouth.

That settles that.

"Sorry about that, Mark. Can you elaborate?"

You turn back to the otherworldly meta human, only to find his eyes already on you (still on you), wide, and with his face a little stuck out, like he's actively trying to get closer to you, like he can't bring himself to be too far away.

The thought turns your insides to mush.

You clear your throat, ignoring the tingle in your stomach. "Um, Mark?"

He blinks. "Huh?"

"I, uh, asked if you could, y'know, explain a bit more?"

He blinks again, slower this time. Then, with a shake of his head, he lifts a hand behind his neck, rubbing it in a habit so boyishly awkward, you have to fight back the smile threatening to climb onto your face. "Right." He clears his throat. "I was sent here by this guy in my dimension—Angstrom Levy?"

He peers up at you, as though expecting some sort of reaction to that name, but when you frown back at him with a quirk of your brow, he continues his explanation slowly.

"He can, uh, open these portals at will."

"Right..." you trail off, turning your head down as your eyes glaze over, "and in your world, I'm your girlfriend?"

"Were," he corrects, and it's so quiet, you almost don't catch it.

In fact, you're sure you heard him wrong.

"Sorry?"

"You were my girlfriend," he speaks again, firmer, but in a tone no less far, no less clouded. 

"We broke up?" You furrow your brows—no, that doesn't make sense. If you did break up, why would he come to your door claiming to be your boyfriend and not your ex?

The answer to your question lies in the man seated on your couch, but unlike before, he suddenly can't seem to bring himself to look at you, gaze instead trained to your wooden floorboards like they're the most interesting things to grace the planet. What? Does he not have wood in his dimension?

A beat passes without Mark saying a word.

The silence sits heavy, like the humid air of a rainforest swallowing you whole and threatening your very ability to breathe.

You find yourself awaiting escape from it, his words, however long they may take to come, like a promise of salvation from your woes.

But it isn't him that saves you.

"You died," a voice cuts through the silence, sharp and through gritted teeth. "He let you die in his world."

Instantly, Mark's head shoots up, and he narrows his eyes into sharp, lethal daggers at Damian.

"I didn't let her." He snarls, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. "I just..."

And then, just like that, he loses all the fight, fingers loosening their tight grip around nothing as his form all but falls, folding over like a wet noodle with no will to keep going.

"Fuck me..." you breathe out, hand already up and pinching your nose again.

To think, another version of you, a different version of you—with a different life and a boyfriend and maybe even no wood in her world—died.

Fucking hell.

"I need a drink," you find yourself muttering, shaking your head lightly before peering up at Mark. "Do you, uh, also need something?"

He's back to looking at you, gaze wide and brows knitted and lips parted by just the slightest hair as he whispers with all the sincerity of a samaritan, "Just you." Then, a little louder, "All I need... is just you."

You think the world stops when you catch air in your throat, that it drowns out until it's just the two of you when those words leave his tongue.

All of a sudden, you seem to be floating on a cloud, drowning in his gaze of pure intensity as your own heartbeat thunders in your ears and you forget how to even breathe or blink or see anyone that's not him for a brief second.

But then that second passes, and you find yourself on land once again.

You quickly excuse yourself, ignoring the holes that bore through you as you leave the room to enter your kitchen instead, the cold of it like a breath of fresh air against your warm skin.

God, fuck, that moment was so intense, you don't know if you can even think about what was revealed before it, his gaze lingering on your skin like rain after a hurricane.

So vivid. So loving. So utterly devoted that you could see nothing but yourself reflected back in those eyes.

The cup in your hands almost slips from the cabinet above your head at the memory.

In fact, it does slip. But it's quickly caught. Though not by you.

A warmth radiates against your back, and you turn, just to have it radiate against your front instead.

"Tim..."

His head is tilted to yours, eyes glazed over as one hand places the cup down on the counter to your left, and the other situates itself firm on the counter to your right.

For a beat, he just stands there, trapping you to the corner of your kitchen with a gaze as clouded as the Gotham night sky.

Then, just as you part your lips to ask why he's here, he speaks.

"Tell me I was seeing things."

His voice comes quiet, whispered and pleading as his brows knead up with a shaky sort of pull.

"What?" you can only ask, his breath hot against your face, close and feeling like it won't be moving anytime soon.

"Tell me..." he starts again, repeating without hesitation, "that I was just seeing things."

When you furrow your brows back at him, he continues, almost desperately.

"That you weren't... that you weren't looking at him for a second like..."—his face scrunches up, expression pained, like you've just gone and hit him with an axe—"like you believed him."

"Tim, I—"

You don't know what to say, not when he looks at you like that, like you've just shattered his whole entire world right in front of him.

"Like..." Tim continues, and the next words he has to really push out, wincing like it hurts just to say, "like he's actually your boyfriend."

Your stomach drops, insides churning as Tim's fingers curl against your counter with an audible scratch.

"You know he's not, right..?" he whispers, like not even he's sure. "That he's just a stranger?"

You furrow your brows, gulping down saliva and steeling yourself. "Of course I know."

But it's like Tim doesn't even hear you.

"He doesn't love you. He doesn't even know you."

You narrow your eyes, going to respond when he beats you to it again.

"Not like I do," he continues, and your words die on your tongue, eyes going a tad wider as he leans in just a bit closer. "Not like I've done for years."

Whether he's talking about knowing you or loving you, you're not sure.

And you continue to be unsure as he softly reaches for your dominant hand, gripping the back of it like he's afraid that if he lets go, you'll slip from him entirely.

The next thing you know, your hand is cradling his cheek, and he's holding it there, allowing your warmth to bleed into his skin as he looks at you with those wide, shaking eyes you seem to be on the receiving end of quite often these days.

"Tell me," he begs—lips wobbling, brows knitting, expression pleading.

And you don't think you can even if you wanted to, mouth too dry and head too empty to even voice a clear thought as he moves to slip his free hand around your waist and pull you closer.

"Please."

You think you're only able to snap out of it when you're just a breath away from his lips, just a hair from touching them with your own as he drills into you with those wide, shaking, desperate blue eyes of his.

And once you do snap out of it, once everything becomes just a little too much, you place a hand firm against his chest, whispering his name with a small, light push.

His grip around you tightens for a second, eyes glazing over, but before they can stay that way, before he can do something without a lick of sense or reason, they clear up again, and he slips his hands from your waist, letting you part from him as his arms fall to hang limply by his sides.

And when you move to further part from him and the room, you pretend not to hear the loud bang against your kitchen counter.

So much for a drink.

TAGLIST: @silas-222, @bloofairyfox, @wiseavenuelove, @inkycapps, @velovicy, @mmentallyelsewhere, @verysynical, @1abi, @bluepartywobblernickel, @krys0210, @patatasolitaria, @mazixxss, @nova916, @federalprison78-4, @crissy09yesso, @minhyrin, @nutella-hitler, @kvzutora, @starslightzz, @alishii, @crybabyghostie, @jsprien213, @cupid73, @doggyteam2028, @invinciblewaffles, @love-theangel, @butterbiscuit444, @thecrazyone2007, @reaperxdeath, @mexxs-xs, @gaychaosgremlin, @pookiei-bookie

[madamechrissy]

Worst Behavior

Art in the center by Houhai673 on lofter

pairings- stepbrother! Sukuna x f! Reader (lil bit of Toji/reader)

summary - Sukuna’s dad married your mom while you were in high school, and you hated each other on sight. He endlessly picked on and tortured you. So much so that he became a fucking YouTube sensation from prank videos starring you! You come back home for summer break after a bad breakup, and of course annoying ass Sukuna is there, with his stupid smirk, ready to pick on you again, only to be derailed when he sees you're going out with his old friend Toji for a date. Turns out, Sukuna has had it bad for you for a long time, and making you hate him was the only way to guarantee you stay far away, but can he keep up the act?

content/warnings - MDNI, tw- stepcest, lots of pining, kinda one-sided lol, Sukuna is an asshole to you, reader hates him. Enemies to ????- ton of sexual tension, jealous ass Sukuna. This chap - fingering, Toji saying what's up, Sukuna masturbating and being just depraved and pathetic tbh, panty stealing, taboo relationships

part two (coming soon)

part one

It was junior year of high school when your mom remarried, and you can't forget that day, the first time you met that pretentious little shit Sukuna. Who was now your 'family' you guess?

He was a couple of years older, already in freshman year of college, he'd come home on break and torment you endlessly, a whole fucking bulky. He'd hide shit high where you can never reach it, jumpscare you constantly, woke you up to fuck with you, and even filmed his pranks and put them on YouTube.

The jerk was actually YouTube famous from the amount of pranks he'd pull and your golden reactions. A mix of throwing shit at him, cursing him out or smacking him while he held his phone and recorded it. There was no doubt in your mind you just hated the giant asshole of an older 'stepbrother’ you had.

Now you're graduating this year, back home for summer break, and luckily Sukuna almost never visits anymore. He's running his stupid YouTube channel and banking on it, on being a dumb little prankster for his millions of subscribers, so now he lives pretty far thank God.

Let him prank everyone else.

You both don't talk whatsoever aside from holidays and family functions, and then it's just Sukuna picking on you. Not much has changed in five years, maybe his tactics are better. A little sneakier.

You smile and hug your mom, and your step-dad. He's actually pretty fucking cool, and your mom and him are cute together. "Hey hunny, I'm so glad you're here!" Your mom is going on and on about a party she's throwing, as you settle into your room, nothing's changed really. Your mom keeps it all the same.

"Mom, you don't have to keep all this out," you tease, looking at your old posters that adorn the walls, scattered Polaroids pinned to your corkboard. "You could make it a guest room?"

"We have a guest room, we love having your stuff here. And Sukuna's room is the same."

"Ugh don't say his name, you'll summon him!" Your mom laughs a bit as you shiver in feigned disgust.

"He's family honey."

"Not even. I get dad, I really do, but I think Sukuna and I will never get along."

"Ah shit that hurts sis." You hear his pretentious voice and panic as he leans in the doorway, stupid fucking smirk on his far too attractive face. You glare at him.

"Yuck don't call me that, weirdo." He flips you off behind your mom's back, putting his hands away as your mom comes up and hugs him tightly. He smirks over her shoulder as you flip him off back. 

"She's so mean to me, why can't she be nicer like you," he pouts, and your mom laughs a bit, leaning on her tip toes to ruffle his light pink locks. 

"You're both mean to each other. Maybe a couple weeks at home will help you two learn to get along."

"He's staying for a couple weeks!? Ugh." You sigh and he scoffs. Your mom shakes her head and looks at you both.

"Dinner in thirty. Get settled and don't kill each other."

Sukuna eyes you then, ever so slowly up and down, while you start setting things down. "Really filled out huh?"

"I'll punch you." He grins again, you wall up and shove at him, pausing when you feel just how hard his chest is. Blushing a bit, he notices apparently, raising a brow.

"Feeling me up?"

"Gross no. Gym rat." He glares now and you smile right back.

"Yeah how's that loser boyfriend of yours?" He asks so casually. Walking in your room and touching all your shit like he does. You follow him and put everything back in its place as he skews every position of any item.

"We broke up," he pauses at your tone, eyeing you then. You're so pretty you make his heart pound in his chest, not like he'd ever fucking tell you. He calls you a gremlin and worse, knowing you're a whole knockout. "Yeah, rub it in."

"Wasn't gonna," you pause then, as his ruby eyes glint and catch yours. For a moment you see a rare softness in them, making you falter. "He got tired of your bitchiness?"

"Oh fuck off." You roll your eyes, sinking on the white day bed, hands brushing the soft sheets that smell like your mom's favorite fabric softener. But you also smell him, Sukuna, so manly and taking over your space, he leans on your dresser, eyeing a picture of you.

"What happened?"

"Like you care," you lay back, shorts sliding up your thighs. Revealing far, far too much skin, he barely tears his eyes away. "He left me for my best friend."

"Oh shit..." he doesn't know what to say, all he's ever done is pick on you, prank you. Be a whole ass. How does he... comfort you? Without getting too close, feeling shit he can't?

What you didn't realize, is Sukuna has had it bad for you for years now. He knows he can never act on it, so the next best thing was to make your life a living hell. To make you hate him and stay far, far away.

It worked, you hate him.

But it's still not enough to stop the raging thoughts always inside him, of the filthy things he thinks of when he's alone. Stroking his cock to memories of you rather than porn, finding himself comparing others to the traits he loves about you. Traits you'll never know.

He can never ever tell you.

"I've got a date this week though. Old friend of ours." You lean up on your elbows, eyeing him then. He feels that familiar pang of fucking jealousy he also can't feel, remembering the ridiculous amount of men he's chased off over the years.

"What old friend?" He asks curiously, you smile a little then.

"Toji. Weren't you two super close?"

"Toji!? You are not going out with Toji." You sit up and glare, Sukuna crosses his thick arms. "Absolutely not."

"I'm twenty one. I'll do what I want, but don't you like him?"

"Tch, you're such an annoying fucking brat," his words make you stand up, as he sets down your polaroid, it's a pretty picture that's always burned in his brain. You at the beach all happy and pretty, he'd been so hard that day he'd had to jerk it in the fucking bathroom stall.

Why do you have to be so pretty? It's so annoying, and your shit attitude. Toji would be all over you, he always found you hot, but he never dared make a move once Sukuna let him know you were off limits. Was Sukuna not as imposing now that he's a YouTube star? Toji acted as if he couldn't still beat his ass down.

“Put the picture back, you’re so weird.” He holds it up high, smirking down at you, while you jump up and try to grab it, his big grin growing on his face, while he runs around your room with it.

“Too short, aww.”

“Anyone is short you giant, lord of the rings ent.”

“Nerd!”

“Give it!” You’re bouncing again, and he’s far too enamored by your pretty tits jiggling for a moment, his hand falls as his eyes catch them, you snatch your picture up then. “Hah! Now go.”

“Like I wanna be in here.” He’s scowling as he walks out, you lock your door with a little click when Sukuna stands in front of it, sighing and resting his back on it.

Why is it worse than usual seeing you? Typically he could hold his composure somewhat, why do you have to smell so good and - 

Shit he needs to stop.

*****

Dinner with Sukuna is the worst. He's devouring everything on his plate before leaning over, starting to slam down your food too. You scoff and shove the whole plate at him. "Yuck, just have it, now it's covered in Sukuna germs."

"You should count yourself lucky to have any of them from me, brat."

"Will you two stop," your mom and Sukuna's dad say it simultaneously with a big sigh, it's an automatic response when you both have to be in each other's vicinity.

"Why don't you just stay somewhere fancy, rich boy?"

"Tch, you really would miss me if I didn't come over, can't have you all upset." You roll your eyes as your mom gives you an entire other plate of food. Sukuna's already downed your plate and eyeing the new one.

"Let me eat holy shit," you turn away from him, about to stab him with the fork when he goes for a piece of chicken. "Sukuna!"

"Stop it, go get another plate." Sukuna's dad instantly has Sukuna resigned just a bit, he rolls his eyes and leaves your plate alone. The two of them look more like brothers than father and son really, he's a spitting image of him.

Sukuna is handsome, you suppose, though he knows it and is so pretentious about it, that it's just annoying. You'd never tell him he was, either, not when he calls you a little gremlin. That started the first year you lived here, along with dweeb, shrimp and brat, he was a classic bully.

You nibble a bit as you stare at your phone, swiping away the annoying notification that he posted, only for him to eye it, smirking. "Aw you do love me, following me and everything!"

"You wish, I keep ignoring it and it won't stop. Conspiracy or some shit."

"Honey, no cussing at the table."

"Sorry mom," she laughs at you two, shaking her head, while Sukuna leans over, peeking at the phone you're now bringing to your chest. "Will you fuck off."

"Language honey. Ow!" You stomp right on his foot, earning a scowl landed at you. "Brat!"

"Jerk! I don't want to eat, I lost my appetite." You stand up then, plate almost entirely untouched, walking up the stairs as your mom asks you to come back down.

God you can't stand him.

You get a knock later, and he's holding a plate in his big ass hands, frowning a bit. "What, dad yell at you?"

"Just eat," he shoves the plate at you, you notice it's been warmed up when the glass touches your skin. You blink a bit in surprise. "You didn't eat anything."

"You ate all my food like an ass, and I'm not hungry." You shove the plate back at him and his eyes narrow, your fingers touching as you try to put it back in his hands.

"Will you just eat? Now."

"You don't tell me what to do.

"You're such a-

"Brat, I know." You tug the plate back, rolling your eyes now. "I'll eat if you leave me alone."

"I don't want to hang out with you anyway," he says, lying his fucking ass off - god he wants to just spend time with you, not that he ever would say it or do it for that matter. “You better eat it all.”

“Oh Jesus.” You shake your head at him, sighing and nibbling some of it when he walks away, you hate how good his ass looks in those stupid gym shorts. He catches you staring damn near, looking back at you with a raised brow, you quickly scowl and shut the door.

Why does Sukuna look so good? You can’t think the shit.

After eating you’re washing up, bumping into Sukuna as he heads to the bathroom, shirtless just to distract you, surely. You’re breathless when you see his bare chest - has he gotten more chiseled? More tattoos? There are many sliding across his chest, his flat brown nipples, dipping down his rib cage and tracing his obliques. For a moment you can’t even say anything, just standing there.

“Did you eat?” You blink a bit, looking up and nodding a bit. “Nothing smart to say?”

“I’m just tired.”

You’re far, far too close to him then, just standing there, cheeks heating up at the proximity. He’s always been gorgeous, he’s always been buff, it shouldn’t bother you now so much. Without another word, Sukuna walks into the bathroom and you head out of it, shoulder brushing one of his biceps, the contact alone making your tummy tense.

The fuck was going on with you lately?

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t originally have a crush on Sukuna when you met him, how couldn’t you? He was so hot, especially to a younger you, before you realized what an ass he was as soon as he opened his mouth. After that first prank you knew he was just your enemy, not that you could have ever acted on your stupid crush anyway.

He’s family now, honey.

You cover your face with the blankets, avoiding any thoughts of that tattooed body on top of you. Maybe it’s your break up, maybe it’s the date coming up, maybe you’re ovulating, fuck… Whatever it is, you’re undeniably clenching around nothing from being too close to that asshole.

*****

Your date with Toji is tonight, you had a little crush on him when he’d come visit with Sukuna over the summers, but of course he never left you alone with Toji. He was annoying as can be when it came to making sure no one talked to you, because no one wanted to fuck with Sukuna, it’s just now gotten easier, since he’s out of college and some of them have gotten a little braver.

He hated your last boyfriend when you brought him over, on sight, though you have to admit he may have been onto something with that one, he really was a complete dick now that you look back on it. But he hated everyone you dated, making sure if he ran into them on campus to threaten them for no good reason, most of them just gave up.

You ran into Toji the other day randomly, and he was looking really good. He's that dangerous bad boy that your mom tells you to stay away from, but you never listen. Good guy you were just with fucked your former friend however, so you’re truly not so sure what everything means right now. Giving him a chance for a date seems like the perfect way to forget two things.

One, your shitty ex.

Two, your annoying step brother.

You’re eyeing your outfit in the mirror, turning this way and that, before brushing your hair out, you’re dressed in a lacy little black bustier and a pretty pleated skirt, you two are going to a concert so you figure you’ll look cute for it. You’re popping on a little gloss, slathering it over your lips until they’re glistening, doing a little spin and then checking Toji’s text.

You’re running down the stairs, hand on the rail, cool under your touch, when you pause, almost running into Sukuna and nearly tumbling off that last step. Sukuna  curses, catching you quickly, until you’re pressed against him. He is steadying you with his hands, huge fucking hands that feel way too good on your skin, when you’re eye to eye with his chest, looking up at him slowly.

“Clumsy brat…” He grumbles, pushing you back then, but his touch lingers for a little too long. When he looks at your outfit slowly, you feel those ruby eyes like a physical touch, slipping down your body and making you tremble just a bit.

Sukuna never looks at you like that.

It’s quiet for a moment, it goes on way too long, his gaze trailing down your breasts in that top, seeing the way your nipples press up like they’re dying for him. You look too good, too pretty, too much of that body revealed, and for another dude to look and touch? His old friend at that- it fucking infuriates him, his fists clenched on either side.

He barely composes himself, while you’re just looking at him under your lashes, doing too much to his brain, his heart pounding in his chest as desire hits him right in the stomach. He’s seen you in all sorts of shorts, bikinis, you name it, but he’s never really seen you dressed like this, and it’s fucking his entire mind up, short circuiting momentarily.

He finally composes himself, crossing his arms and scowling as you smile at him, arms behind your back. “Like the outfit, Sukuna?”

“Like it, fuck no. What’re you trying to dress like that for?”

“Because we’re going to a concert!”

“Tch,” he goes to the coat stand then, yanking his down from it and scowling right down at you. “Put on the jacket, now.”

Sukuna’s throwing his jean jacket over your shoulders again, you yank it off and shove it at him, pretty breasts just heaving in that slutty little fucking top again, he’s torn between being furious anyone sees you like this, and irritated it affects him this bad. What he thought was shoved far down is prominent as ever, fuck it was even worse than before.

“No! Don’t want your stinky jacket.” He is stepping even closer, when you inhale him - and you hate to admit the fucker smells good.

“This cologne is a hundred bucks a spray, you know it smells good.”

“I don’t give a fuck, it’s nasty. As is your giant jacket, it’ll swallow me, he won’t see my outfit at all!”

“Good, no one should.” You scoff at that and shake your head at him.

“You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Am I?”

“Yes! You’re not some big brother, and I’m grown. I’ll wear whatever I want- I look hot actually.”

“You look slutty.” His whisper is too close, you haul back and smack him then, hurting your hand and gasping, shaking it out as the tingles shoot through it, while the asshole smirks. “Hit like a little girl.”

“Oh fuck you, with your big ass head.”

“Honey! Ready for your date? He’s um…” your mom looks outside as she walks up to you two in the entry way,, where Toji is revving up his mustang. “He’s here… I guess.”

“Can’t come to the fucking door?” Sukuna says, you scowl at him.

“Like you do that for girls.”

Sukuna raises a brow. “Like you know what I do for girls.”

“I’ve heard plenty,” he smirks then, shaking his head. “Oh you’re notorious, how many girls have you dated? Manwhore.”

“Me, a manwhore?”

“Mom,” you turn to her now, as she still eyes Toji standing outside of his mustang, you can tell all her motherly instincts are telling her to intervene, but she has always let you make your own decisions.

“Yes sweetie?”

“Tell him I’m fine in this,” your mom pauses, lips parting as Sukuna’s dad comes out, and looks at you briefly before he takes off his jacket from the rack, earning Sukuna’s chuckle. “Really now!?”

“It’ll be cold,” he tries to play it off, clearing his throat as he covers you up with his jean jacket instead. “You’ll catch a chill. And why isn’t he at the door?”

“Exactly-”

“Shush.” You put your finger to your lips as Sukuna is about to gloat at the fact that your parents are in agreement. “Suck up.”

“Me? You!”

“Okay,” your mom takes off the jacket, earning the two men’s scowls. “She’s an adult, she chooses what she wears. Even if… she should wear a jacket.”

“I love you.” You kiss her cheek, grabbing your purse and phone then, walking outside. Sukuna walks to the porch with you, much to your irritation, glaring over at Toji who’s whistling across the yard.

“What’s up, Sukuna?” Toji’s voice makes Sukuna want to take him down, he’s grinning as he looks at you in ways he shouldn’t. “Long time no see. Oooh, don’t you look hot, doll.”

You’re giggling, giggling!? Sukuna is about to lose his mind.

He grabs your wrist, long thick fingers with black painted nails taking it over, you pause at the warmth, at the rough palms, looking up then. The night is humid but there’s a breeze tossing around his light pink locks, as he grips just a little tighter, making you turn to him.

“What is it?” You ask then, your voice for a moment is soft, Sukuna looks at you, then at Toji, sighing. “I’ll be fine.”

“Right.” He lets you go then, you’re bouncing down the stairs practically, Toji’s hand is at the small of your back, his fingers itching to break them, while you hug Toji and he wraps you in his big ass arms.

You’re opening your door, it’s not like Toji would do that, shit Sukuna’s not one to do it half the time, but the fact that it’s you makes him unreasonably angry. You look at him across the driveway, expression unreadable before you slip in the car next to him. Toji zips off so quickly Sukuna’s also worried about you driving with him.

He’s been jealous before, many, many times, but today is just too much, seeing you again, and knowing you’ll never be his, hits harder than it should. He stomps back in the house, your mom thanks him for being so caring - hah - if only she knew what he really thought about you.

Sukuna really isn’t proud of any of the next thoughts or actions that night, no he really isn’t. When he heads up to his room but lingers by yours instead, staring into it and seeing black lace on the ground. He knows he’s just horrible when he walks in and shuts that door quietly, eyeing everything in there, the sweet lingering scent of your perfume hitting his senses.

Sukuna is also not proud when he’s in your room, when he takes those panties you slipped off before you left, just sitting on the carpet by your dresser. He’s not very proud when he picks them up to his face, inhaling your scent - fuck, his ‘stepsister’ has the sweetest pussy. He has done this before, and you just get sweeter tasting, as he desperately laps your slick off them.

He’s so not proud when he’s right in your bed, putting them to his face and releasing his thick cock then, red tip leaking precum and smacking his stomach as it’s released. He knows this isn’t a good thing to do, he’s Sukuna, he could have any woman he wants, they’re all after him, and he’s stealing panties and jerking it on a friday night.

He’s furious that Toji gets to touch you.

If Sukuna touched you, he’d grip your breasts, squish them in his hands, have you littered with his hand prints, show you what it is to really get fucked, and fucked so good you’re delirous from it. Bend you over, grip your wrists with one of his hands, stretch your cunt the fuck out. God he bets it’s so pretty, too, his mind vividly pictures it as he touches his tip, exhaling.

What is he reduced to from you!? In your bed, so big he hardly fits on the fucking thing, sprawled out with his long limbs as he strokes his thick, veiny cock slowly. Your panties are right against his face, he’s perverted and depraved for doing it, especially in your bed, but he can’t stop himself. He’s moaning softly into them, as your scent fills his mind, while his hand jerks it faster and faster.

He’s whispering your name, sweat slicking his muscled body, a thin sheen glimmering under your pretty fairy lights while he’s being fucking filthy on your bed. Picturing your tummy bulging with him, stroking slowly in and out, making you squirt cum all over him till your sheets were soaked. He’s jerking faster and faster, wishing it were you, so desperate and pathetic you make him.

He hates you more for making him this way, him, fucking Sukuna, pathetically cumming in his ‘step - sister’s’ bed, as if he could call you it. He barely knows you, aside from being a dick every break, pranking you to watch your pretty face so angry, getting off on it in far, far too many ways.

He didn’t have to be home for the summer, he actually put himself out doing it, just to see you, to fucking torment you, but it’s you who torment him, when he imagines tasting your pussy from the source. He’d lap his cum out of your cunt, then fill you up again, over and over, until there was no room for anymore, just messy and dripping all down your pretty thighs.

“Fuck,” he whispers it, muffling his moan with that fabric, as his cum pumps from his huge length, dripping in white ropes down his hand, pulsing in his hold. He’s gasping at the release, picturing putting it inside your bratty little fucking mouth.

He’s cleaned up then, right with your panties, whimpering the tiniest bit as they hit his sensitive tip, jerking as he lays there now, sooty pink lashes fluttering, furious as he thinks of you on your stupid date. You’ll never know what he really thinks, it has to be that way, but it doesn’t make it easier, not when he’s cuddling with a pillow that smells like your shampoo.

*****

“I had fun!” Toji smiles, that scar curving up just a bit, his big hand on your thigh as his engine hums.

“You did, huh?”

“I did, I needed that.” He chuckles and leans close, tilting your chin up now, inky locks falling over his brow. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he practically purrs the words, you gather their meaning quickly, heart racing just a bit as his lips descend. “Been thinking of this all night.”

Toji’s kiss is nothing like your ex, it’s a rough kiss, his tongue tracing your lips and slipping in your mouth when you gasp a bit. You hear his moan when he drags one of your thighs closer, spreading you, you feel your body reacting quickly, a mix of nerves, thoughts, and clearing your pussy is reacting too. She’s already been soaked for two days, and now she’s way too excited.

“God, doll,” Toji hums as he kisses you deeper, you’re trembling when his fingers slip up your thigh carefully, teasing and leaving goosebumps everywhere. His dark green eyes lock with yours as he pulls back. “You feel s’good, ya know that?”

“Do I?” You tease, he moans and kisses you again, while in front of your childhood home, it feels so… thrilling but terrifying.

Was Sukuna watching?

No way…

And if so, what would that make you feel?

You’re contemplating that as Toji finds you over your panties, you moan softly when rough fingers slip up and down them. “So hot, fuck…”

“Mnh!” You’re spreading your thighs for more, he feels so good, kisses taking over your addled mind, and you wonder if it can shove down the thoughts you’re having about your dumbass step brother. Thoughts you can’t have, shit you can’t do - even if either of you did want to.

Sukuna would never want you like that. He’s never called you pretty, not that he should, but he’s said the opposite all the time. He doesn’t know, calling you a fucking gremlin or whatever sucks sometimes, you don’t expect his compliments, but deep down a part wants them anyway. You get looking extra pretty for him, a fact you’ll take to your fucking grave.

Toji slips under your panties, you’re gasping when he touches your wet slit with expert fingers. “Soaked, huh doll? Need me to make ya feel good?”

“I’m… ah! Toji…” you grip his wrist, his thumb is circling on your clit now, it feels really fucking good, twitching against his touch. “Mnh…”

“Wanna cum f’me, pretty?” He’s rolling quicker, more pressure now, while he drags messy kisses on your neck.

“Um, I don’t fuck on the - ngh - first date, Toji.” He pulls back now, a smile tugging on his mouth.

“Was just gonna have you cum on my fingers - fuck, mouth if you want,” you’re blushing and he notices, chuckling again. “You’re cute.”

“Cute, huh?” You wonder what it would be like, you’ve always pictured it with Sukuna, his long fingers and black nails in your cunt, things you should never, you shove it back, focusing now. “You wanna finger me?”

“Wanna have you cum,” his voice is gruff, he’s not fucking around when he slips a finger in your soppy little cunt, your nails press into the leather of his jacket as he kisses you again. “Mmm, that’s it.”

Your eyes shut as he massages your cunt with his fingers, stretching you out and making you tense, thighs trembling on either side. For whatever stupid reason you can’t get fucking Sukuna’s body in a towel out of your damn mind, no matter how many times you shove it down, instead just getting wetter. You focus on kissing him, on feeling him, the squishing wetness loud in his car still running.

“That’s it, cum, I can feel it.” Toji’s words urge you on, as he sucks along your shoulder, sinking his teeth in as his fingers curl just so, and you feel yourself cum then, pressure building and releasing in your tummy.

“Ah!” You’re whining out, earning Toji’s grin against your skin, you feel his teeth lines along you, breaths coming quicker and quicker. “Toji, god…”

“You’re so wet.” He puts your panties back, a hand entangled in your hair now. “See, I wasn't gonna go that far.”

“Are you a gentleman?”

“Fuck no,” you giggle a bit. “But we don’t have to rush things. Are you gonna go out with me again?”

“I’d like that.” He kisses you once more, you’re a little dizzy, from your thoughts, your mind, when you walk back to the porch and Toji takes off.

Why do you feel bad?

Surely not for his ass.

Surely not for a man who is just… a jerk, who’s hot sure okay, Toji is too. You need to shove it down, all of it. You try to do just that, it’s still warm outside so the jackets were a silly idea, you unlock the door with your key, stepping inside and sighing as you feel the cool air conditioning hit your skin.

You slip off your shoes by the front door, picking them up and carrying them as you walk back up the stairs, yawning a bit. You know it’s late, so you try to be quiet when you finally walk into your room. You’re taking off that top and skirt, fingers touching the knobs of your dresser so you can find some comfy clothes to sleep in. Mom has everything you’ve ever owned in here still, so you have to sift through the old clothes.

Suddenly, you hear a rustle behind you, making you jerk and eye the mirror, nearly fucking screaming as you see something turning under your goddamn blankets.

“What the fuck!?” You walk over there now, seeing the tints of pink hair in the dark, as none other than Sukuna is in your goddamn bed.

You shove at the big lug of a fucking man, only for him to stop snoring and peek at you with eyes almost black, you tense as they hit you, as you realize you’re just in a bra and panties now. They drift down your body, when he leans up, yawning now, his look making you feel even wetter, even more needy than earlier.

“Are you pranking me? Get up…” Your voice is quiet, as he yawns, gripping your wrist then, tugging you until you almost straddle him over those sheets. You gasp at it, at how his hand brushes across your shoulder.

“Let him mark your perfect fucking skin?” He demands in a scratchy, husky voice, shocking you so much you blink, leaning back. You’re far too close to his hard length you feel under those sheets, against your inner thigh.

“Are you having some weird dream? Sukuna, it’s me…” You say your name, but he hears nothing with the blood rushing in his own ears, as he eyes that damn mark Toji left on your pretty shoulder. His thumb brushes it, while he pictures leaving marks everywhere. “Sukuna?”

He tugs you closer, until you’re sprawled over him, and he’s too fucking tired to stop it, to stop how badly he wants you - the girl he shouldn’t but can’t fucking help but want over anyone. You have no clue, he sees it in your shocked gaze, when he eyes your other shoulder, pristine and free from any marks.

“Did you like it, brat?” He asks softly, you don’t know what to say at that moment, you just look at him, at his lidded eyes and parted lips.

What do you say to that?

“Would you be mad if I did? I’m a grown up, y’know that?” He scoffs then, huge hand slipping up your bare spine, watching as your eyes flutter shut. “Sukuna…”

“Can’t answer, brat?”

“What’re you even doing in here?” You tug back a bit, but he just drags you back down, and soon you find yourself completely straddling him - Sukuna, your enemy, your… what is he exactly?

tagsss- @sukubusss @yamadramallamaqueen @quinny23 @flowerymenendez @valleydolli @gradmacoco @lolliibunny @chosolover32 @tiredasiandaughter @nanam1nz @sukunabish @valentinegab3 @heichouaack @throwmethroughawindow @mizuwki @omkookie @lemonadesforsale @dannaya @maybe-a-bi-witch @fl4weriesworld @karvokr @pillkits @yummycastiel @fl4weriesworld @kitty-yaps @kitassecretgf @deathrye @musiclover2119 @goldenfawnwriting @sttaejoon-blog @lil-cinn @keiiate @sageosimps @paradisestarfishh @ohohostinkyyyyy @blitziwitch @b0nez9 @sukunaforlife @mihauh @gojodickbig @ashlantismorning @erenspersonalwh0re @uncertainlyours @t4ters @msniks @seellove @lnette04 @salemsays66 @chxngminji @poopooindamouf

[flofaiiry]

fifteen minutes — jack abbot x reader

❝ piss some people off, show 'em what they're missin'❞

warnings: literally 99% smut. implied age gap, jack is down so incredibly bad, fem!reader, oral f!receiving, fingering, somewhat public sex (in a supply closet at the hospital), maybe a hint of dirty talk & praise, not proofread!!

wc: 1.5k

note: just something short n sweet for u!!!! definitely nobody is going to see this bcs im posting it at 3am but idc!!! whipped this up in like an hour but for some reason im really really happy w how this came out?!?!?!?!!? that doesn't normally happen so i hope u enjoy too!!!

jack rarely ever forgot things at home, and if he did it was usually something he could survive the shift without. but switching to the dayshift to cover for robby for the week threw a wrench into his usual routine, meaning he'd forgotten to wake up early enough to pack some kind of food to bring.

on nights he could get through- normally having just finished a big meal before the start of the shift, but there was no way he was going to make it through a dayshift on an empty stomach without killing someone.

you knew he'd forgotten when you walked into the kitchen to see his typical black lunch bag still sitting on the counter, and you also knew how insufferable he'd be to his co workers if he had nothing to eat all day.

<< no lunch? >> Forgot. I'll be ok. << did u eat anything before u left? >> Nope. It's okay, I'll get something from the cafeteria.

every time jack would get something to eat from work he'd come home grumbling about how everything they serve is a sorry excuse for food- that he wouldn't wish a meal from there on even his worst enemy. so you set your phone down with a sigh and head to the fridge to see what you can put together to bring him before you head to work.

it's not glamourous- some two day old pasta and the last two cookies from the batch you'd baked earlier in the week- but it's food, actual real food, so it would do.

the hospital wasn't too out of your way, only a ten minute drive from your place then another fifteen to your office. you parked in a spot outside the er, taking your keys in one hand and the lunch bag in the other before heading inside. you don't know many day shift faces, so luckily one of the few you do is standing right by the entrance.

"hi dana!" you smile, walking towards the nursing station. she glances up from the ipad she was previously enthralled in to look at you, "oh hey kiddo, you here to see abbot?" you nod and hold up the bag, "yup. forgot to bring something to eat, figured on an empty stomach he might not make it through the shift without killing anyone," you tease.

"well, thank you for that," she laughs, "did you want me to take it? i think he's with a patient right now- not quite sure how long he'll be and i don't want to keep you waiting." dana sets the tablet down and puts her hands out to take the bag. you pass it to her, "yeah thanks, i've gotta get to work actually-"

right before the fabric touches her hand, jack walks out from a room behind you. "oh!" dana interrupts, "speak 'a the devil- abbot!" she calls, you pull the bag back and turn around. jack looks up right as you face him, a smile tugs at his lips while he walks over to you.

"hey baby," he places a hand on your waist and kisses your cheek, the stubble he didn't have time to shave ghosts over your skin with a light scratch, "what're you doin' here?"

you hold up the lunch bag and he scoffs, "told you i could get something from the cafeteria," he says, taking the bag from you. you shrug, "yeah, but you always bitch about how you're gonna get food poisoning from there one day and i really didn't want to hear that spiel again."

"yeah, yeah, you're right," he says. you raise an eyebrow, "i'm always right."

he laughs, low and under his breath, "yes ma'am," he presses another kiss to your forehead, then takes your hand in his and leads you down the hallway where his locker is. he rounds the corner, inputs the combo to open the locker and places the bag inside it, next to his outside shoes and spare hoodie he keeps on hand for when it gets cold.

he takes your hand again and pulls you close to him, "thank you," he mumbles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. he closes the gap between your bodies and kisses you, soft and slow and definitely forgetting that anyone could walk by as he slides his hands down your body.

"i tell you how beautiful you look today yet?" you shake your head, "mmm, no i don't think you did, actually." he smiles, "well then, i better get on that." he pulls away and shoots you a subtle wink, before grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you into a supply closet across from the bank of lockers.

he wastes no time once you're inside, pushing you back against the door to click it shut and wandering his hands under your blouse. "jack, i've gotta be at work in like fifteen minutes," you say against his lips. you feel him smile against yours, "i can do a lot with fifteen minutes," he murmurs, planting one last kiss on your lips before dropping to his knees in front of you.

you tilt your head back to rest against the door, an anticipatory sigh escaping your lips as he finds the zipper on the side of your skirt, pulling it down and letting the clothing fall to land on the floor around your ankles. he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulls those down next.

you look down at him when he brings his hand to your core, "we're gonna get caught and you are gonna be in so much shit." jack smirks, dragging a finger up your slit and making your breath catch when he reaches your clit. "don't care about that," he mumbles, then proceeding to bury his face between your thighs.

"fuck," you breathe, your head rolling back against the door with more of a thunk this time. one of your hands finds his hair, twining through the greying curls and pressing him further into your cunt.

"greedy, hm?" he teases, bringing a finger to your aching hole and sliding it inside you with ease. you gasp upon it's entrance, grip tightening on jack's hair as he adds a second one and starts pumping them in and out of you.

you catch the way he stares at every little twitch of your face while he's pleasuring you- always eager to learn what touches you like the most, to study the way you squirm so he can make you do it more often.

"shut up and make me cum already," you breathe, "don't exactly have a lot of time here." you feel him smile against you, "yes ma'am," he mumbles, before latching his mouth around your clit and rolling it between his lips. "oh my god- fuck, jack- just like that." you writhe your hips against his face, desperate for more friction.

jack's got your pleasure down to a science- a formula. he knows exactly how and where to touch you to have you falling apart in mere seconds.

he trails his mouth down slightly, licking over your slit and letting his nose knock against your clit. he plunges his fingers deeper inside you, curling them just so to rub against the spot you taught him about that has you seeing stars.

you should be embarrassed that you're nearing the edge already- knot tightening in the pit of your stomach and threatening to snap with every movement of his tongue and fingers- but all you can think about right now is jack and how good he's making you feel.

part of his formula includes knowing when your close, a little piece of information that lets him prolong your orgasm when he's feeling mean, or coax it from you when he's feeling generous. the way your thighs start to shake ever so slightly tell him that he's getting you there- that if he doesn't stop what he's doing it'll only be a few more moments before you're coming undone.

he doesn't speed up, doesn't make his movements harsher- doesn't change anything. just keeps sucking at your cunt like his life depends on it and driving his fingers inside you.

"i'm close, i'm- fuck- so close," those few words are all you can muster as your high washes over you- pleasure taking over all your senses and radiating outwards through your body from your core. "yeahhh, just like that, so good for me," jack mutters, the words barely comprehensible amidst the absolutely sinful slurping noises that are filling the room. jack works you through the orgasm, letting his movements slowly come to a halt as the sound of your ragged breathing takes over the air.

jack looks down at his watch, his chin still glistening with your release, "see, only took two to make you finish."

you roll your eyes, amazed at how consistently cocky he is when it comes to his skill of making you feel good. "yeah, yeah, whatever," you smile, bending down to collect your skirt and panties. jack stops you with his hands on your hips. you give him a questioning look, and your met with his smirk again.

"only needed two which means i've got thirteen more to have my way with you."

tell me what u think in the comments & reblogs !!! it means more than u know <3

[monstersholygrail]

Thinking about Puppy Hybrid Stay at Home Dad who was so doting on you when you were pregnant with his litter.

Every time he'd fuck you he was always nervous even though he knew the pups were completely safe. Still, as if he could help protect them, every time he'd fuck you he'd be holding onto the beautiful swell of your pregnant belly. Even as he was rutting his cock into you like he was trying to breed you all over again he'd be careful not to put too much weight on you.

But he is a needy boy after all and he craves the feel of your warm fat body so softly pressed against his. So he takes to fucking you from behind, one arm curled over your chest while the other holds your belly. Showing his gratitude for the lives you're growing with every brutal thrust of his cock.

Over the course of your pregnancy, the discomfort it brings growing an entire litter is rivaled by the constant pleasure Puppy Hybrid makes sure to fill you with. Providing it as the perfect distraction and making sure you're at your happiest.

And when the pups finally do come, Puppy Hybrid is practically shaking from holding in his need to unleash his excited zoomies. His tail wags rapidly, smacking against the hospital bed until he's instructed to tuck it away so it doesn't accidentally hit one of the nurses.He's just so so happy to finally get to meet all his pups.

But he makes sure to keep his attention on you, his sweet wonderful mate. He presses countless kisses to your sweaty cheeks, asking how you're feeling and praising you on how well you did, how you're the best parent already. Their pups couldn't have gotten more lucky than to have you.

After you're all sent home, Puppy Hybrid still wants to make sure you're resting. So as much as you try and argue, he insists on you staying in bed. He walks back and forth between the cribs and your bed all day. Bringing you your pups so that you can see them and beam at them with pride just as much as he is.

The next few months with you both on leave from work to take care of your pups are some of the best of Puppy Hybrids life. Being able to spend every minute of every day with his gorgeous family is an absolute dream. Seeing you taking care of your pups ignites all of his instincts, making him wanna breed you full of another litter already.

He even tries once, coyly suggesting it as you lay so prettily beneath him. His cock slamming into your depths until you're seeing stars. And that's when he sneaks in his little question. Your eyes roll back and you scream, begging him to breed your desperate hole. A long howl escapes him and he pumps his length inside you till he's coming and filling you with his seed till you're overflowing with it.

But when the heat begins to fade and your mind is no longer clouded by lust, you playfully scold him that now isn't the time. You both have to return to work soon and find someone to help care for the pups.

That sends your poor mates world crashing. His heart dropping into his stomach at the reminder. The idea of leaving his pups has tears pricking at his eyes and aching whines tearing from his throat. He can't stand it. Having someone else care for his pups is ridiculous. They're his not anyone else's. He's to care for them. It's the only option.

Despite the determination that begins to thrum in his chest and the slight growl in his throat, he's still nervous to toss the idea around with you. He doesn't know what he'd do if you guys couldn't work something out.

He just has to make it sound like such a good offer that it would be impossible to refuse.

Puppy Hybrid spends days trying to concoct the perfect way to raise the issue. But the next time you bring up looking for a Nanny he panics and spews out the first words that come to mind.

“Sounds great! W-where do I, uh, drop off my application?”

His cheeks immediately flush at the adorably confused look you send him and he spends the rest of the afternoon flustered as he tries to explain to you that he wants to be a stay at home dad. And your sweet smile gives him hope that it will all work out after all.