#and I think that alone is enough for him to not be a loser lol

[raveflowergato]

And btw if you send your underaged friends after me to stalk me for you youre even more pathetic and even more of a coward 😘

[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.

[littlegrapejuice]

Out Of Your League | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: The whole world knows that you're dating Max, but a majority of people don't understand why. So when you're finally back in the paddock, you have to remind the grid that he's the only one you want.

Author's Note: okayyy so this was my first request ever like that's absolutely insane😭 whoever's the anon who asked for this a few weeks ago, i hope you enjoy it!! I tried to stay faithful to the request but i kinda went off script at some point idk i did my best lol<3

F1 MASTERLIST🏎

“What does she see in him?”

“Why are they even together?”

“How did he end up with her?”

Those were questions you often heard whenever you and your boyfriend were out in public. The same questions were always present in your comments every time you posted a picture of you together.

And every time, you never understood why people wondered.

First of all, it was none of their business – his words.

Second of all, it should be the other way around – your words.

Being part of the entertainment world, you were always under the spotlight as an actress. You had been part of this work area for a while already, starting with small roles as background characters in some films before finally being a main character in a TV show years later. This had led to the fans gradually getting to know more about your acting range, and everyone eventually just came to love the actress who played all those different characters.

You knew that the recognition you were getting over the years was nothing to be shy of. You were extremely proud of yourself and you understood your worth, but you were just an actress.

So why did people think that you were out of Max Verstappen’s league? He was a Formula One driver, and a four-times – in a row! – world champion. He had broken so many records, won so many races, had twice that number of podiums, and was probably the greatest of his generation.

But it seemed that next to you, everything Max had accomplished didn’t matter anymore.

He had seen it the first time he brought you to the paddock. Everyone had been gushing about Hollywood’s rising star and suddenly, F1’s own star wasn’t so relevant anymore. No one had expected you to date Max Verstappen, and the perfect weekend he had was quickly overshadowed by your presence. Max had been cropped out of pictures, only you remaining in them; people had asked for your autograph more than Max’s; and every interview Max had done during the weekend had mentioned you at least once.

Safe to say, Max was considered a loser by the world whenever he was next to you. Which is why a very small part of him was kind of glad when you were unable to attend most races due to shooting. People would still find a way to talk about you, asking Max about your current film, but the focus was mostly back on him.

…..

Eventually, you were free to come see Max race when you were done with the press tour for the next film you starred in. Max knew what to expect once again, when you’d be entering the paddock together, but there was one thing he hadn’t thought of.

Compared to the last time you had come to a race, the grid had changed a lot. Neither Daniel nor Checo were here anymore, there had been quite a lot of drivers changing teams, and most important: a quarter of the drivers were rookies whom you had never met.

So when Max casually told his team that you would be coming to the next race, word had travelled fast around the paddock. Soon enough, all the drivers knew that you would be there next weekend.

Although the media left you alone for the time being, the grid had gradually swarmed you when you entered the paddock on Friday. Max hadn’t been with you, having arrived earlier to meet with his team, so you were alone against the drivers.

It had started with Lando and Charles.

“Haven't seen you in a while”, Lando pointed out as he began to walk beside you.

“I have to agree. Last time I was here, you had never won a race.”

“And now look at me!” Lando put his arm around your shoulders. “I’m leading the championship, and soon enough I’ll take the title from your boyfriend.”

“If you do win this year, Max still has three more titles than you.” You gently removed Lando’s arm and patted his back. “And I do love a multiple times world champion”, you added with a proud smile.

“Is that your criteria in a man?” Charles eventually asked.

“Maybe… that’s why I’d be more interested in your teammate than you, Charles.” You gave a wink to the Monegasque before swiftly leaving the two drivers to make your way to the Red Bull hospitality.

“Damn… she got you good, man.”

“Lando, she rejected you too.” Charles sighed. “Still don’t know what she sees in him.”

“I swear,” Lando agreed. “What’s a few titles when she could have a charming driver like me, who’s currently in the fastest car!”

“And if it’s Max living in Monaco that interests her, then why not go for the actual Monegasque of the grid?”

You had known that those two would’ve been the first drivers to approach you. Now, the question was: who would be the next ones?

Fortunately, you had been able to peacefully watch FP1 in Max’s garage. But as soon as the session ended, you were once again finding yourself with a duo of drivers next to you. The former AlphaTauri pairing had come up to you, and you kind of knew already what arguments to expect from them.

“So, you’re back in the paddock. Did you notice I was in the garage right next to you?” Yuki asked.

“I did, indeed. Congrats on finally getting that seat, Yuki.” You were being genuine, having always known that the Japanese driver deserved to be in a top team.

“Is Red Bull one of your criterias, then?” Pierre wondered. “Because I could remind you that I also drove for them.”

“Yeah, but who’s still in that team?” You countered. Before Yuki could add something in his favour, you shut down any hope he could have. “And thank you for any restaurant recommendations you can give me, but I’ll go try them out with Max only – I don’t think he’ll enjoy you trying to make him third wheel, again.”

That be told, you then bid the two drivers goodbye as you felt your phone vibrating. This was the sign that Max was looking for you, as you two had planned to grab lunch before FP2. Yuki and Pierre watched from afar as you hugged your boyfriend, before you both left their sight.

“Still don’t understand how he ended up with her…” Yuki complained. “Getting the Red Bull seat was actually worthless.”

“Also she could do way better than a guy from the Netherlands!” Pierre exclaimed. “I’m French, I could bring her to the city of love.”

“And I could cook for her,” Yuki added. “I don’t think I ever saw Max eat anything that he made himself.”

…..

“So, how many of them have come up to you for now?” Max asked before taking a bite of his food.

“I’ll let you guess”, you replied as a challenge.

“Maybe three?” Max wondered. “I saw Pierre and Yuki earlier, so that’s at least two. And I wanna bet on Lando having been the first.”

“You’re almost right; it was actually four. Charles was with Lando,” you explained.

“Not surprising.”

“Well, I’m apparently really charming according to your work friends.”

“You’re breaking hearts left and right, should I be worried?” Max teasingly asked.

“If anyone’s getting their heart broken, it’d be you breaking mine. I’m way too in love with you to break yours.”

“Not what the media nor your fans expect”, Max countered.

“Fuck the media,” you immediately said. “Not my fans, though. But fuck the media.”

“Fuck the media”, Max repeated with a chuckle as he raised his glass for you to clink yours with.

…..

While waiting for FP2 to start, you observed the cars lined in the pit lane from Max’s garage. Your boyfriend was one of the closest to the pit exit, which meant that he would be one of the first on track. Looking at whose car was currently parked in front of Red Bull, you recognised George’s Mercedes.

As if sensing your gaze on him, his head turned to the right and you knew he saw you as well. The Brit waved at you, and your only reaction was to shake your head. Sorry George, you thought before you saw him drive towards the pit exit. You wouldn’t entertain him, even if he came up to you during the weekend. That was an agreement with Max: anyone else was game, except Toto Wolff’s drivers. So that’s you knew that now that Lewis had moved to Ferrari, you could expect to see him this weekend.

For now though, you were simply enjoying watching your boyfriend top the practice session while catching up with some Red Bull employees – even Christian Horner came to talk with you for a bit. And although you tried to cut the conversation short, it was still pleasantly surprising to know that he liked having you here – as it helped boost Max’s morale.

…..

Time passed by quicker than you expected. Talking with Max’s team had distracted you a bit; and next thing you knew, you were leaving the track with your boyfriend to go back to your hotel. Due to the fact that it was still early, Max had organised a padel match with other drivers so you were only going back to your shared room for a short time. You had wanted to refuse the invitation at first – padel wasn’t really your thing as you preferred actual tennis, but Max had somehow guilt-tripped you into coming to support him after having skipped so many races.

So here you were now, sitting on a bench on the side of the court. Max had teamed up with Alex; Carlos and Lando against them. Lando knew not to flirt with you while Max was literally five feet away, but it seemed that the Williams drivers didn’t really care.

Everytime Carlos would score a point, he would immediately look at you before sending you a wink. You honestly missed half of them, as your eyes were either focused on your phone or your boyfriend. Alex, however, was more subtle. His flirting happened more in the way that he kept walking back to where you were during games, pretending to need a drink. Deciding to play into it a little bit, you would always have his water bottle ready and give it to him wherever he approached you. Also, you had to admit that his smile was absolutely charming, always bright and welcoming.

But even after all that, it was with Max that you left the court. Hand in hand, you were both slowly getting out of the other drivers’ sight while Lando patted Alex and Carlos on the back.

“You ain’t her first victims today, don’t worry.” Despite wanting to reassure his friends, Lando’s words wouldn’t change anything. “It’s a universal experience that we all have to go through.”

“Didn’t even give us one chance”, Alex sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“We should just run Max off track”, Carlos suggested.

“I wouldn’t go as far as that, but you could still try. I’m sure she’d love to date whoever sends her boyfriend to the hospital,” Lando sarcastically said.

“Yeah… don’t wanna risk putting our chances to zero”, Alex warned.

“Kinda think they’re already below zero, though…” Carlos sighed.

At least, they weren’t delusional. That’s what you always appreciated about the grid: their flirting was fun and innocent. At the end of the day, they truly did wish they could be in Max’s place. But Max was still a friend – to most of the drivers – and they knew that you loved him too much to even dare think about dating any other driver than him.

So for now: it was six down – seven with George, and two days left to reject the rest of the grid.

…..

As you had expected, Lewis eventually came up to you on Saturday. FP3 has just ended, and you’d had the unfortunate idea of walking around the paddock to stretch your legs. So when you passed by Ferrari, you knew exactly whose footsteps were quickly approaching you before you heard their owner’s voice.

“Hi, lovely to see you.”

“Hello to you too, Lewis. Ferrari’s treating you well?” You asked him.

“Could be better, but I won’t complain with the car being in the top three of every practice session this weekend.”

“Good for you.”

“By the way, a little birdie told me that you were interested in drivers with multiple world championships.” His voice was filled with a teasing tone as he innocently brought up what you knew Charles had let slip yesterday. “Any of that true?”

“Perhaps…” Nothing would come out of it, but it was still amusing to you to finally be able to entertain Mercedes’s former star. “I have someone on my radar, you might know him.”

“Really? Care to describe him to me?”

Like the other drivers, Lewis knew deep down that you weren’t giving him a real chance. But still, he could dream about it and have hopes for a couple minutes.

“He’s extremely handsome, very loyal…” You pictured Max in your mind, and tried to stay vague so that the compliments could also apply to Lewis. “Broke tons of records, has several world championships as we said… hmm, what else?” You pretended to think, until it was time to shatter Lewis’s half delusion. “He won Abu Dhabi in 2021, is currently in Red Bull, has the cutest cats ever… should I keep going?”

“Abu Dhabi is a low blow, you know that?”

“Yeah, sorry.” You weren’t entirely sorry. But as you both chuckled about it, you knew that Lewis wouldn’t hold it against you. “Unless you’d like to hang out with my dream man, I guess I’ll see you later?”

“Sure”, Lewis agreed with a shrug. “But don’t forget me if you ever need a seven-times world champion.”

“You’ll be on speed dial, don’t worry about it. Good luck for qualifying, Lewis.” You waved at him after parting ways, giving him a bright smile.

“Still can’t believe why she chose him, but who am I to judge…” Lewis mumbled to himself before walking back to Ferrari.

…..

After qualifying – Max had gotten pole, you were making a mental list of who were the drivers that you hadn’t seen yet.

You had talked to Lando, Charles, Pierre, Yuki, and both Williams drivers yesterday. George was out of the equation as well; and Lewis had been cleared earlier. Fernando and Nico were both ruled out from the beginning, which probably left Esteban and Lance. Max had told you that Oscar would probably be too shy or too lazy – or both – to come talk to you, so he was also crossed off the list.

But it wasn’t Esteban nor Lance that you saw while waiting for Max to come back from the media pen. No. While you were peacefully sipping on your drink in front of Red Bull, you were suddenly shadowed from the sun by way more than two people.

Six drivers, now standing in front of you with bright smiles. Six drivers you hadn’t even considered, and would quickly be dismissing after a quick chat.

“Hi,” you simply said while putting your sunglasses on top of your head.

“Hi,” they all replied.

Some of them shyly waved, and you couldn’t help thinking that they were adorable. For a couple minutes, they just stood there while a smile made its way onto your face. They were all visibly nervous to talk to you, and you imagined that they felt braver coming as a group.

“We’re just big fans,” Liam eventually explained. “Thought we could still try and shoot our shot like everyone else.”

The other rookies all nodded, to emphasise Liam’s words.

“I’m really flattered”, you genuinely told them as you straightened your back.

“There’s a but coming, though. Is there?” Ollie sarcastically predicted.

“Yep”, you confirmed. “I’m really flattered, but…” And one by one, you pointed to them with a reason as to why they didn’t have much chance with you - in addition to them also being too young for you. “Charles’s spawn, Alpine, Sauber, French, former second Red Bull seat, and Toto’s offspring.”

“Wow, okay…” Jack eventually said. “Fair enough, honestly.”

“Thank God we have some ego left”, Isack added with a chuckle.

“But hypothetically, would those be actual valid reasons if Max wasn’t in the picture?” Ollie wondered as he leaned down with his hands on the table.

“I don’t do hypotheticals, sorry.” You started gathering your belongings, and stood up to signify to the rookies that you would be leaving them soon. “But that was a nice try, Oliver.”

The fact that you knew his name shouldn’t have surprised him, but the way you had said it so softly was enough for a blush to make its way onto the Brit’s cheeks.

“Have a nice race, okay? Maybe if you all make this one interesting, I’ll come back more often.” And with that, you grabbed your drink then sent a wink to the rookies before you were about to leave.

“But you know,” Kimi called for your attention as your back was about to face him, “they do say I’m the future Max Verstappen. That must still count for something, right?”

“Kimi, sweetheart.” You walked up to him and ruffled his hair, with a soft smile. “Emphasis on the future. I’m in love with current Max, sorry. But I’ll call you if there’s a future me entering the film industry one day!” After those last words, you definitely left the drivers and went back inside Red Bull to go look for Max.

Kimi couldn’t even be mad at you. If anything, that was more interaction than he had wished to get with you and he knew that he had won the unsaid competition against the other rookies.

…..

But honestly, none of the drivers had ever been competition to Max. You both knew that, even though the rest of the grid had liked to run a bit on delusion and false hopes during the weekend.

Hopes that you had completely crushed when Max won the race on Sunday, as you were the first person he ran up to after getting out of his car. Pictures of you kissing had been taken from every angle, and later posted everywhere for the whole world to see during the following days.

The whole world that also witnessed Max Verstappen being the one to leave the track hand in hand with you, bright and cheerful smiles adorning both your faces.

Maybe people were slowly understanding why you were with him, as it was easy to witness the love between Max and you whenever you were together in public. But there would always be this part of the world that would keep wondering why the two of you were together, although you simply didn’t care about it.

Max Verstappen might be the lucky one according to the general audience, but if someone were to ask you: you were the lucky one and he was out of your league.

..........

Still can't believe i wrote my 1st request omgg

This was honestly a challenge to write bc i didn't wanna be too repetitive like ik this might have slayed as a smau but I'd rather do narrative and descriptive shit so i don't think I'll ever do smaus - also big flemme mdr

But yeah i hope y'all liked this - esp the anon who requested it - so don't hesitate to like, reblog, or comment your thoughts🤍

See you soon, take care of yourselves, i love y'all xx

[meowdei]

Xavier is not answering your texts. You’re not a very happy camper as you stare at the delivered status of your spam wall of messages:

i’m bored

let’s watch a movie. u can come over and we’ll cuddle :D

i’ll order takeouttttttt. i will generously use my card and not urs <3

ordered >:) got ur fav so don’t say i don’t do nice things for you

xav i’m bored :(

babyyyyyyyy are u there????

ok cool lol.

Lucky for you (and unlucky for him), you happen to live in the same apartment building. One elevator trip to his floor, a short march to his apartment, and a key that he’s conveniently given you a copy of is all you need to get to the bottom of this.

And you do. You get to the bottom of it pretty fast, and honestly, you don’t know why you’re surprised. You really should not be—not given his track record.

Of course, he’s asleep.

“Xav,” you groan, plopping yourself unceremoniously over his body on the couch, “wake up it’s not even seven pm, you loser. You cannot be sleeping right now.”

Xavier is most definitely awake—at least, he is now, and he’s awake enough to be very aware of your presence. You know that because his arm wraps itself lazily around you. But being the bastard that he is sometimes, he makes no move to acknowledge you outside of it. He lays there, quietly breathing away slowly, as though he’s still asleep under you while sprawled on his couch.

“Xavier!” You hiss, “wake up, I’m serious. Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!”

You punctuate every hey with an obnoxious poke to his cheek, digging the appendage into the soft, warm skin while he stubbornly remains limp underneath you, still seemingly peaceful in his slumber. The only indication that he’s starting to lose this battle is the barely-there, amused ghost of a smile that twitches to the corner of his lips as you progressively get more frustrated.

“Fine,” you huff, moving to rise from his body, “I’ll just go watch my movie alone and eat your share of dinner, too, while I’m at it—oof!”

You’re pulled back down to meet a sturdy chest before you can even make it remotely far.

“You’re very loud,” he mumbles, yawning as he wraps his arms securely around you, tighter this time. “It’s disturbing to my nap.”

“You’re disturbing to my peace,” you shoot back, “I don’t know if I’m dating a man or a log.”

“Neither,” he grumbles, cracking open an eye and giving you a rather disproving look, “you’re dating me. Don’t think about men or logs.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s fond. Affectionate. A smile finally erupts across your own lips as you cup his cheek to soothe his bitterness (it works instantly, of course), and watch as he happily leans into your hand. His eyes droop shut once more as he sighs in content, as if he could sleep instantly at the command of your warm, familiar touch.

“Can we nap before we watch a movie?” He mumbles.

“Your naps are as long as the average person’s nightly rest,” you snort, “this movie is not happening.”

“It is,” he insists, “let’s just nap first.”

“But the food will be here in a bit—”

“You’re warm,” he whispers. He tugs you down, his face burying into your neck as your body molds perfectly against him. “Stay.”

And, well…you do. You melt against him, and you stay—because how could you not? You can’t say no, not when it’s him.

a) do not talk to me. I can’t believe I’ve converted to Xavier fucker. I can’t believe I sat down and typed words about him. Don’t look at me.

b) I just think it’s so infinitely unserious that he spends 15 of 24 hours in a day asleep according to his schedule 😭

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。the dictionary definition of a rich boy

synopsis. that rich guy who won’t stop asking you out is your partner for this project—send help

contents. pre dating rich boy! gojo, college! au, implications of a zenin being pushy on the first date, satoru being distraught you went on a date lol, pre relationship shenanigans with the cutest loser boy !!

word count. 3.8k (it’s literally all just him being a handful)

notes. thank you niku my most cherished gojo stan for comming this (and giving me the most ridiculous tip) i adore you so much :,) mwah 💋

he’s late—gojo is late. in fact, he’s very late, by forty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds to be exact. you aren’t really the count-by-the-second type of person, but somehow when it comes to that irritating, smug, too-talkative brat that you’re stuck with…well, you can’t help but be petty and use the seconds against him too.

he shows up close to an hour after your agreed time, waltzing in with a grin on his face—and, oh, you should kill him. he has the audacity to send you a wink when he walks over, coming up to your table and pushing his sunglasses down his nose just a bit to look you in the eyes over the lenses. 

what kind of person wears sunglasses indoors? surely only the kind that are nothing but trouble.

“aw, you’re here already,” gojo hums, “that excited to see me?”

“you’re late,” you spit.

“am i? i could have sworn—”

“now it’ll get dark by the time we get through what we planned for today,” you glare. he looks enthused, positively delighted by the statement—it’s almost as if you’ve offered him candy. 

“well, then i’ll just have to walk you to your apartment,” he offers smoothly. 

what a jackass. of course, just as expected, he’s still attempting to worm his way into your personal life (and likely your pants) in the most obnoxious of ways. over your dead body, however, will you ever allow him to know where you live, let alone accompany you on the way. you value your sanity, and having a conversation with gojo satoru longer than you absolutely have to seems like the most efficient way to fry every nerve and brain cell you have left.

“absolutely not,” you grit, “you can call me an uber. you pay.”

“alright,” he nods, “i’ll get an uber for you. but i’ll need your number to make sure you made it home safe. otherwise, what kind of partner would i be?”

typically, any normal pair of partners are meant to exchange numbers for a project—it would be the easiest form of communication, and more importantly, you can spam call if gojo decides not to carry his weight instead of just hoping and praying he checks his socials. but you can’t let him have your number—he’s not trustworthy enough for that. the last thing you need is him bombarding you with texts, or worse: calls, in the middle of work and class. so instead, you strictly inform him that any and all communication will occur via social media.

he pouts at that—it’s a cute pout, you have to admit. it’s slightly dangerous, too, because had you not had the self-control you do, you might have caved. but then he lights up at the prospect of you adding him back on socials. 

i’ll get your number one of these days, he says confidently. his confidence is as aggravating as the way he clicks his pen in the middle of class. he still chooses to sit right beside you despite all the free and very available seats the entirety of the lecture hall has. 

but no, he insists on sitting right next to you—and you? well, you have to hope you don’t get charged with homicide by the end of every class from the constant clicking he makes you endure. despite all that, gojo is surprisingly smart, which means your project might not be so doomed. 

he’s annoyingly smart, actually—he never takes notes, and just when you think the professor has him cornered by asking him a question when he’s seemingly dozing off, he answers immediately with the correct answer. 

you hate him.

“absolutely not happening,” you grumble, opening your laptop, “anyway i think we should start with—”

“well, i hate to inform you,” he sighs sadly as if it genuinely pains him to say this, “but i’ve actually deleted all my socials.”

“what?” your eye twitches.

“yeah,” he nods, “it’s a bit of a cleanse if you will. staring at your screen all day and finding value in fake posts is not good for mental health, you know? i’m trying to be more in tune with myself. it’s been a real self-journey.”

before the end of this project, you might either be a college dropout or an inmate at the county jail. you’re not sure, either is equally as possible.

“gojo satoru, i am sick of your games,” you spit, “we both know—”

“and i would hate not being in touch with my partner since it’s a crucial part of this project for us to work together,” he hums, something of a smug look plastered on his aggravatingly gorgeous face, “that thirty percent deduction for ineffective partner communication would be such a shame to get when we’re working so hard already on this, wouldn’t you agree?”

is he threatening you? for your number? with your grade? he is, you realize—and you clench your fist tightly around the phone in your hands as he eyes it with a knowing look on his face. he has you right where he wants you, whether you like it or not.

“you’re an asshole,” you spit.

“i’m a mental health advocate,” he gasps—he has the nerve to act offended, even as he’s so obviously enjoying working you up like this. you wish he’d drop dead immediately. maybe you could take his card from his wallet as his cold body lays lifeless on the table and order yourself a new laptop if he did—that would be ideal. 

“i saw you post on your story last night—”

“you didn’t watch it,” he pouts, “i posted a shirtless gym selfie just for you—wait a second, you pay attention to my story, huh?” he cuts himself off with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows at you, “c’mon, you don’t have to force yourself to skip them. you know you wanna watch them.”

“no, i don’t,” you seethe, “it was just the first one at the top. stop being self-important—”

“anyway,” he drawls, eyeing your phone again. you want to splash your coffee in his face. “i’ll need your number,” he sniffs, “the crushing disappointment of you skipping my story made me realize i’m too focused on getting social media validation, so i’m taking a break. it’s the best thing for me to do in my headspace right now. hope you understand.”

“are you kidding me?” you stare at him. he grins before shaking his head.

“i would never joke about mental health,” he says seriously—it’s not as serious as your desire to slap him, however.

“fine,” you take a long, slow sip of your coffee to calm down, “give me your phone.”

“oh, you’re gonna set your own contact?” he brightens, immediately handing you his phone. it’s brand new—the newest model, in fact. it’s barely been a few days since it dropped. truthfully, you’re not even sure why you’re shocked—of course, he, of all people, would upgrade immediately. “how intimate,” he gushes, “it’s almost like we’re going on a date—”

“do not text me outside of project purposes,” you interrupt, thrusting the phone back into his hands, “got it?”

“you got it,” he grins triumphantly.

—————

like all things he does, gojo finds a roundabout way to keep his word without actually keeping it. it’s his secret talent, you think—finding loopholes through all the technicalities of things.

hey when ur free can u read over my portion? i just finished

btw r u going to that frat party this wknd? u don’t seem the party type haha but u should come 

i’ll introduce u to suguru! he’s my best friend he’s super nice u’ll like him

oh and when do u wanna meet this week? promise i’ll be on time this time ;)

you make sure to only respond to the questions regarding your project—just because he technically kept his word and started the conversation centered around the project before getting off topic doesn’t mean you have to indulge him. and the way he types is infuriatingly annoying—who shortens every possible word like that? only him, you think.

okay, maybe you’re just nitpicking now, but every time you see his name pop up on your screen, your mood sours tenfold. you decide to answer as dryly as possible.

k i’ll look. we meet same time as last.

the period at the end should add the perfect touch—you grin to yourself in pride at that one. instantly, bubbles pop up and indicate he’s typing again. your smile very quickly drops.

wow ur a rly dry texter aren’t u?

that’s ok i don’t judge

so how bout the party? 

i can be ur escort ;) 

it’ll be fun!

from his side of the screen, gojo watches as your contact shows notifications silenced at the bottom. he pouts to himself—no party, then, he thinks.

—————

gojo satoru, the guy who seemingly has everything he could ever want, likes you. 

frankly, he’s not really sure why—at first, he finds you mildly amusing, and he thinks it’d be fun to have a short fling with you perhaps. somewhere along the line, however, that changes. he watches you dedicatedly take notes in class, no matter how tired you seem from work the night before. he notices the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re really focused—it’s actually very cute, he thinks. and he’s entertained by the way you always have some smart little retort waiting on your tongue. you’re not boring—and more than anything, you leave him a little humbled. it’s refreshing, and he kind of likes it, if he’s being completely honest.

he’s never liked anyone before—it’s a weird feeling. at best, he’s had a crush where he could appreciate that someone is generally pleasing to the eye and has a personality that might mesh well with his, but he’s never yearned for someone before. 

it just so happens to be his luck that the same person he wants more than anything in the entire world (for the first time ever, too) seems to hate his guts. it also happens to be that the same person he wants more than anything is currently getting asked out by some kid from the zenin family. right in front of him. and you’re saying yes. 

why on earth would you say yes to a zenin of all people? don’t you value yourself? 

gojo can admit that he’s had his fair share of heart robbing and tear inducing moments—he’s not exactly someone with the best track record for commitment, but at least he doesn’t use people for his own benefit. plus, he does, in fact, actually plan on committing to you. that zenin boy most certainly can’t be any good news if he’s anything like naoya, who gojo has met on a multitude of occasions, and knows very well is a scoundrel of a guy. 

“see you at nine?” he hears the zenin (what was his name again?) ask you. you nod, smiling sweetly. 

why don’t you smile sweetly at him like that? he buys you coffee every week. sure, he only gets to buy you the coffee because you have no choice but to meet him for the project, but he even offers to get you a slice of cake—you don’t ever accept, though, so he ends up eating both. but you do like coffee, very strong coffee that’s probably not sweet enough for his liking, but you enjoy the coffee he buys you nonetheless, and that has to count for something.

“sure, see you at nine,” you hum.

gojo watches in absolute shock (and abject horror) as you look down shyly. as soon as the zenin boy walks away, he stomps up to you.

“hey, what gives?” he asks petulantly, making your face paint on that irritated look that it always seems to adopt when he’s in the vicinity—how rude.

“what do you mean?” you ask tiredly, “i don’t speak toddler, so please use your words—”

“why’d you say yes to that zenin boy—”

“he has a name. it’s—”

“who cares what his name is? he’s an asshole! he won’t treat you right even if his mother’s life is on the line—”

“oh, and you would?” you raise an eyebrow, glaring at him. how is it his place to tell you who’d treat you right and who wouldn’t? how is it his place to even care?

“i would,” he gasps at the accusation, “you’d date a zenin but not me? how come?”

“because you’re annoying,” you counter like it’s obvious.

okay, now that is technically fair—gojo has heard his fair share of you’re annoying’s from people in his life. in fact, a good amount of them come from his own mother, but he’s also dashingly handsome, very good in bed, has soft hair, is tall and muscular, can buy you whatever you like, and can be smart and funny too if you really don’t care for those kinds of things. he’s the entire package and more. and more importantly, he’s not from the zenin family, and that automatically means you’ll actually be treated with an ounce of respect.

he looks at you incredulously, feelings a little hurt. “that’s not true! name one annoying thing i’ve done—”

“you laughed in the middle of me speaking in class.”

“that wasn’t at you! suguru showed me something funny on his phone—”

“and you took like twenty minutes in line ordering the most sweetest drink on the menu while i was running late—”

“you can’t use that against me, that’s not fair! i’m a paying customer, i should be able to get whatever i want. plus, it’s technically not my fault you were late.”

“you rubbed in the fact that you had a black card.”

“you mentioned it first!”

“you were late to our first meeting for the project.”

“okay, that was an honest mistake! people are allowed to make those, you know—”

“i don’t want to go out with you,” you say frustratedly, “and it’s really annoying when you act like a spoiled brat that can’t handle the word no and keep on insisting, okay? so leave me alone unless it’s to discuss our project—which weighs fifty-five percent of our grade, by the way, so don’t even think about getting lazy.”

he is not lazy, he wants to argue.

but before he can, you roll your eyes and take a step to walk around him, leaving him there to blink in shock. okay, he thinks with a huff, so you’re playing hard to get. that’s no matter, he’s good at the chase anyway. 

—————

the date doesn’t seem to have gone well. gojo can tell because your eyes are slightly red and puffy, and you’re extra grouchy today in class. your professor seems to have noticed, too, because instead of calling on you today, she calls on gojo extra as a rare show of mercy. 

gojo doesn’t mind—this class is surprisingly easy, and he’s bored half the time anyway. he might as well indulge the uptight professor in an ugly brown pencil skirt and answer her pretentious questions that aren’t as complex as she thinks they are. 

“so,” he finally breaks the silence, “how was your date—”

“if you’re looking for a chance to say i told you so, just get it over with, you jerk,” you grumble. he raises his eyebrows in surprise before both hands go up in surrender.

“i wasn’t,” he says genuinely, “you just…uh…you look upset, is all.”

you hesitate for a short second, gauging his sincerity for a moment before sighing and slumping on the desk, cheek resting on your arm. gojo resists the urge to poke the soft flesh—it’ll probably make you mad, and you’re already in a bad mood. 

“he was…pushy,” you say quietly, “i don’t really believe in taking things far on the first date. he didn’t like that.” instantly, his fists clench tightly, eyeing you from the side carefully, almost in concern. “nothing happened,” you wave off, “but he did make me feel disgusting,” you mutter.

“yeah, well, he is a zenin,” he points out, “they’re…well, my family’s known them for a while. my mom hates them.”

you look over at him in mild interest, raising an eyebrow. “don’t tell me there’s drama in the rich community,” you gasp, “i thought you all just came as one to sip fancy wine and laugh at the poor together.”

he snorts, throwing you a toothy grin that you think for a moment is kind of cute—but that doesn’t mean he’s any different from the rest of the rich folks. someone of gojo satoru’s caliber has no business mixing with someone of yours—it’s common knowledge. gojo has everything he wants, and if he doesn’t, it’s a simple matter of asking before it’s his. there’s simply no way you can mold into his world to be what he needs you to be, and when the time inevitably comes when he realizes you’re not what he wants, well…you’d like to save yourself the wounded pride and crushed soul while you can. 

“sometimes we have fancy appetizers too with the wine,” he jokes, “don’t forget those.”

“oh, my apologies,” you chuckle. gojo likes it when you laugh, he decides. it looks much better than when you’re glum—he thinks seeing your lips quirked in anything other than a smile is a waste of your perfect features, and he can’t have that.

“my mom married my old man in this stupid arranged marriage or something,” he explains casually, like it’s just the norm. you suppose it is—for the rich, at least. you wonder briefly if gojo will have a marriage planned for his future, too, and you wonder if he’s okay with that. surely it’ll be some wealthy and fancy socialite of a girl that fits his family’s standards. someone who’s not you—not that you care anyway, you wouldn’t marry him regardless. “my grandma wanted her to marry the zenin, but she said no. said he treated her like a piece of meat every time they met, so she settled for my dad instead. lucky her, 'cause now i’m her son,” he beams. 

settled—something about the way he says it makes you think his parents must not really care for each other as a husband and wife should. it makes you think briefly about what his childhood might’ve been like, not watching his parents happy and in love the way they should be. but still, the way gojo talks about his mother is fond, with a gentle smile on his face as he recalls the things she’s told him. you can’t help but smile a little too.

“i think that makes you the lucky one,” you snort, “you’d still be her son. just that you’d be a zenin.”

he crinkles his nose at the thought, dramatically shivering and making you giggle. “gross,” he gags.

“well, now you have her to thank,” you hum, “your dad would’ve been…whoever the zenin she was supposed to marry is.”

“yeah, well, trust me,” he mumbles, his smile dropping ever so slightly, “my old man’s not that big of an upgrade from a zenin. even my grandfather’s sick of him. imagine being such a douche, your own dad can’t stand you.”

you’re learning more about gojo in one sitting than you ever imagined (or planned) to learn—part of that is because he seems like he’s the type to overshare on the first meet; the other part…well, you have to be honest with yourself, it’s not exactly a bad pastime hearing him talk about himself. gojo is an odd piece of work, and you can’t say you hate learning about the little pieces that come together to make him so weird. 

okay, perhaps weird is a bit rude, you think—he’s…unique.

“oh, so you’re the dictionary definition of a rich boy, huh?” you hum, resting your cheek on your hand as you sit up and face him—gojo, for a quick moment, feels his heart stutter when you talk to him like that: with your undivided attention like he’s the only one in the room. 

“what makes you say that?”

“daddy issues is like…the first thing in the rich boy starter pack.”

he laughs at that, smooth and almost sweet—it’s a dangerous thing. it’s easy to attract you to him, like a bee to honey, with the way his lips curl like that, showing off his dimples. but the bees can easily turn into maggots—and you don’t want to find yourself as a dead carcass by the end of this.

“i don’t have daddy issues,” he says smoothly, “that old man should sleep with both eyes open. if anything, he has son issues.”

“you’re hands down the oddest person i have ever met,” you mumble.

“what was that? did you say hottest? yeah, i know—”

“shut up, jackass,” you scowl, shoving his shoulder when he leans closer with a bat of his lashes. he laughs, and so do you—and just for one, quick, momentary instance, gojo satoru is not so bad. dangerous and a bad choice maybe, a setup for a big mistake perhaps, something you should stay away from, in fact. 

but not so bad. 

“how about i show you what it’s like to go on a date with a gojo,” he grins, winking easily. he’s persistent—very persistent, you note. “you might like it a lot more than a zenin.”

“no, thank you,” you hold a hand up, “never going to happen.”

“never say never,” he hums, “you might eat your words.”

—————

“hey, satoru?”

“that’s not my name.”

“that actually is your name,” you say tiredly.

“hmph,” satoru rolls over, dramatically tugging the blankets over his body as he shuffles away from you, “not to you, it’s not.” 

you sigh, pursing your lips at his antics. “oh my god. okay—hey, toru?” you correct yourself. and just like that, he turns back around, grinning brightly as he inches closer until his head is resting on your chest.

“yes, baby?” he says sweetly, earning a roll of your eyes as your fingers weave into his hair. it’s soft—you don’t think you ever want to let go.

“it’s way better dating a gojo, by the way,” you murmur, “than a zenin.”

“oh yeah?” he grins smugly, arm draping over your body as he kisses your jaw, “i told you it would be, didn’t i?”

“i haven’t dated other rich families to compare, though,” you tease, “you might get replaced.”

“unlikely,” he chuckles, “no one,” there’s a kiss to your jaw, “will love you,” another kiss to your cheek, “like me.”

finally, there’s a slow, soft kiss to your lips—and when he kisses you like that, you have no choice but to believe him.

satoru sooooo sends multiple texts back to back he just like me for real

[hencheri]

— collateral damage

▸ 18+ mdni.

| pairing. sungchan x fem!reader (ft. bf!seunghan)

| warnings. noncon, loser!sungchan, bullying, physical violence, sungchan's really cruel sorry, implied stalking?, bromance lol, revenge.

| a.n.: got a little boost and wrote it <3

this isn’t about you. you shouldn’t think that it is, you’re not the one who sungchan holds a grudge against. who he got betrayed by. 

when he saw you, that’s all he could think about. seunghan.

they’ve known each other for so long, they basically grew up together. they were inseparable like their parents would say. best friends, is what they were. until things changed, like they often do. like they always do. 

they were innocent enough to think nothing would ever be different, nothing would ever separate them. it’s impressive, really, how you can be friends with someone for years and see everything go to dust in a second. 

friendship is the only thing sungchan swore by, and he believed in the veracity of it when seunghan promised, swore they would always be friends. 

“you’re my best friend, man,” seunghan had said, looking into his eyes. “i swear nothing will ever get between us.” 

the next day after that, sungchan found himself eating dirt in PE. the basketball team wasn’t fond of him—he was a pathetic loser with weird hobbies. and seunghan had recently joined it. everyone always loved seunghan, he always fitted in with everybody. but not sungchan. 

eunseok was the captain, and surely the one who enjoyed annoying sungchan the most. pushing him to the ground when they were playing soccer, stealing his towel in the changing room or crushing his yogurt until it exploded on his tray. seunghan used to beg eunseok and his team to leave his friend alone, he thought he could do something about it, “they respect me,” he liked to say, but it never changed.

only one thing did. 

begging turned into silently watching, then helping him when no one was watching until seunghan was no longer there. 

it was one thing to have eunseok kick him in the stomach and spit on him, have him laugh and force him to actually eat the dirt if he didn’t want his ribs broken, or even have the girl he had a crush on now look at him like he was repulsive. 

but it was another to see seunghan by their side. seunghan, the people pleaser. seunghan, his best friend. 

by the end of senior year, sungchan and seunghan would only exchange glances. while sungchan passed by him with a cut lip and bruised limbs, seunghan was proper and standing tall, surrounded by his new friends.

the friendship seunghan swore to keep was the very thing he traded in exchange for popularity and social acceptance. 

sungchan wasn’t bothered as much when the last months of high school came. there were laughs and degrading words thrown at him, but he wasn’t cornered outside the school anymore and his yogurt stayed intact during lunch. tormenting sungchan wasn’t much of any importance now that everyone was waiting to be accepted in their dream college. 

he could finally breathe, but it wasn’t any easier to think about seunghan and what they had before. he’d wish things stayed the same, that seunghan had begged eunseok harder, or never joined that basketball team full of assholes. he’d wish a lot of things and vengeance was one of them. 

you’ve been seunghan’s girlfriend for a year now. sungchan’s seen multiple photos of you on seunghan’s facebook and instagram. he’s always thought you were really cute, looking dainty beside seunghan who’s almost a head taller than you. he has a protective arm around you in almost every picture and sports a happy smile, one that clearly means he’s fully fulfilled with you. you seem as happy, maybe more. just by looking at you, sungchan knows you’re sweet. he knows seunghan loves you—every man would. 

so when he saw you chatting with your friends, sitting at one of the picnic tables set on campus, he thought back to his wish of vengeance. you were looking so pretty, so pure under the sunlight, giving your face a beautiful glow, one that he’d remembered for days after. you seemed precious and it made sungchan want you. 

then, it clicked. maybe the right way to have his revenge wasn’t to make seunghan eat the dirt he watched his friends feed to him, kick him in the stomach until he struggled to breathe or punch him in the face to death like sungchan imagined so many times before. 

it was to take the thing he cares the most about and ruin it. 

“it’s not your fault, okay? i can’t have you thinking that…” sungchan tells you, voice soft, but his intentions don’t reflect his tone at all. “but you have to understand, i’m not stopping until that boyfriend of yours gets a taste of his own medicine,” he grumbles, now pouting as he looks where his hands hold your hips down. 

the leather seats of his car stick to your uncovered skin, the summer heat making you sweat as well as sungchan’s sloppy hip thrusts. his dark hair is damp at the nape of his neck and the sunlight beaming through the backseat window is casting shadows over his flushed face. 

“it’s unfair,” you croak out, blinking tears away from your eyes. 

his back and forth movements suddenly halt and you wince as he leans down, positioning his head right beside yours. “life’s not fair,” he simply states, a cruel whisper to your ear, a reminder that sungchan’s in control—for once. he traces your face with his finger, watching how you shiver uncomfortably, and he gently passes the pad of thumb over your bottom lip. 

yeah, life’s never been fair. not for him, not for you. 

except right now. it feels fair right at this moment, fucking his ex-best friend’s girlfriend on the backseats of his car. seunghan deserves it. 

your chest shakes as a new wave of tears roll down the side of your face and sungchan stares silently, admiring you and the work he’s done. he doesn’t even feel bad for making a sweet and innocent girl like you cry, you’re so beautiful when you do it. eyelashes all wet and sticking together, lips swollen and covered in spit, eyes so desperate and helpless. 

he resumes his thrusts, going in and out of your pussy, squeezing his cock so tight like you actually like this. and sungchan wants you to like it. not only would seunghan think about him whenever he touches you, you would, too, think about sungchan and how nobody else will ever fuck you this good. 

he moves his hand to your thigh and hooks it over his hip, allowing him a better angle and letting him reach deeper. you whimper under him, clenching your fists by your side until your nails sink into your palms. it hurts, but not physically. your guts ache like it’s ripping from the inside. there’s nothing you can do but take it, sungchan made it clear. 

“you’re sweet, such a sweet girl,” he moans, looking at you like he’s always known you, like he’s the boyfriend. “you should’ve never gone for someone like him… this wouldn’t be happening,” he says, pitying you, but it sounds more condescending. maybe it’s your fault, after all. 

he holds your thigh close around him as he accelerates his pace, scrunching his eyes shut as he feels his balls tightening, gritting his teeth. you keep whining and crying, but with how much you squeeze his cock, sungchan knows you’re close, too. 

“fuck,” he grunts, breathless, “gonna cum in your little cunt, gonna fill it up so good,” sungchan promises, opening his eyes to see you struggling to hold in your moans. so cute. he licks his lips, whispering in your face, “and you’re gonna show it to seunghan, show him how good i treated you.” 

“no, no,” you choke out, but it’s too late. 

you reach your high before you can even tell him to stop, legs shaking and back arching, a silent moan escaping your mouth. sungchan follows not long after, his cock spurting out thick ropes of cum inside of you. he curses and groans, gripping your face in his hand and slamming his mouth to yours as your pussy milks him dry. his hips slops down on yours in a loud smack and you feel soiled, dirty. 

he finally pushes himself off of you, but not without telling you one last thing.

“tell hannie i said hi, yeah?” he asks, a smirk on his lips. “oh, and that he’s a fucking lying piece of shit.”

—-

a.n.: pls let me know what you thought about it istg it'd mean sm to me if you leave feedback & i'd be soso happy. plsplspls i have no other way to know if you like my fics or not!!! don't just leave a pity like. ik it's short and all but. a reblog with a few tags or comment or ask doesn't hurt <3 ty :(

[vinylmango]

Hi I was the anon with the request so this was my idea

The reader is a Black woman who lives alone on the outskirts of town. She’s always heard stories whispers of creatures that roam the woods at night. She doesn’t believe all of them, but she knows enough to trust her instincts.One night, Remmick shows up at her door. There’s something off about him, and she can tell. She doesn’t let him in but plays along, tricking him into slipping up, testing him with questions. It becomes a game. Every night, he returns. She keeps her distance, but there’s an undeniable connection growing between them. The more he visits, the more vulnerable he becomes. She sees a loneliness in him, something broken but still human.Then one night, he comes to her burned and bloody, barely standing. Without thinking, she rushes out to help him. As she brings him inside, he jokes weakly, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll hurt you?” She looks into his eyes and simply says, “No. I trust you.”Something inside him changes. For the first time in years, he craves more than blood he craves connection.As she cleans his wounds, his vampire side begins to slip through. He tries to hide it, ashamed, but she touches his face and tells him it’s okay. She’s not afraid. She sees him. And when he leans in for a kiss she returns it, without hesitation.

Don't Hide From Me Remmick x black!fem!reader

Word count: 5k Warnings: blood, vampirism, brief mentions of: KKK, cheating/loser ex-husband, killing, guns

Note: Yay! My first request! Thank you anon! Sorry, this is kinda long and also took me longer than I planned because I restarted it about three times 😀 Unrelated, but I also just watched Little Fish for the first time yesterday and omg that movie hurts beautifully lol.

Anyways, thanks for reading and I hope you like it! Feel free to send in more requests or just say hi. My inbox is open and the list of who I write for is on my pinned nav post.

masterlist

The screen door rattled against the wooden frame, the wood had begun to warp after the last big rainstorm, but the door still worked all the same. “Well, you grew into a beauty, didn’t you?” You hummed cutting a few bunches of herbs, planning on drying them out in the summer sun, the rays starting to beam down on everything below it. Stopping on the porch, you looked out to the woods, the trees and overgrowth so thick in parts that light couldn’t even touch the ground, much less give you visibility into the depths. You strung up the herbs to begin drying, heading back inside to do some other chores before you were heading off to pay Annie a visit. 

You didn’t arrive back home from Annie's until the last rays of the sun were bleeding orange into the purple sky that was growing darker and darker by the minute. Stars began to dot the sky, twinkling in the still night. “You better get home. There’s unnatural things in those woods. Things that you can’t even imagine.” Annie’s words echoed in your mind as you latched the screen door closed upon entering and setting your things down. You opened it once more to light the oil lamp that had once shone a bright silver but now was weather worn and rusted. The flame caught, dancing in its little cage as it cast dim yellow light out into the darkness, shadows dancing on the wood and grass.

“Hm.” You dialed through the radio stations attempting to find one that came through clearly, but it seemed like there wouldn’t be one. You settled on one that only faded in and out slightly, the crackling and faint hum of music was a nice change from the silence. You sang along to the radio, spinning around your living room. 

Three loud knocks wrapped against the wood, pulling you from your moment as you quickly crossed the living room, shutting the radio off and going towards the door when the knocks sounded again, though quieter this time, not as incessant. “Yes?” You questioned, opening the solid door just enough to look through, the screen door acting as a barrier between yourself and the outside world. 

A man stood on the other side, shoulders squared and broad, hands in his dark wool pants pockets. He looked up when the door creaked open, dark eyes shining in the warm candlelight that reached out around you past the door. 

“You have a real nice voice.” His voice was gravely and his words flowed slowly like he had all the time in the world. You remained quiet, dark eyes looking over the figure that still managed to keep most of himself cloaked in the darkness of the porch, the places where the moonlight didn’t quite reach. “I don’t mean to frighten you, Ma’am. I just had to tell you.” He nodded like he was trying to convince himself just as much as you.

“Thank you.” You looked around behind him. It was times like these that you wished you lived closer to town, closer to neighbors. The night was still and silent and the woods around were too dark to make out the shadows. “Why’re you out here?”

He looked behind himself before he looked back at you. “I was just walkin’.”

“This far out from town?” Your eyebrows furrowed as he shrugged, hands still lazily in his pockets and a crooked smile on his pale face. 

“It’s quiet out here.” He states. “Good for thinkin’.” You nodded, stepping back and closing the door a little more. 

“Too quiet sometimes.” His eyes raked over you with an unreadable expression that made a chill wrap around your spine and settle into your limbs. He looked at you like he knew you and he acted like he’d been in the area for a while with the way he seemed to stand rather comfortably on your porch, the wood creaking below him at his change of stance. “How long you been walkin’ for?”

“Not long. I only just started.” He took a breath but the way his chest rose and fell seemed too labored, as if for a split second he had just finished sprinting a full length marathon. There was something about it that didn’t look involuntary. His breath changed a second later, his shoulders rising and falling in a more normal pattern. Maybe he was sick with something? “You play any music?”

“Sir, it’s 10 o’clock in the evening.” You frowned after glancing at the clock on the wall by the door. He gave you a lopsided grin, looking down for a moment before he met your eyes again.

“You have to go?” He asked as your mouth opened and closed, glancing behind you as you gripped the doorknob tighter. You finally shook your head no as a slow smile spread across his face. 

“Why’d you wanna talk to me so badly?” You shifted again at the door as he stood for a moment as if he were thinking. 

“You got a nice voice.” He shrugged. “Ain’t nobody else out here.” He listed off. “Your neighbors said you’re a kind woman.”

“My neighbors?” You questioned. “Which neighbors?” Your closest neighbors were about a half mile up the road. You didn’t see them much, but they were nice nonetheless. They always gave you extra crops they had when the seasons changed and you babysat for them a couple times when one of them had to go out of town and the other couldn’t take off to watch their young children. 

“Uh.” He paused, looking down with furrowed eyebrows. His head tilted to the side when he looked at you again. “That family up that way…The Johnsons?” You nodded slowly, eyes narrowing. 

“Why you speakin’ to my neighbors about me?” You opened the door, grabbing a rolling pin from the kitchen table and holding it up just enough for him to get the message. “You know me or something?”

“No…” He trailed off, voice quieter than before. “But I’d like to.”

“What’s your name?” You lowered the rolling pin, but still kept it in your hand. 

“Remmick. What’s yours?”

“(Y/n).” You still eyed him cautiously as you set the rolling pin down again. “You best be going now, Remmick. It’s getting late.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow, then.” He didn’t ask a question and you didn’t protest, simply closing the door when he had stepped off the porch and began to walk back to the road. 

He did come back the next day, just as the sun had set over the horizon and you had lit your lamps. “You came back.”

“You never said I couldn’t.” He shrugged, this time sitting on your porch steps. “When you gonna let me come in properly to talk to you?”

“When I know why a strange man showed up at 10 o’clock last night trying to talk to me about music.” You answered dryly as he cracked a smile, a chuckle coming from somewhere in his chest. 

“I ain’t a stranger no more. You know my name.” He pointed out as you nodded. 

“Remmick.” You dragged his name out as his eyes shifted to you from where he had been looking at his well worn brown boots. You couldn’t really decipher much from his gaze other than a little amusement from what you had said. “That just means you’re not a nameless stranger. My grandma’d be having a heart attack right now.” You added the last sentence under your breath. He didn’t laugh but he let out a breath in a huff that made it seem like he almost laughed. 

“Why? Because you live alone?” You shook your head no. 

“My grandma always told me growing up that nothing good ever comes to your door at night. Nothing good really ever happens at night.” You shrugged as you saw his freeze. His shoulders relaxed a second later as he smiled softly, not showing his teeth. 

“Grandmas are all the same that way, huh?” You nodded with a laugh. “Superstitious.”

“Where you from Remmick?” You questioned after a period of silence. “Like really from?” You added when he looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Here.” He laughed as you rolled your eyes. “I been here for a long time.” His voice grew quiet and looked out into the woods, his eyes getting this hazy far away look to them before he cleared his throat with a shake of his head as if breaking a trance. 

“You got a family?” You asked next as he shook his head. 

“Just me. Just me for a while now.” He looked down at his hands. “My parents been gone a long time now. They weren’t long for this world.”

“That sounds real lonely.” You told him quietly. He looked over at you before his eyes flashed towards the door, just for a split second before going back to you. “And you don’t have any brothers or sisters or cousins or…” You stopped speaking when he shook his head no. 

“You live out here by yourself, ain’t you lonely?” He stretched, his back cracking as he hummed in satisfaction before settling back against the wall. 

“No, I’ve got my chickens and cow and they keep me plenty busy.” You glanced over at the barn and chicken coop on the edge of the property by the creek bed. “Plus I see the Johnsons from time to time. When people need me they know where I am.”

“I find it hard to think you live out here alone.” He looked into your eyes when he said that as your eyebrows furrowed and your head tilted to the side. 

“Why’s that so hard to believe?” You crossed your arms over your chest which caused him to look down at your chest before he looked away. “You don’t think women are capable of doin’ things by themselves? It’s the 30s now, things are changing.”

“No it ain’t that.” He waved off. “I’m just surprised that you ain’t got a husband out here with you.”

“Why’s that, Remmick?”

“You gonna make me say it?” He gave you a lopsided smile again. His eyes glinted in the moonlight and heat rose in your body and across your face as you dropped eye contact. “You keep a nice house, you got animals and land, and you’re real nice to be around. Any man woulda jumped at that chance.” He shrugged as if he was simply just making objective observations.

“I gave somebody a chance once.” Your voice grew soft and hoarse as if you were attempting to talk around a lump in your throat. “I learned my lesson. He was a liar and a cheat.” You shook your head, curls moving with the motion before settling back around your face. “I left and came here. Everything I did here, I did for myself and by myself.”

“He ever try to come back around?” Remmick’s voice grew low and cold, a strange glint in his eye you hadn’t ever seen before but in a split second it was gone when he shifted his gaze away from you and back out to the road. 

“He tries just about every damn month.” You laughed bitterly, grabbing his attention when he heard you shift from your spot. “That’s what I got this for.” You held up the shotgun you kept by the door with an innocent smile causing Remmick to smile and chuckle. 

“You’re somethin’ alright.” He said to himself, the smile still on his face. He stands up after a moment more, stretching again before his hands find his pockets. “I best be goin’ now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He didn’t ask again, but you still nodded anyway. This time closing the door with a small smile on your face. 

The next night you couldn’t help but sit at near the door watching the sunset behind the trees and over the horizon. “Rem-”. Your voice caught in your throat when it wasn’t the nice yet mysterious man you’d been talking to for the past few nights. “Tom, get the hell outta here!” You yelled as your ex-husband pushed through the screen door. One of his calloused hands ensnared your wrist, gripping it tightly as he pulled you towards him. 

“Gimme the money you owe me!” He bellowed as he held you tightly. That didn’t stop you from kicking and thrashing, trying anything to get out of his grasp and to the gun that sat neatly perched against the table.

“Get the hell off me! I don't owe you shit!” You dug your nails into his arms, but it only made him hold you tighter in his grasp as he slammed the front door closed and threw you to the floor. Your head hit the floor and you didn’t really remember anything after that. 

Sunlight poured through the windows and into your eyes as you cracked them open, groaning as you lifted your head and staggered to your feet. A dull ache sat at the base of your skull as you looked around the room. “What the hell?” The entire house looked like a tornado had ran through it, curtains torn from the windows, chairs knocked over and one of them was broken. Your kitchen was in a state of disarray you had never seen before. Pots and pans lay scattered, food thrown about, jars half empty and broken with glass shattered on the counters and floors. Your bedding was pulled back and off the bed, bedside tables with the left half open or completely removed. You stumbled to the jar you kept in the back of your pantry, you had painted it so it wasn’t see through anymore. Unscrewing it quickly, hot tears welled up in your eyes when you saw it was completely empty. All that money you had been saving away, had worked for, put in extra shifts for, sold herbs and crops for, was gone, probably burning a hole in Tom’s pocket. 

The knock at the door caught you off guard that evening. You set down the broom, leaning it against the table as you reached for your gun, cocking it as you opened the door and pointed the barrel out. “Woah (Y/n). I do somethin’ wrong?” Remmick joked, before his smile dropped and he took in your appearance and the state of your home. 

“Oh.” You set the gun down with a shaky breath, before you looked back at Remmick and then at the state of your living room. “I lost track of time.” 

“What’s happened?” He questioned, voice tight and eyebrows knitted together. His hands were at his side, balled into fists before he flexed them and then balled them up again. 

“Nothin’.” You froze. “Nothin’.” You repeated again, firmer this time, as if you believed it now. “I just…” You couldn’t come up with anything so you just let the words die on your tongue as Remmick shook his head, dark eyes swirling with anger and something you couldn’t quite place. 

“You hurting?” His voice was softer, standing right in front of you now, the only thing separating you was the screen door, or what was left of it. 

“It’s just some bruises.” You waved off. 

“It was him wasn’t it?” His jaw tightened as he said the words.

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter.” He shook his head at your dismissal. “Why do you care? Tom’s my cross to bear, not yours, Remmick.”

“Because you’re a good person (Y/n). Too good.” His southern drawl seemed to thicken as his knuckles turned white. “He had no right to come through here like that.” He stepped back from the door. 

“Where you going?” You called after him as he stopped mid-stride, turning his head just enough to look over his shoulder. 

“I forgot to hang my laundry. I’ll be back soon.” He called, running off down the trail without waiting for an answer from you. 

By the time he returned the holes in the screen door had been patched up with tape and when you opened the door again your place looked relatively back to normal. He walked back up onto the porch, hands in his pockets, though they were different pants this time, a cocky smile pulling at his lips. “You look nice.” You complimented his shirt which was also a different color, one that complimented his eyes and contrasted his hair in just the perfect way.

“Thank you, Darlin’.” Heat rushed to your face at the nickname. You decided not to ask any questions when you saw him picking at his nails or that his lips looked stained, like he had drank dark wine on the way back to your house. 

“You ever wonder what else is out there?” Your back was against the wall just by the threshold as he sat mirroring you on the porch. The screen door now left open along with the other more solid door.

“What’d you mean?”

“Just…” You paused as if trying to find the right words. “That the world’s so big and yet I’ve never left the Delta. Feels like if you went somewhere else you could be just about anything you’d want to be.” You sighed, eyes tilted towards the stars. 

“There’s alotta stuff out there.” He agreed. 

“You traveled?” You sat up then as he smiled at the shine in your eyes. 

“Yeah I’ve seen things.” He agreed. “I didn’t like all of it though.”

“What’s your favorite place?”

“Besides right here next to you?” You rolled your eyes with a laugh. He paused for a second and you watched as a slow smile grew on his face as he crossed his arms. “Ireland.”

“Tell me about it?” You asked, your head leaning back against the wall as he nodded before taking a breath. 

“It’s real pretty.” He sounded wistful now, eyes closing with a smile on his face. “There’s these rolling green hills right by the coast. They go on for miles and miles. It’s just nothin’ but farmland out there. It’s perfect in the summer. The grass is tall and soft and you could just lay on those hills for hours and listen to the waves lapping at the rock. I used to do that all the time.” He chuckled to himself, voice soft as velvet. “My parents used to get worried because I’d disappear for hours, but I’d just be there in the grass or with the cows.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

“I never told anybody about that.” He opened his eyes as you grinned at him. 

“Was that home?” Your voice was just above a whisper as he nodded. “You miss it?”

“Every day.” Your hand reached out for his, lightly settling over it as you felt him go rigid. His dark eyes focused in on your hand before finding your eyes. You smiled at him as you felt his cool touch on your fingertips. He turned his hand up as you settled your hand back in his, interlacing your fingers. 

“You’re cold.” You whispered.

“I run cold.” He said before you noticed the dark blue veins that peaked from under his shirt sleeve. They looked strange against his pale skin, but you didn’t say anything. 

“Why haven’t you tried to come inside?” You asked, your voice still soft. “Any other man woulda barged in here by now, but not you.” He didn’t say anything, just sat there as the crickets chirped into the night. You looked down at his hand again. “You hear about Tom? Some woman in the general store was sayin’ that her husband found him face down in the mud with all the pigs around him.” You turned only slightly, feeling him freeze for a moment before he relaxed. 

“Hm.” He hummed, eyebrows raising and mouth opening just slightly. “No, that’s a shame.” Remmick hadn’t even tried to sound surprised or disgusted. If anything, some happiness seeped into his eyes before he returned to his neutral expression. “A real shame.” He added with a nod after a moment. 

“I know you did it, Remmick.” He froze again, his eyes searching your expression before looking away and then back at you again as he swallowed, like a guilty child that had just been found out.

“Wha-”

“Don’t lie to me.” Your whisper had the excuse dying on his lips as he closed his mouth and simply looked back at you. “You got this look in your eye…like a coyote or something…then you disappeared and Tom turns up with the pigs.”

“I didn’t do anything that motherfucker didn’t deserve.” He reasoned, voice steady and unapologetic. The crickets chirping filled the growing silence between you. 

“How many?” Your voice was barely a whisper as you looked down at your lap, hands on either side of you feeling the woodgrain below you, no longer ghosting over his icy skin. 

“(Y/n)...” 

“How many, Remmick?” You repeated a little louder this time. “How many times you done something like that?”

“(Y/n)...” You watched his mouth open and close before he frowned while looking down. It was as if something had broken behind those black eyes that you had grown fond of. He reached his hand towards yours, but you pulled it away and turned to look at him more, just over the threshold and just out of reach no matter how much he wanted to touch and hold you. “Please.” He whispered.

“I know what you are.” You told him as he seemed to flinch at that, cowering away as if searching for a shadow to creep into. “Why you can’t come in unless invited, why you only come around at night. Why you’re so pale and cold to the touch…” You trailed off. “My grandma told me about ‘em. About vampires.” You stood now as you looked at where he was still sitting, refusing to meet your eyes. “I think you should go home, Remmick.” You said softly before stepping back and closing the door. 

You sighed as you went over to your bed and laid down. The man that you had grown fond of, that made your heart beat a little faster and cheeks heat up, was no man at all, at least he hadn’t been for a long time. 

The next day you didn’t light the lantern or open the door, instead turning the radio on and deciding to stay inside and work on the quilt you had started ages ago but never finished. You were in the middle of stitching part of the border up when you heard a commotion in the distance, something that sounded like horses and yelling. 

Letting the needle and fabric fall to the floor you stumbled quickly towards the door, throwing it open when you saw him fall into the dirt just as the sun was setting. The screen door slammed against the wall as you raced down the steps, the old wood creaking from your quick movements. “Remmick?” Your eyes widened as you saw the angry burns, still smoking faintly, that littered his arms and chest, his shirt ripped and bloody, his hair pointing in different directions. “Remmick? Hey, can you hear me?” Your words flew out of your mouth as you looked towards the woods where the shouting was coming from in the distance and then back towards your porch. You held his face in your hands, moving his hair from his face as you tried to assess the worst of his wounds. You helped him stand, a groan escaping his lips at the exertion. 

“(Y/n).” Your name slipped from his lips as he groaned again, his leg buckling as he fell against you. 

“It’s alright, Remmick.” You reassured him as you tried to get him back inside before whatever or whoever was chasing him finally caught up. “We gotta get you inside, but you gotta help me alright? I can’t do this by myself.” He nodded weakly as you helped him stand up again, leaning heavily into you, as you finally got him closer to the house. “You ain’t afraid I’ll hurt you?” He said, trying to crack a joke with a hint of a smile on his face, voice barely above a whisper and hoarse as if he’d not drank water in days. You shook your head immediately with a frown on your lips.

“No.” Your voice was firm and unwavering. “I trust you.” You told him and you saw something in his eyes when he glanced at you as you said that. “Now, come on.” You positioned his arm around your shoulders as you grabbed his belt loops and helped him up the porch and to the threshold. “You’re gonna be just fine, alright? You’re gonna come on in and we’re gonna fix you up.” You told him, though you were also trying more to convince yourself. “You’ll be right as rain, okay?” He didn’t answer you but you set him on the couch, quickly slamming and locking both doors behind you. 

You quickly grabbed your bandages and supplies, setting them down in front of the couch as your eyes scanned over him. His breathing was even more abnormal than you had noticed before and his wounds weren’t healing like you had heard about. “Why aren’t you healing fast like you’re supposed to?” You asked as you poured some alcohol onto a bandage and held it one of the bad wounds. He groaned loudly, hissing when it made contact with his skin. “I’m sorry.” You said softly, giving him your hand to hold. “Some of these are real bad.” You continued the process of soaking gauze in alcohol and cleaning his wounds, letting him squeeze your hand when you’d do it. He never squeezed hard enough to hurt you though, even though you knew he was in excruciating pain, he still managed to hold himself back.

The banging on your door pulled you away from the couch, letting his hand go weakly as you grabbed the shotgun, loading it and cocking it as you swung the door open. “Get goin’.” You said, pointing the shotgun at the group of men gathered around.

“Ma’am, you seen a white man around these parts? He killed our friend.”

“You comin’ to my door asking about Tom?” You chuckled humorlessly. “Take that shit somewhere else. I haven’t seen no white man around here.”

“Will you let us just look around? Something about him ain’t right.” The man at the your door said. You assumed he was closer to your ex-husband than the rest of them. “What he did to Tom wasn’t right and it wasn’t natural.”

“Now you motherfuckers need to get the hell off my porch.” You waved the gun at them again. “I don’t care what happened to Tom, that man was evil walkin’. Now get goin’ before I start shootin’.” You fired the gun, it kicking back as it blasted a hole through the screen door, causing the men to flee while muttering curses at you. 

You closed and locked the door again before rushing back over to Remmick. He looked more alert as he adjusted himself and sat up properly on the couch, an amused grin on his face as you huffed and set the gun down by the kitchen table.

“You look a little better.” You smiled, going towards the bottle of alcohol and grabbing more gauze. “I need to finish, alright? I don’t know if vampires can get infections, nobody’s told me that, but I don’t want to find out. Not when it’s you.” His eyes shone as he looked at you, his irises dark as night but looking at you as if you had put the stars in the sky. 

“Shit!” He hissed loudly as you held the gauze to his side. 

“Sorry.” You whispered as he shook his head, eyes closed and head falling back against the back of the couch. When the sting died down, he lifted his head and opened his eyes watching you lift the edge of the gauze to see if he had started healing there before holding it back against his pale flesh. “Wow.” You whispered as his eyes met yours. 

The once dark irises now shone an astonishing deep ruby, glittering as if the sun was shining in them as he watched you. “Your eyes.” You whispered. He turned his gaze away from you quickly, squeezing his eyes shut as his breathing changed, becoming deeper as if he was trying to concentrate on something. “Am I hurting you again?” Your eyes looked back at his wounds before looking back at his face. He shook his head no quickly. 

He was biting his bottom lip now as he turned his head to the side and away from you. His nostrils flared almost as if he was inhaling something before he cleared his throat. “Remmick, are you alright?” You asked, growing even more concerned. You abandoned the gauze, standing in front of him between his outstretched legs, holding his face in your hands. “Remmick look at me.” You whispered as he shook his head no. 

“Don’t wanna scare you.” He sounded pained as if he was actively struggling. 

“You won’t.” Your thumbs ran against his cheeks and he slowly turned his head to look at you, his eyes opening slowly. “I promise.” You added as you looked into his ruby colored eyes. 

“I’m a monster.” He whispers as you shake your head quickly. “I don’t want you to see me like this.” You saw a small glimpse of the razor sharp fangs as he spoke.

“I want to see you.” Your thumb ran against his bottom lip. “All of you. Don’t hide from me.” His lips parted as he looked at you again, really looked at you, causing your chest to warm before the feeling spread to your whole body. No one had ever looked at you like that. 

He took your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. His touches were soft and gentle, like whispers against your skin. He didn’t say a word as he pulled you closer to him, sitting you down on his lap as his other hand went to your cheek, his thumb running against your lips before he moved closer to you. “Can I-” His voice was a whisper as you nodded and your eyes closed just as his lips touched yours. They were soft and cold against your own as your hands went to his shoulders and then his hair. He placed his forehead against yours, breathing out when you both pulled away for air. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.” You smiled at the dazed look in his eyes and the small smile on his lips. 

tags:

[simonsrileyhusband]

nsfw-ish (at the end) (reader is kind off a loser lol)

older brothers bestfriend simon who comes around often. movie nights, sleep overs, watching football, playing videogames, waiting for johnny to get ready for that party. he is always there.

simon who always bothers you all the time, stealing your snacks, throwing his heavy legs on top of yours while watching tv, stealing the blanket while the 3 of you watch a movie, ruffling your hair, punching your arms and stomach (gently but hard enough to bother you), poking your sides and calling you grumpy for having the slightest reaction to everything he does.

simon who SWEARS for everything that is dear to him that he doesn't have a crush on you, 'what? yer brother, are you mental? that dude can't pull even if his live depends on it' he laughs akwardly, but johnny believes him, because yeah, you can't pull anyone, he was the better looking brother... at least that's what he believes

simon who shoves down his crush and obsession for you until one night, on the kitchen while he steals your snacks he sees you, more dressed up than usual

"where you going?"

"mhm?"

"where you going?" he repeats, leaning on the counter, his gaze firm as he analizes your clothes

"party"

PARTY?! you... maybe he is going crazy or slipped the thin fabric of reality and is now in another universe

"you? don't joke like that, i almost laughed?"

"no, it's true, i'm going with my friends"

simon who sits you down and explains to you that you shouldn't drink too much, always stick with your friends and bla, bla, bla... and you shouldn't go home with anyone, not even kiss anyone

"why can't i kiss anyone?"

"because... you don't know how to do it" he LIES, it's because he would rather shot himself that know that you kissed someone, let alone your first kiss being with some random drunk guy and not HIM

and after some silly argument about how it can't possibly be that hard to kiss someone and simon insisting it is and you can't do it a "i'll teach you" slips out of his mouth

"no, don't do that, are you crazy?" he whispers as you straddle his lap, his brain short circuits, his lips red from """practicing"""

simon who tries to think of pure thoughts as his hands squeeze your sides, and damn, you were right, kissing wasn't difficult for you

[vorfreudevortex]

Erwin's Visit

more levi x blind!fem!reader... cw: 2k words. light cussing, light jealousy at the end. kind of crack lmao this probably won't make any sense bc it's a random thought i had an hour ago lol. levi and reader grew up in the underground together, both hopelessly in denial that they're in love... still. levi is protective af and doesn't trust anyone else but erwin to visit, not thinking that there could be some potential awkward moments that arise from it. you can read more of these two losers here and here, along with my general masterlist

“I need… a favor.”

“A favor?” Erwin hums.

“I’m too busy to make it home tonight,” Levi explains, a bit of annoyance and… worry? in his eyes. “I need you to go check on her. Make sure she ate and get her to bed.”

“I figured she could handle those things on her own.”

“She can.”

There a small moment of silence in Erwin’s room, where he suppresses the urge to smirk, while Levi turns his face to the wall and rolls his eyes. It’s night now, a slight breeze blowing in through the window. Erwin only kept a few lamps lit tonight, making the room dim and cozy while the two worked on some paperwork. Levi finishes the last of his tea, secretly hoping it’ll give him some energy to finish the night’s duties before he loses too much sleep.

“Alright, I’ll drop by for a bit since I’m about finished,” Erwin finally says, stacking his papers and books neatly on his desk. “Does she know I’ll be coming?”

“No. So make sure you introduce yourself again.”

++++++++++

Frustrated, I flutter my fingers over the cool keys of the piano. I can’t for the life of me remember the bridge, so I play the previous chorus over and over, hoping it’ll come back to my memory. I know the sheet music for it is somewhere in the pile, but of course I can’t find it or let alone read it without Levi here.

I don’t think he’s coming home tonight. He should’ve been home a while ago, shortly after I heard the neighbors click on their lamps for the night. I just wish he would’ve told me, but I know he probably didn’t know either. I’m used to the quiet when he’s gone, but sometimes it’s nice to feel someone’s presence while I try to fill up the silence with music.

A gentle knocking at the front door stops my fingers. I know it’s not Levi, he would’ve unlocked the door and came right in.

“One moment,” I call, carefully picking up the lamp from the piano lid and making my way to the door. I fumble with the lock and it clicks open. I open the door a crack, just enough to hold the lamp out and peer around it in hopes of seeing a somewhat familiar figure. The lamplight barely allows me to make out someone tall and broad. “Who is it?”

“Good evening, this is Erwin,” A resonant, deep voice answers. “Levi sent me here to check in.”

“Levi did?”

“Yes. He sent me to make sure you ate dinner and got to bed without any issues.”

Yeah, right. Although it sounds like the Commander, Levi has never done anything like this before. If he has to stay in his room at the Survey Corps Headquarters, then he stays. It’s never been a problem. Commander Erwin isn’t a stranger to me, but if Levi is too busy to come by, then wouldn’t he be as well? Not to mention, Levi would wring my neck if he found out I let a stranger in the house.

“Are… Are you sure?” I respond. “How can I be certain that you’re Commander Erwin?”

“Oh… Well…” He stammers, not sure how to answer. I cut him off by swinging the door fully open and holding my hand out before me.

“Let me feel your cloak, please,” I wave my fingers. “The insignia.”

Erwin meets my hand with the thick, heavy fabric. My fingers run over the neatly embroidered ridges of the wings, just like I had done with Levi’s countless times. Some apprehension leaves my body, and I step to the side to let him in.

“I’m sorry, Commander Erwin,” I say quietly as I hear him enter and shake off the cloak. “I hope you can understand my hesitation. Levi has never done something like this before.”

“It’s alright,” I can hear the smile in his voice. “You’re not mistaken to be suspicious of a strange man knocking on your door in the middle of the night.”

“Of course,” I respond. Erwin latches the front door shut with a loud click and he follows me into the small sitting room where I was filling my time with music.

“It’s been quite a little while since I’ve seen you, how have you been?” He asks politely. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“I had dinner a while ago, there’s some left if you’re hungry. Tea, as well,” I smile. “I’ve been just fine since we last met. I’m still playing piano at church and the tavern down the street. And worrying about Levi, of course. How are you?”

“You worry about Levi for no reason,” He softly laughs. It reverberates through the room, low and full. “He can be… insolent, but he’s too intelligent to get himself hurt.

“I’ve been just fine myself,” He continues. “Busy as ever, I’m sure you’re aware. I’m glad to hear you’re still pursuing music.”

“It helps me fill the days,” I hum with a smile. “Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you. You’re always so kind, but I’m afraid I can’t stay for too long. I should help you get ready for bed and be on my way.”

“Right…” I turn and make my way to the stairs. Erwin follows just behind me, placing a feather-light hand on my shoulder in case I trip as I ascend the first step, and taking the lamp from my hand. “Levi knows I can do this myself.”

“I know.”

“I do it myself almost every evening,” I sigh with a bored tone. My hand slides along the grainy wood railing beside me. “Even when he’s here.”

“I know you’re fully capable of doing most things yourself, so I can imagine how this can be frustrating,” He responds. “I’m only doing what I’m told.”

This makes me laugh, a light giggle that echoes its way up the stairs and throughout the quiet house. “The brave Commander Erwin doing anything that Little Captain Levi says?”

This makes him laugh as well. “I should tell him you said that.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I smile, both of us knowing he’d have steam coming from his ears if he knew. I step inside my bedroom and feel Erwin’s body stay behind. When I turn my head back to him, he’s quick to explain.

“I will wait,” He clears his throat. “Here in the hallway. Until you’ve finished changing.”

Right. I offer him a shy smile. “Thank you…”

He latches the door shut and I feel for my nightgown I placed on the dresser this morning, laying it on the bed. I untie my laced boots and set them to the side before working to undo the buttons on the back of my blouse. I don’t want to keep Erwin waiting long, so I’m quick to pull it off to start on my skirt. Only it doesn’t pull.

I freeze when I realize there’s still two buttons done, ones that Levi had to close for me this morning because I couldn’t reach them properly. He had mumbled something about throwing out the blouse since I couldn’t wear it properly without help, which I had protested because the shirt was fairly new. It completely skipped my mind.

Erwin gently knocks at the door. “Doing fine?” He asks.

“Yes!” I call, maybe a little too fast. “I’m not done yet!”

“Take your time.”

A little frantic, a tug and pull at the blouse. It would be mortifying to have Erwin help undress me, absolutely awful. I cringe at the idea. I strain my shoulders and wrists, wriggling everything I can to get it undone. I stretch too hard, and an ache pulses through a muscle. Of course, something this humiliating would only happen to me.

I hesitate. Lip between my teeth, eyes screwed shut. I open the door no more than an inch.

“Commander…” I whisper. My cheeks feel hot. I hate every second of this.

“All finished?” He starts brightly. “Let’s—”

I hold the door where it is when he tries to push it further open. “Commander…” I mutter, a bit louder this time.

“Is something wrong?”

“I… have a few buttons… I can’t reach them…”

“Oh. I see.”

“I think I will just sleep in this t—”

“—It’s no problem. I can help you.”

I wish that Commander Erwin would be a bit meaner to me sometimes. I reluctantly step away from the door and let him in, turning around quickly to hide my blushing, embarrassed face.

“Ah, I see them,” He clears his throat and I feel him take hold of the fabric on my back. I wonder if his face is as red as mine. Erwin fumbles with the buttons for a moment before humming when it takes too long. He clears his throat again. I want to disappear.

“I-It seems that they’re a bit stuck.”

“Levi did them this morning,” I respond quickly. Maybe I can have that sweet Armin boy come hurl me over the wall to escape this awful situation.

“I’m not sure what he did to fix them this way.”

I frown. It feels like the heat in my cheeks is spreading across my face and down my neck. “Commander,” I mumble. “Just tear it, please.”

“Tear it?” He asks, unsure.

“Yes,” I nod. “I’ll sew it in the morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please,” I squeak. Erwin grips the fabric in his fists, yanking it apart and sending the two buttons clattering away on the floorboards.

“Yes, there you are. All done,” He says hurriedly before quickly stepping out again and shutting the door behind him. With gritted teeth and humiliation still burning through me, I rip the blouse off and continue with my skirt before throwing my nightgown over myself.

“I’m dressed,” I call out, my voice suddenly a bit raspy. Erwin steps in again as I lean back in my bed and fix the sheets over myself. I want him to leave, expeditiously.

“Yes, very good,” His words still seem rushed and awkward. I’m not sure if it makes me feel better or worse that he may be just as embarrassed as I am. I barely see his figure set the lamp on my bedside table and fill a glass with water from the carafe. “I’ll let Levi know that you got to bed without issue.”

“Thank you,” I mumble. I’m actually grateful that I can’t meet his eyes right now. It’s going to take hours for this heat in my face to go away.

“Well, I better get going. I will lock the door behind me with Levi’s spare key.”

“Have a good night, Commander.”

“You as well.” The lamp clicks off and his figure is gone. His footsteps travel to the door. I sit up in bed.

“Commander?”

I hear him stop just as the door creaks open. “Yes?”

“Please tell Levi that I am more than capable of getting ready for bed in the future. By myself.”

“I was already planning on it.”

++++++++++

The next evening, Levi sits across from me at the table. I’ve been stewing over exactly how I’ll chew his ass out since Erwin left last night. He is having some tea after just getting back while I carefully maneuver a needle through yesterday’s blouse. I feel his eyes on my hands as I resew the buttons to their rightful places, making sure I don’t make a bloody mistake even though we both know I won’t.

“Erwin said there was no problem helping you to bed last night,” He says.

I suppress a smirk as a new idea emerges.

“Yes, of course,” I smile sweetly. “He’s well-suited for the job, even though you didn’t have to worry about me.”

“And what do you mean by that?” He asks sarcastically.

“You should send him next time you can’t make it home. He didn’t hesitate to undress me and get me under the sheets.”

“…Undress you?”

“Of course, Levi,” I giggle as innocently as I can. “Isn’t that what you asked him to do?”

“What?”

“He’s quite fast as well. He must have experience,” I hold up the fabric and needle to him. “Tore my blouse right off—”

“—What?”

[fruithoughts]

‎‎‎ㅤㅤHow to catch a hufflepuff?

‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤjeonghan x fem!reader  

01.ㅤۗㅤ𝙼ember .  ⎯⎯⎯  jeonghan.

02.ㅤۗㅤ𝙲𝚆 .  ⎯⎯⎯ one sided beef, he tries to a dick but he's too in love lol what a loser, MANY PET NAMES(pretty girl, doll, puppy...), reader is a muggle, smut at very end, smut with plot, rough sex.

September, 1 

— Are you still not over yourself? — A new year at Hogwarts begins, and just like that, Yoon Jeonghan it’s back to his favorite hobby of tormenting his favorite girl.

— Hogwarts should get over itself! It’s insane that we still have to write with quills — the Hufflepuff answers, obviously frustrated and with a good reason to be so, it’s 2024 and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry it’s still stuck on writing with quills? In individual papers? This fact alone it’s crazier than most spells they’ve ever teached.

— You say it as if the muggle option is much better — he lies straight through his teeth, knowing damn well that pens are, with no doubt, much easier to use than quills. Jeonghan is Jeonghan, don’t take him too seriously or you might actually punch him in the face. Much like he expected, his false observation is pointed out by the girl sitting right alongside him in this train stall almost immediately after it leaves his mouth, the Slytherin has always had too much fun bothering the school’s sweetest girl who just so happened to be cursed with world’s biggest puppy eyes.

It wasn’t friendly like this back then, though. No, not even close.

These two despised each other with a burning passion, well, Jeonghan did; for the far majority of this nemesis thing, the hate was very much one-sided. Coming from an insanely racist family definitely rubbed off on him and when his academic life expectations were ruined by the fact that the entire school seemed completely in love and constantly in awe of that stupid muggle girl, he decided right there to make her life a living hell. 

Which he succeeded in doing, kind of. Her life was surely miserable when around him but she didn’t seem to care about their relationship as soon as she was with her friends, housemates, just anyone at all, Jeonghan felt invisible at times, and it infuriated him to no end. Last year was the worst era for sure. The bitterness had been going on for so long, they were both exhausted and having to work together on an astronomy assignment was the last straw, so out of nothing but pure rage; they settled on an alliance for long enough to finish that thing. But it didn’t end there, of course it didn’t, they continued talking even after the assignment, they weren't friends then, absolutely not, but they started interacting like normal students for once, asking for notes, doing small talk every little in a while.

Their push and pull habits never truly died, but it wasn’t out of hate now, they were clearly having fun with this whole enemies till death tell us apart game. So much fun in fact, Jeonghan spent his entire break missing their banter like he was going crazy. It didn’t even cross his mind that he would think about that girl after the year ended, but oh, boy, did he do it.

 Maybe that was the reason they were going together in the same train stall for the first time in all of these years they’ve known each other, maybe Jeonghan lied and his friend’s stall isn’t full like he said it was, maybe he just missed his shiny eyed sweet girl, maybe.

September, 12 

— Do you have any interests other than being the center of attention? — she asks, it’s a fair question. The walk in between classes always brings out the worst out of everyone, huh? — I like pissing you off sometimes — Jeonghan answered.

Watching that cute little face transform into an annoyed and tired one never fails to make the Slytherin feel a rush of pride, he just adores it, he just adores her — Can you answer seriously at least once? Instead of being a lil bitch? Perhaps? It’s that too difficult for you? — she said imitating the tone he usually used to brother her, school’s sweetest girl being a bully, who would’ve thought. 

— Woah, woah, woah, I've been nothing but condescending and mean to you and this is how you treat me? — Jeonghan grabs his chest dramatically, his expression telling any bypassers that this man has never, in his entire life , felt as offended as he’s feeling right now — Come on now, puppy, it’s this a way you should treat a dear friend?

There it is, the classic Jeonghan urge to frustrate his pretty girl for no reason at all.

— Keep talking and I'll poison your food — the Slytherin chuckled at the threat — You wouldn’t be able to even if you tried, you’re not allowed in herbology class without the presence of a teacher — he pointed out without missing a beat — How do you still remember that? — she asks incredulously. I was made for you, of course I remember, the bastard thought to himself.

Like always, Jeonghan regretted coming to class the very second the professor opened his mouth, choosing to busy himself with going through his girl’s notes instead. They were mostly doodles or borderline intelligible for him, her handwriting was neat but her logic? Questionable, to say the least. But he loved reading whatever she wrote anyways, getting a little too happy whenever he found anything evolving his name or a silly doodle of his face. Once every twenty or so minutes he’d get distracted by her side profile instead, this was the only class where they sat together, so he shamelessly stared at her every time. For just a second, she looked back and smiled, as warm as the sun. He felt strange, he felt like a child again, liking her felt rather lovely, but did she like him too? 

October, 18 

It’s a tradition at this point, students of all houses gathering together in secret to play quidditch in their pajamas every friday night. Organization is barely existent, rules? Optional. This whole thing is a mess, it really is one of the worlds most confusing mysteries on how the teachers haven't found out about this yet(They have, but they pretend they haven’t because it’s the only time all students get fairly along with each other)

Mingyu begging Seungkwan to be the judge just off the chance that possibly, on a day where Kwan felt extremely nice, he could cut him some slack(it has never happened). Watching them from a far was arguably nicer, Jeonghan thought; sitting isolated from all of the other students with his trusty Hufflepuff by his side, both sat there in comfortable silence, this one was new for them.

— What bad music have you been listening to these days, ugly thing? — he inquires, as nice and cordial as always — Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy? — she answered staring daggers into his face, oh, if only Yoon Jeonghan was as unbothered and cool as he pretends to be, maybe then he could stop the way his heart pathetically races at the sound of her voice. 

— I always wanna know what’s going on up that little head, it’s usually just air, but sometimes we get lucky, don’t we? — the Hufflepuff rolls her eyes at his statement while the asshole who said it only grins — I could put on some songs I've been listening to, if your highness so desires — she suggests, and Jeonghan isn’t one to say no to his pretty thing. 

It started off with a soft guitar melody, much like most of the songs she listened to.

Depollute me, pretty baby

Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream

The girl always had a type for softer sounding things, for gentle things, it made  Jeonghan feel unsure of himself at times. How could the sweetest girl in the school like the company of such a bitter guy?

Oh, dilute me, gentle angel

Water down what I call being grateful

Was it normal? Was this how things should be? What even were they at this point? Acquaintances? Partners in crime? Friends? 

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me

Not to take me home

The school year had barely started and Jeonghan could swear he was balding from stress since week 2, why is he acting like this? Why is he sitting far from his friends and housemates just to spend “alone time” with the girl he swore he hated less than a year ago?

It was simple, it was sweetness

It was good to know

There were many things in this world that the Slytherin would never agree to admit. He refused to believe in just how fast his mind changed from last year. Everything happened too fast and I couldn’t see it coming, that’s why I didn’t stop it; is what the man in question kept telling himself, clearly because is the truth and nothing but the truth, clearly NOT because he could never bring himself to terms with the fact that he has always looked at the “stupid muggle girl” in the very same way he’s looking right now.

You look perfect, you look different

I don't wonder about your indifference

— Spending time with you is giving me brain damage — he speaks up, for no reason other than to listen to the sound of her laughter, which works — Don’t blame me for your psychosis — the hufflepuff answers while giggling.

If I said you could never touch me

You'd come over and say I looked lovely

She yawned and stretched her arms out, arching her back, as graceful as a swan. It’s that feeling again.

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me

Not to make me cry

He lies down on the concrete, both hands behind his head.

It was simple, you are sweetness

Let's just sit a while

She lies with him.

Depollute me, gentle angel

And I'll feel the sickness less and less

The night was beautiful, birds flying through the dark sky, he could hear his friends playing quidditch in the distance, his pretty little thing resting her head on his shoulder as they lay on the cold floor and watch the stars. It felt gentle, it felt nice, it felt perfect. He knows they won’t talk about this tomorrow.

Come and kiss me, pretty baby

Like we'll never have sex

Friends shouldn’t make each other feel like this.

October, 29

— I’m just saying, it’s a Sunday evening — Jeonghan felt like getting to the point of his argument after rambling for about 20 minutes on end — And? — she inquired, eyes still on her book, which made the Slytherin close his own, he hasn’t read a single word ever since he opened his mouth, just using his habit of reading as another cheap excuse to spend the night in the library with his lovely friend — We could do something else, you know… — he suggested, knowing damn well this isn’t going anywhere, his girl did not play about her poetry books. 

— Like what? — she engaged, also aware of the fact this is a one way street — Literally anything else, maybe have dinner somewhere — he slouched against the hardwood chair — Dinner? The thing that killed Jesus? — her answer received nothing but a very judgmental look from a very judgmental Jeonghan who didn’t stay quiet about his discontent for long, like always — You’re such a disaster — he says averting his gaze to anywhere else so she couldn’t clock the painfully obvious heart eyes he was giving her.

— Why do you spend so much time here anyways? — after about 32 seconds of nice and peaceful silence, he asked again — Reading is fun, even if it’s reading about being a loser — the Hufflepuff responded already setting the terrain herself so Jeonghan couldn’t have the pleasure of calling her out on only reading melancholic books.

— We could never live together — the Slytherin states as if it isn’t the only future he could fathom to imagine — What if our books got mixed in the bookshelf? I might have a heart attack. Imagine receiving visits and have them wrongfully assume that I read poetry? I would rather die — anybody from a mile away can tell this man has thought about this very scenario way too much for his own good — And yet you’re the perfect amount of dramatic and pretentious to be a poet yourself — every once in a while he would notice that she talked like a book, he hated it, it was better when she talked like an chronically online alien who’s only life mission is to make sure he has at least one bad day a week.

Jeonghan, ever the most mature student of Hogwarts, sticked his tongue out in his friend’s direction, which was answered with the exact same action back at him — What are you even reading, ugly? 

— The world’s wife, by Carol Ann Duffy — at the end of that day, after his pretty girl had already left to her dorm, for the first time in history; Yoon Jeonghan rented a book from the library.

November, 1

Looking at her made him feel all sorts of things, even from across the room. From an overwhelming sense of warmth just by watching his little flower engage in silly conversations with her friends after she’s done writing down notes to erratic heartbeats and goosebumps when she catches him staring and tilts her head, looking at him just like a confused puppy while mouthing “why are you staring?”. She made him feel all sorts of feelings he wishes he didn’t fall victim to, all sorts of fantasies he wished he didn’t understand, but Jeonghan was no saint, especially when it came to his little angel. 

There were only two things in his mind today, which was an improvement in comparison to yesterday when there was only one, i’ll let you guess what it was, but right now there were two; 1. The argument with Josh, and 2. Her.

Jeonghan isn’t one to hold grudges against those he loves the most, as a trickster himself; he isn’t used to taking things personally, but Joshua… Joshua had gone too far. Just when the Slytherin was ready to finally pour his heart out to somebody who he deeply trusted and loved and open up about his feelings, he was met with the most terrible response! It just wouldn’t leave his head…

— She’s perfect for me, everything about her is perfect, I think about her all of the time and it’s messing me up — Jeonghan pathetically went on and on for what could’ve been anywhere from 30 min to 2 hours, poor boy was just so confused about the simplest of feelings — And the obvious conclusion to take away from this situation is…? — his Gryffindor friend tried helping — She’s ruining my life — and it didn’t work — You’re in love, you stupid idiot — so Josh decided to be a little more direct. He was right, like always, but that didn’t stop Jeonghan from sulking the whole entire night. 

It was infuriating, what even happened to him? All it took was a pair of shining eyes and sweet smile and he’s completely done for? It’s not like the guy in question ever was the kind of student who engaged in class or was interested in anything the teachers had to say at all, but this is another level, it annoyed him to no end. That stupid girl just held his mind and all of his thoughts in her hands as if it was nothing, that stupid girl with her stupid unique personality and her stupid hauntinly beautiful face and her stupid cute outfits and the stupid boy who could not take her out of his stupid brain. 

He left a letter at her desk after class, she would only find it the next morning while he was two classes away from being interrogated about said letter. 

November, 15

Hogsmeade was full to the brim, but somehow, this moment felt very intimate. 

Maybe it was the alcohol in their systems, maybe it was the casual way they didn’t even consider sitting with their housemates before claiming the little table by the window just for themselves, maybe it was the way they were both sitting while leaning completely forward, chins resting on their arms, faces just a few inches away while yapping away the end of exams season, it felt childish, it felt nice, it felt sweet. 

— You don’t think I'm manly? — Jeonghan questioned as if this was about to become his villain origin story — You’re manly… Just in a peacock kinda of way — she answered giggling like there was no tomorrow, he loved everything going on here. Her flushed little face decorated with a big grin, her nose crunching up everytime she smiled, her voice slightly louder and whinier because of the alcohol, the slurred way her words came out sometimes, it was all perfect.

— Can I tell you something, puppy? — he whispers, knowing he isn’t anywhere near drunk enough to not remember this tomorrow, he doesn’t really care — There’s nothing in this place that I adore more than you.

He watched in awe as her eyes grew so much bigger, lips forming a little pout of shock, that specific cartoonish surprised look she always had when anything happens while she’sdrunk, looking both sides before leaning in and going “Really?” which is immediately followed by a little giggle.

In moments like this the Slytherin swears there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to have his girl all to himself, nobody else deserves this view. Isn’t all of this desire so ugly? Isn’t all this wanting so gross? Isn’t it all his? Just the thought of leaving Hogwarts and never seeing his pretty little thing again was enough to give him a full body shiver followed by an ever so present nauseous feeling.

 — If I have to remember you for longer than I've known you, I might lose my mind a little — Jeonghan mindlessly admitted, a sly smile slowly makes its way in his friend’s face — Don’t you think you already lost it? — she asks.

— Maybe a little.

December, 24

— Won’t your friends be worried? Do they know or did not even tell them? — Jeonghan questions while trying to look at everything everywhere all at once. It was his first time spending Christmas night in the muggle realm, he wouldn’t admit it in a million years, but it wasn’t as bad as he thought it was — Why wouldn’t I tell them we’re going out? — the Hufflepuff answers his question with a question — As far as I remember they were very defensive about you becoming friends with big, bad Jeonghan, have they moved on from that? — his question only got him a smack on the arm.

— They haven’t cared about that for a while now, and you interrupted me! Again! — she stated before angrily letting go of his hand, which she had been holding so they wouldn’t go far from each other and get lost, yeah… that was definitely the only reason — My sincere apologies, your highness — not taking her attitude for granted, the Slytherin quickly holds her cold hand into his own much bigger one, it was ironic in a way, the Hufflepuff who’s body is always cold and the Slytherin who’s body is always warm — Now I don’t wanna talk anymore — apparently, she didn’t accept his apology, but didn’t let go of his hand either. 

Jeonghan wasn’t sure if it was his sick mind making him hear things, but he could swear that as time went on, the sweetest girl in Hogwarts had become more and more of a brat, just for him tho. Maybe he was a bad influence. 

— Go on, keep talking about the anime girl with the blue hair, I'm listening — did he understand most of what she was talking about? No. But she was happy to share her thoughts about Hatsune Miku’s new song, so really, who was he to say no? For all Jeonghan cares she could break his brain in two, it was only ever hers to mess with anyways.

Walking through the local christmas market was much more pleasant then the pureblood snob would ever imagine or admit, but she could tell that he was having a great time, and that was enough for both of them. Jeonghan has always had a terrible case of resting bitch face, so she really couldn't give less of her mind to anybody who stared at them weirdly, the Slytherin himself barely even noticed, too focused on this cozy new place.

They ate good food, took pictures with her digital camera, petted some strays here and there, it was a perfect evening. And just when they thought things couldn’t get any better…

— Come on, it’s not that deep — the bastard insisted while dragging his pretty thing along his arm to some bar’s doorstep, there was a mistletoe there — Is it not that deep or do you just want to kiss me? — the Hufflepuff teased, her flushed face betraying the casual tone she spoke in.

Finally at the bar, they stood there. Jeonghan, with that infuriating little grin in his stupidly beautiful face, looking down at his friend who had her arms crossed in front of her chest the second they arrived, looking back at him with the an annoyed expression and an angry little pout that forced him to resist, with all of his might, to the overwhelming urge to melt directly to the floor.

— That’s for me to know, — he said pulling his doll into his arms, a hand going up to her face to make sure no stubborn hairs got in the way of the moment — And for you to wonder.

Much to Jeonghan’s surprise, maybe he really wasn’t the manly one in this relationship after all. Because when the Hufflepuff straight up yanked him by the collar of his jacket to meet his lips, he could swear that he was made to be manhandled by a pretty girl. Ever the profissional, he relaxed into their kiss almost immediately, holding the back of her head firmly in his hands so he could take some control.

It was just as good as he imagined it would be, pillowy lips massaging his own, his puppy just so pliantly allowing his tongue to explore, it was sugar sweet and addicting. 

Maybe it was a mistake, maybe it was a blessing, the girl wasn’t exactly sure while she was getting dragged around for the entire two and a half they spent going around in the christmas market. The sly prick just couldn’t control himself, whenever he saw a mistletoe, it was time. Jeonghan was so obvious, he started actually tricking her into thinking he was just interested in places. He would look around, engage in conversation with the sellers, get some nice food then the second they were about to leave, he would just pull her towards a certain spot, his girl already giggling and whining about getting tricked again. These two lost count of how many mistletoes they used to their advantage in just some hours, but at last, it was time to go. 

Surprisingly, Jeonghan wasn’t really nervous about spending the night in his friend’s apartment, they have gotten extremely close after all. The thing bothering him was something else. 

He wore some white t-shirt and fluffy pajama pants she found somewhere in the depths of her closet, probably due to a friend forgetting them. She was wearing a leopard print shirt and some black fluffy shorts, he loved the way she dressed much more than he could handle, it was too cute for him to handle. Their pajamas were the comfiest things they’ve ever worn in each other’s presence, you can only be so casual in School.  

After whining about who got to choose what they watch before sleeping, they settled in any Netflix cliche christmas movie because of how often she made fun of the scripts in those movies, and she was right, they could’ve played a cliche movie bingo and checked all of the places before the movie hit the 40 minute mark. 

Of course the film in question was nothing more than some background sound to their yapping session, what else could it be? Their conversations just flowed so easily, each topic and scenario just slipping through their fingers, eventually they got to the best part, talking about the people they both hate. At first it was the usual; “How long do you think that friend group is going to last?” and “Do you think that couple is going to get back together?” then it eventually turned into; “Do you think your friend group will last a long time?” and “How long do you think it will take before we miss our professors?” and…

— What are you gonna do after Hogwarts? — the Hufflepuff asks innocently, causing a mental turmoil to burst in Jeonghan’s head. He snaps before even thinking, and it’s probably for the best.

— What are we gonna be after Hogwarts? — the air caught in her throat was almost visible, the way her breathing got heavy, the way her eyes seemed to wander even though she didn’t break eye contact, this was a difficult conversation to have. After this they’ll either come out of this apartment as partners or as strangers, it was a tough pill to swallow. 

— We don’t ever talk about it, we don’t ever dare bring it up but we both know what’s going on, don’t we? The year is ending, flower — he had that look in his eyes, that look he had at hogsmeade, she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it, but there it was again. Jeonghan had never looked so soft, in some oversized t-shirt and fluffy zebra print pajama pants she would never witness him wearing in any other situation, his hair as soft as ever, strands romantically sitting in front of his face as he reaches a hand to hold her cheek, the most gentle touch.

— I know we started this just messing around, we’ve been messing around since last year and it felt nice, it was fun, it was new and becoming closer was so rewarding that we just couldn’t stop it — he recalls the beginning of their alliance — But it’s not so light anymore, is it, dear? The tension became too much, I know you think about me too, I know you feel me it too — he spoke his heart out, voice as soft as the look in his eyes, all of the words that have been drowning him for the past few months were finally bubbling to the surface — I wanna stop it, we played around and it was fun but I need something solid now, I need to know where we go after this is over — he kept going, his eyebrows furrowing as his breathing got more erratic. 

— We don’t have all of the time in the world so I need you to be honest with me right now — Jeonghan leaned in, he could almost see all of her thoughts and emotions right on those shiny eyes he fell in love with all those years ago, in all of this time; his sweet girl had never changed, but unknowingly, she changed him. 

— Do you want me too? — the Slytherin asks.

A rushed “i need you too” was the last thing he could process before the Hufflepuff was yanking his face into a heated kiss, hugging his neck so she could sit on his lap, Jeonghan was in heaven. 

His pretty girl softly pulling his hair to make him gasp into her mouth, his hands trying to be everywhere before he settled on holding her hips to keep her from moving too much. His sweet girl was a little too desperate for his taste. Why were her panties completely soaked and sticking to her core when he finally dipped his hand into her shorts? Was she getting hot and bothered the entire night and just taking it instead of asking for his help? — Own, did I leave my baby waiting for too long? My poor lil thing… — the motherfucker spoke up as condescending as always, only causing her to whine as he teasingly cupped her warmth through the moist underwear — Don’t worry, puppy. You know I’ll make it up to you — and “make up” he did.

As soon as the bastard found her bedroom, it was game on. At this point they’re unsure of how much time have gone by, one arm holding her waist firmly in place on her plush bed while the other held one of her legs up so he could have more access to the little pussy he spent so long dreaming about, he needed to eat his girlfriend out properly, let her know he’s the one for her, that no one would do it better than him, even if his efforts make his jaw hurt like crazy the next morning.

Jeonghan was having the time of his life, hearing her soft voice turning into a higher pitch whenever she whined about him teasing for too long, that she was ready to take him. And of course, being as annoying as ever, he couldn’t let the humiliation be just that, no, he made her repeat it every time — What was that, doll? — he looks up as if her sweet moans interrupted his holy feast, his chin soaked with her juices, his lips glistening with her honey, this view could kill — I need you, Jeongie… — she finally had the strength to answer, making the devil grin. 

He had no intentions of stopping, no, he needed that little cunt on his face until he suffocated. The bastard kept going after the first, the second and for a miracle, the third orgasm was his last straw, and even though he could devour his stupid girl right there… — My pretty baby did so well for me, didn’t she? — he gave her a much deserved break before getting down to finish their business. 

It felt as though there was nothing else in the world, nothing other than them. Passionate slow kisses, arms cradling one another as their hands caressed each other’s bodies, this moment could last all of eternity and neither culprit would complain, not even once. Feeling his hard on pressing against her thighs was driving the Hufflepuff a little bit insane, tucking on his waistband made her mouth feel awfully empty.

The Slytherin didn’t even remember that being hard was so damn painful, a soft touch of her hands on his crotch was enough to make him hiss, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his lips together, the sight was pretty enough to make one cry, he’s was just such a beautiful boy, how could she not want to have him in her mouth? — Please, please, pleas-

— You don’t have to — he tried shushing her, not wanting his baby to do any work — Want to… Wanna make you feel good, Jeongie… — that whiny tone made his knees buckle quickly, mind racing far too fast for him to stop himself before just sitting back on his knees and letting his pretty girl have her way with him.

For someone who was in full control just fifteen minutes ago, Jeonghan surely sounded like a bitch in heat. Biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood but letting go before it happens so he can moan like a whore just before the pleasure becomes too much and causes him to throw his head back, looking at his girl was too much to ask from him, everything was too much. Looking just so pretty trying her hardest to fit his thick base into her mouth, not paying any mind to all of the gagging, working so hard to please her Hannie, he could bust just from this fact alone, the man was losing it. 

His appreciation for her hard work did not go unappreciated for long, not when he got his doll on all fours for him, shoulders pressing down on the mattress while he pounded that pussy into another dimension not even ten minutes after getting the head of his life. The squeaking of the bed, the sound of skin slapping, the begging for more whenever he grabbed her hair roughly and used it as a leash to pull her body into his, his chest pressing against her back while he praised his pretty thing for being “such a good puppy for him, taking all of his cum”, only for the moans to go louder when he slammed her face back into the bed, the soft squelchy sound coming from where their bodies kissed, the music in this room was Jeonghan’s favorite. 

These two were wild animals for a long time, their muscles would most definitely feel their efforts tomorrow, but right now, after having the best orgasms of their lives, the lovebirds were in absolute peace, staying in the bed for much longer than expected after sex; just holding each other, just loving each other. After a nice shower, a change of sheets and some instant ramen, tho? Ready to go to sleep, if anything; desperate to go to sleep. Jeonghan felt a slight shift on the bed alongside him, he could feel his preciosity leaving his grasp just before he succumbed to the tiredness of his bones, he reluctantly opened his eyes; she’s on her phone? 

— Did I fuck you so good that you’re writing poetry? — he asks, it’s a fair question — Shut up, Slytherin — the Hufflepuff answers just before hitting send message into her groupchat, telling her friends everything they could possibly need to know about the past two hours or so with just 11 words.

[unnerving-presence]

I also like the idea of fluff with the green rabbit... Maybe he'd seek it out if he was jealous? Are we fw with that?

Like... Imagine if the reader was handsy with another killer in the Entity's realm (dbd), and he was under the assumption that the reader favored HIM out of everyone else. What do you mean they're holding hands with Phillip? Entangling their arm around Caleb's? Hugging Danny??? He's their absolute favorite? Why wouldn't he get any of this special treatment while the others do?

I can imagine this feeling of resentment would bleed into matches too, especially when he downs them and says that one specific line: "Do you feel that?"

I really like thinking he's just a loser who hates the feeling that he's lower than everyone else by being exempt X33

i loved this idea so much i’m writing about about it hehe

lol i have no idea what to name this when i put it in the masterlist

Honestly? You probably wouldn’t think he’d want any affection that at all at first. And in general he probably doesn’t. Not that he hates you or finds it disgusting, but he will always have something better to do than indulge in your fantasies.

Well, you had never really tried giving him any affection before. Your relationship with William always felt a little rocky and you surely didn’t want to push your luck no matter how badly you wanted to. You couldn’t have possibly known what he truly wanted from you.

As a result of this, any killers that are nice to you outside of trials will get your love instead. Surely William isn’t mad about that is he?

Of course he is. He thrives off of any attention you give him and anything that could boost his ego, which you tend to do a lot. Of course seeing you give killers attention you could be giving him isn’t going to make him happy. He might not exactly crave those sweet touches like most but that does not give you a reason to hand them out like free samples.

He is supposed to be put on a pedestal. He is the one that talks sweet to you to bring you close to him. You follow anything he tells you to and he likes it that way. Now you want to share that with other killers? No, that just won’t do.

Perhaps he yanks you away from them by your wrist, practically dragging you along with him back to his realm. He doesn’t exactly need to say anything to get his message across.. but just for good measure he may corner you, bringing a hang up to gently grip your neck as he tells you that.. surely you wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you? You’ve been so good in the time you’ve spent with him. He’d hate to have to punish you now. You’re his favorite.

William knows he has you with the way he speaks to you alone. You were always so easy to coerce into doing his bidding. You loved his voice, his touch, his praise. You would do anything for him and that alone is something he takes great pride in.

William loves all of your attention. And maybe, just maybe he enjoyed the way you reached out to him to hold the side of his face before he pulled away far too soon than you would’ve liked. Whether it is simply because it shows him how much you still desire his presence or because he knows you still prioritize him over anyone else is unclear.

The fact that he allowed that touch says enough. Maybe all you need is to take a brave step forward. Perhaps he’s just waiting for you to make a move.

[kingprinceleo]

How are your sonic’s spending this Christmas? Your Shadow’s ?

uwahhhh sorry im late on this, things got busy !

1000YB shadow is sad and alone and a loser and probably hanging out with an old picture of sonic. probably being an extra strong workaholic ( sonic is big chilling in the afterlife) silly holiday piece Cat made with peepaw HERE

Happy auau- the gang is probably hanging out together ! doing festive little stuff and watching movies n playing games ,, sonic being the king probably dressing up as santa, they tried to get shadow to dress up but he chaos evaporated the costume before they could finish talking. but he is wearing smth wintery but not costumey (ough these are 2 years old please pardon them they never got finished vvv) if its cold enough shadow will also have his winter fur fdhghjg

Fire n water au- Sonic would be spending christmas at the castle with his family but, during the main plot, hes probably learning about the meaning of friends and family over big extravagant castle parties. Tails probably tries his best to make or find something for sonic, sonic may be a bit silly and spend a lot of their small amount of money on something cool for tails, and have consequences after. Blaze is being very normal about spending her first christmas alone with recently deceased parents and her missing brother ! Shadow is big chilling on the ocean floor. might eat a whale later if hes feeling festive

Desert vampires- i dont think they have christmas </3

Vampire au- i have a bunch for this ough. ...

Sonics festive but not as festive as amy is ! he has to help her decorate the house from top to bottom every season, and she'll likely move the house into ice cap zone to maximize the vibes

otherwise i think sonic just hangs out, admiring the island, running around, seeing lights n stuff, leaving little mysterious gifts around for his friends

Shadow doesnt do much ! hell stand in the snow and stare at the horizon, rouge will drag him christmas shopping (for herself HDJHFG) , probably drag him to a couple christmas parties he doesnt want to be at . and they probably steal from Geralds supply bays for funsies

i think when theyre older things are mostly the same ! sonic will usually split off to go hang out with his friends (now including rouge and knuckles) and he may be away to go down to the mainland to visit others amy inflicted him with the itch to decorate though, its deeply wrong to him to see shadows apartment look all lifeless and sad, shadow will sometimes just Wake Up to the house being almost fully decorated (shadow doesnt even know where he was hiding all this shit before)

i think sonics been able to get shadow to stay for a christmas party a couple times ! but never for long or without him finding some kind of corner to lurk in away from everybody,,, i have a tiny fic wip about one of them ough . its too rough to post any part of it </33

i dont think they really have any kind of christmas traditions they do, every year could be something different. And for gift giving, i think sonic does the same with leaving gifts around the house to find, surprises for shadow. shadows very direct though, always asking upfront whether sonic wants certain things or not uwah i think theyre silly,,, hope . htis is an adequate enough response LOL

[luckycharmedpuff]

Rebels {Theodore Ed.}

Mattheo Ed. | Theodore Ed.

Pairing: Bro's bsf!Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: Uni! AU where Reader finds herself the designated 'nurse' for her brother's best friend, a botched job doesn't stop her from being called back.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: shitty writing because I got busy and lazy lol. Unprotected piv, semi-possessive Theo, hair pulling, slapping, use of the word cock since that's apparently an ick for some of you guys. It's a quickie so don't expect 5k words of pure smut.

The first time Theo was dragged next door by Enzo and Blaise, was the day after the dean of the school warned him against any more infractions.

Theo, of course, still got into a fight within an hour after his football win. It wasn't his fault that the losing team was filled with a bunch of whiny bastards. Those bastards could, however, throw a mean punch.

The problem sat in, the infirmary would tip off the dean, and Theodore would get at least a suspension and kicked off the team. Which would most likely result in the team losing this season.

That's how he ended up being cooed over by a bunch of sorority girls while he headed towards Enzo's new stepsister's room. Something he wasn't quite sure he was ready for.

The first time he had met Y/n was over the summer, right before her transfer to his school. She had been sweet and funny up until drinks and a game of truth or dare sent them both into sour moods and bickering everytime they saw each other. Theo still wasn't clear about what happened. He hadn't even wanted to play.

So, watching Enzo raise his hand to knock on her door wasn't exactly settling for him. Especially when it was to ask her to help Theo.

It opened before his friend's knuckles could rap against the wood, and any sign of hesitance had disappeared when Dean Thomas opened the door. No, instead, Theo had the sudden urge to throw up. He was sick, now. Maybe even a little angry.

"Uh, sorry. I was just leaving," Dean muttered, jacket on his arm and clothes wrinkled. Theo could have even sworn he saw some lip gloss on the corner of his mouth too.

Uh, sorry. Like they'd personally taken offense to the girl's choice in men. Enzo and Blaise beat up one person earlier in the year for being a dickhead to her and suddenly everyone thinks she's untouchable.

Enzo had expressed relief about the notion until it brought out the dickbags that only saw it as a challenge. Theo honestly didn't give a shit. She'd hate him either way.

"What do you guys want?" Y/n sourly greeted the trio. "I'm studying."

"Studying what? Human anatomy?" Enzo grumbled, dragging Theo into the room

"Chemistry, actually." She reapplied some lip gloss before turning to Theo. "What happened to you?"

"Some loser on the opposing team doesn't seem to realize it's not cool to tag team a fight," Theo said, climbing onto the bed and stretching out.

"It's not cool to fight. Period." Y/n scrunched up her nose. He might have found it cute if he allowed himself to. "You're all sweaty."

"He's also in need of that fancy little first aid kit of yours." Enzo smiled. It was the smile that seemed to charm everybody but the guys. And apparently Y/n.

"There's an infirmary for that, no?" She lifted Theo's feet from her bed and dropped them over the edge callously. He'd only let her because he was too exhausted. At least, that's what he told himself. It definitely wasn't that he'd take whatever touch he could get from her if it didn't end in an argument. Even if it did...

"They'll kick him off the team if he goes there. C'mon please?" Enzo took her arm in his hands shaking it. When pleading didn't help, he went to bribery. "I'll pay for your laundry for the next month."

"You mean Mom will." Theo watched Enzo huff and attempt to think of a new bribe. Defeat only just crossed his face before Y/n laughed. "Whatever. Just get out. This room is barely enough room for two, let alone four."

Theo's pulse skyrocketed at the thought of being alone with her. It was bad enough being together in a group.

Once Enzo and Blaise left, I shut the door. "Ten bucks they leave with dates."

"Twenty they leave with a bunch of numbers and dates." Theodore grunted back, moving to her side to watch out the window. He groaned as he sidled up next to her, holding his side. The guys had left in no time, hands free of anything except a girl each. He huffed before struggling for his wallet and fishing out some cash.

"First come, first serve in this house," I giggled, taking the cash.

It always started like this. We joked. Everything was calm... Then eventually, one of us said something stupid. It would seem now he was opting out for silence. Theodore must've been really hurt, then.

With a sigh, I found the kit, washed my hands, and sat next to him on my bed, really taking a look at him for the first time since he had entered. I had to hold in a gasp. There were multiple wounds from his eyebrows to where his skin disappeared below his jersey. I could only imagine what lie beneath it if he had been battered by cleats.

I started with the biggest problem, a nasty gash that sat in the middle of his brow bone, clearly cleaned up prior to his arrival. There was still a small piece of paper towel stuck to it.

I silently shook my head before peeling off the paper towel. Theodore hissed, flinching back before sending me a displeased look. Big baby.

I cleaned the gash, hand on his jaw to keep him from squirming. Another sigh left my body.

"What, Doc? Can't fix me?" Theodore's tone was light, but I could sense something... else there. Tension.

"Not unless you want to be the first person to be stitched up by me." I rooted through the kit, pulling out surgical thread and a needle, watching with barely contained amusement as he leaned away.

"Absolutely not. Don't you have some of that fancy tape? That should work." Then, Theodore started going through the kit, leaving a disorganized mess in his wake. He found the "fancy tape" and held it up proudly.

"That's for after stitches, Theodore," I huffed, grabbing it anyway. I knew he would argue if I didn't. "It won't heal well."

"Better than if you shove that needle through my face, I reckon." He was probably right. I wasn't a nurse or even a woman training to be. My major wasn't even in the medical field. So, silently, I used the tape to close the wound as best as I could before moving on.

Half an hour went by before I awkwardly pointed at his torso. "Are you bruised?"

He laughed, before removing his jersey. "If you wanted to see me shirtless, you could've just asked, Sweetheart."

"If I wanted to see you shirtless, I would have just asked," I scoffed, avoiding his eyes as much as I could. I was curious, and truth be told, his mouth had been extremely tempting while I was inches away from his face.

When I first met Theodore Nott, I knew he was trouble. Thing was, I hadn't cared because in his case, trouble came with a pretty face and charming words.

Then that stupid, childish game happened and now we were here in my bed, doing one of the most unromantic things you could do when a hot guy was in your room shirtless.

His torso was more purple than his normal skin tone, some spots even a little swollen. "God, Theodore. The hell did you say to them?"

"Why do you assume I started it?"

I levelled him a stare, grabbing some gauze. "I don't have half of the things or expertise you really need. I mean, if you're this badly hurt, could they really put you at fault?"

"Doesn't matter to them. An altercation is an altercation. And for the record, they approached me. Not my fault they couldn't handle the loss. Or the... pointers I gave them." Theodore sucked in a breath as I started wrapping his ribs, a soft thud coming from the wall as his head hit it.

"Okay, so you didn't start it but you instigated it? That's not much better," I whispered, for once hoping it would start an argument to distract from the fact of Theodore's bruised abs being right in my face. God, he was so fit.

"Let's talk about something else. I'm too tired to argue." I looked up, raising an eyebrow at him. That's the first. "Dean Thomas. Chemistry, really?"

I let my hands get less than gentle as I taped off the gauze. He swatted my hands away.

"None of your business. You're done, anyway. Unless there's something else you need fixed?" My eyes ran over his exposed skin, double checking for anymore injuries.

Theodore laughed a stupid little "gotcha" laugh before shaking his head and tossing a hoodie on. "Nah. Uh, thanks, by the way."

"Thank me by never bringing this," I gestured to his face ", to my house again."

Three weeks later, I was being accosted while walking in-between classes. It had been a peaceful day, with many wins, but it seemed I had gotten to the end of that rope when Theodore Nott came storming up to me.

It was the first time I had seen him since my step-brother had dragged him to my room. Of course, said brother was following sheepishly behind the man, along with Mattheo.

"Look at this!" Theodore half-shouted, pointing at his brow. "So much for your skills."

On his brow, was a pink scar slicing through the middle, where the gash had previously been. I bit my lip to contain the mixture of anger and laughter that began bubbling up to my throat. My face grew warm the longer I stared at him, accompanying the warmth growing in my belly.

"Honestly, I told you that you needed stitches." It was my turn in line and I ordered, turning toward my brother and Mattheo. "Coffee?"

Over their orders, which the barista hesitantly took, Theodore continued on. "I look ridiculous."

"Yes, Theodore, you do look ridiculous shouting at me about something I warned you about. And here I was thinking that you were avoiding altercations." I grabbed the four coffees, rolling my eyes at the barista. She didn't see it, since she was too busy ogling Theodore and his stupid eyebrow.

He, on the other hand, was too busy looking around to see how many people were staring. His tone became more composed.

"Right. Well, fix it."

"Fix it? You just got a free coffee because of it." I regretted saying it the moment the words fled my mouth. And the next ones.

Theodore, Mattheo, and Enzo all looked at me like I grew a head.

"What? Some girls like when guys look all roughed up and scarred. There's like a million romance novels that prove it. That barista seems to be one of them." I pointed toward the coffee stand, completely ignoring the fact that I was also one of them and that the attraction I had toward Theodore was getting harder to fight off.

"Damn, maybe I should get in a fight," Enzo muttered, checking out the girl.

"Your mom would kill you. Now, I have class. Leave me alone."

"Fuck you!" The guy standing in front of Enzo said, glancing between the group. "Maybe if your sister wasn't such a bitch, then-"

Theo couldn't help but knock the dude on his ass. He may not have gotten along with Y/n a lot, but no one got to speak of her that way. Hell, he'd probably lay Enzo out if he tried.

But also, something had changed that day in her room. For him, at least. Even if she had been a tad ill-tempered with him, Theo's mind had wandered so off course when she was up close and personal with him, fixing his face.

He thought about what her lip gloss might have tasted like and what else her hands could have done for him. It was like he had met her for the first time again, and he allowed himself to think about her just how she was. A beautiful, sexy, intelligent woman who had captured his interest with a single glance.

But, she was still Enzo's sister, annoyingly righteous and snippy. Certainly not a bitch, though.

Theo crouched, hovering over the guy's face, "Are you done yet?"

"Not even close, Nott," the man replied before tackling Theo to the ground, throwing and missing, most of, his punches. An insane urge to laugh flooded him then, before landing his own shot on the guy.

That was, until he was being pulled up to his feet. "Fuck, Theo. Why can't you listen?"

It was Enzo, grumbling as he pulled out his phone and put it to his ear. "Look at you mate, you're a bloody mess."

"Don't call her, I'm fine."

"Too late."

"When I said don't bring it to my house, I meant don't ask me to help you again. Not make a house call for my assistance," Y/n said in a way of greeting Theo.

"I tried to tell him not to. He's... stubborn."

"Well, have you tried not getting into fights? That seems like a great start." Y/n sat on the edge of his bed, facing Theo as she picked up his hand and scrutinized it, doing the same to his other hand. Gauging similarities and differences, no doubt. She changed the subject, then. "You think I'll leave with a new number in my phone?"

"From this house? Unlikely," Theo snorted, trying to keep the curiosity out of his voice. "Why, though? What happened to Dean?"

Y/n just sighed, a frequent sound that left her mouth, as she began cleaning his knuckles. He made sure to keep the discomfort from showing this time. It wasn't that bad anyway.

"Let's just say... he failed his chemistry test," she glanced up. "Seems I have you to thank, though."

"For what?"

"For defending me from Austin," she said, a small smile on her face. "He was... grumpy from my disinterest."

Theo scoffed. Grumpy. How she managed to make any part of this situation cute, was unnerving.

"Yeah, well. Only I can be mean to you."

She laughed, a genuine fucking laugh that infiltrated his heart hook, line, and sinker. "Sure, Theodore. We'll go with that."

Theo sighed, watching her apply some ointment before wrapping gauze around his hands. She was so gentle, as if he'd just completely break if she hurt him anymore than necessary.

A comfortable silence filled the air as I finished up with his hands. I left the wound on his face for last, putting off the inevitable. It was difficult having our faces so close together and not really being able to do anything about it. I mean... he didn't like me like that.

I sighed, bringing a wet cloth to his mouth. There wasn't much I could do for the cut, and I told him that.

"You could kiss it better," he said, quickly growing red in the neck. So much for not thinking about kissing him. I didn't think he'd meant to say it, so I hummed, diverting the conversation away from me.

"Actually, I was going to suggest you keep it clean and dry. Better not to go kissing anyone. And don't pick or bite at the scab. So, especially no biters." I dabbed some Vaseline on his lip. "And try to keep it moisturized. Lip balm or petroleum jelly."

Theo nodded, going quiet as I cleaned up a spot that had smudged Vaseline below his lip. I glanced at his blue eyes, focused on something below my face, and I glanced down, finding that my shirt had been pulled a bit, revealing thin, black lace hugging my breasts.

I cleared my throat, standing and fixing my shirt. "I'm, uh, done now. Next time isn't free. I have better things to do than fix you up every time someone pisses you off."

"Like what? Study for a chemistry exam?" Theo walked me to the door, more walking me into the wall, caging me in. "I'm more fun than that."

"You're more trouble than that," I corrected, body stiff so I didn't squirm. He was so close his shirt was brushing against my crossed arms, the soft material beckoning for my fingers to scrunch it up in my fists, pulling him-

"Yet, here you are not getting away." Theo smirked, bringing a hand to my face. I shivered as it trailed my cheek. "Why now? I was starting to think you hated me."

The reminder of why I had been so short with him in the past flooded through my brain, ridding me of any want to touch Theodore.

"I don't hate you. Strong dislike ,though." I pushed against his chest, opening the door.

Theo followed Y/n out, stopping in the living room area of the fraternity house. When she was gone, he slid his hand across the side of his head.

Frustrated, he turned to Enzo and Mattheo. "Okay, why doesn't she like me? I don't get it."

Mattheo snorted before going straight faced. "You serious mate? You made it very clear that you wanted nothing to do with her within six hours of meeting. Of course she hates you."

"What? No I didn't. Pansy said Y/n wasn't interested. I left it at that." Theo shook his head at Enzo who was laughing. "What?"

"Mate, I think you blacked out at one point. You were dared to spin a bottle and snog whoever it landed on and instead of taking a shot instead of kissing her, you took three." Enzo looked between him and Mattheo.

"And told her you wouldn't kiss her if she was the last woman on the planet. She called you a child, Enzo punched you, and the party ended. It wasn't until the next day that everyone realized you were shitfaced," Mattheo said, still laughing. "Guess she didn't get the memo."

"Well, I didn't mean it! I was just pissed she told Pansy I wasn't her type. I'm everyone's type!"

"Oh, you didn't mean it?" Enzo said cocking his head. Theo prepped himself for a fight before Enzo snorted. "Relax. If anyone could get your head on right, it's her. Might do her some good from being shut off in her room all of the time, too."

"Pansy was also lying. Most likely. I mean, it takes forever to learn something personal from Y/n apart from some vague, sarky answer." Theo looked at Enzo, who nodded. He wanted to crawl in a hole. Of fucking course. Pansy had been trying to add him to her roster that whole summer.

"Shit. Fuck. Shit." Theo mumbled, running out of the frat house and looking in every direction before realizing she was gone. Why did she walk so fucking fast?

Disappointed and frustrated, he walked back into the house like a puppy with its tail tucked and ears back, slouching on the couch.

Then he turned to Enzo. "I thought you said some Ilvermorny bloke gave me that shiner."

"Then he said that he wasn't looking for something serious." Pansy droned on about her ex-fling while looking for a new one. I was listening, but I couldn't care less in the moment.

I picked at my borrowed school spirit shirt, a cropped tank that showed so much cleavage that I wasn't sure it could be considered anything but lingerie.

I wasn't even sure why I let her convince me to come to this after-game party. This wasn't my scene, and watching girls fawn over my brother and Theo sounded about as much fun as walking on Legos. They hadn't arrived yet, but I'm sure it would happen.

"What about him?" Pansy asked, gesturing toward Austin.

"If you're into desperate assholes, sure," I mumbled, earning a famous interested look from Pansy. "Theo got into a fight with him because he was shit-talking me."

"Ah, never mind then."

I shifted on my feet, finally deciding to leave. "Pans, I think I'm gonna-"

"Here's some of our crew!" Someone said, throwing their arms around Pansy and me, effectively splashing their drink on me. Great.

"Enzo!" I screeched, brushing him off.

"Oh, relax. I'm sure we can find a replacement shirt. Perhaps one with more coverage." Enzo laughed, scrunching his nose at my top.

"Don't bother, I'm pretty sure she was just about to bail," Pansy said, rolling her eyes and huffing.

"What? No, the party just started. And I want to talk to you, as well," Theo said into my ear, sliding his hand up my arm before beginning to drag me away. I almost missed the pissed look he sent Pansy.

"What? Have I been upgraded to sports injuries?" I awkwardly chuckled, letting him lead me to his room.

"Huh? No. I just want to clear something up."

Theo gestured toward his closet, collapsing on his bed, mumbling something to himself as I sorted through his clothes.

How I went from dreading watching girls flirt with Theo, to being swarmed with his smell because I'd be wearing his clothes in some sort of masochistic cover, I wasn't sure. I didn't want a peace offering. Not like this. So, I didn't grab anything and sighed.

"Can we just talk? I'm just going to leave anyway. There's no point in-"

"Please don't leave," Theo said crossing over to the closet and picking out a jersey. "I want you here."

I sucked in a breath. "Why? I thought-"

"That my past drunk ramblings were true, not just spiteful? I know. But Pansy-"

"Gods, Theodore. I don't want to talk about this." I tried to push past him but he grabbed my shoulder, pushing the clothing into me.

"Well, too bad. We're going to talk about it. Change first." Theo's eyes bore into mine before I surrendered, grabbing a hold of the jersey.

I didn't bother with the bathroom, just turning my back as he walked away. This was just great. I was basically trapped into this and wouldn't put it past Enzo to spill his drink on me on purpose.

I lifted the tank over my head, trying to ignore the little gasp behind me and quickly put the jersey on.

"Well?" I asked, gesturing to the jersey as I stood in front of Theo, leaning against his desk.

His throat bobbed before his rough voice went through the room. "I didn't think this through very well."

"Damn, that bad?" I laughed, shoving down the panic in my chest. Sure, the jersey didn't exactly fit, but I didn't think anyone had expected it to. I jumped when his hands slid along my neck, pulling my hair from the shirt.

"Just the opposite. Too good." Theo's hands didn't move from their spot as he took a big breath.

"Talk, Theodore," I said, focusing on my breathing. His thumb was brushing along my neck, and I didn't feel like making a mistake based off of sudden, over friendliness.

"That night. Everything was going well. Between us, I mean. Then, I was talking to Pansy and she told me you said I wasn't your type. I felt... I don't know. Led on. So I got piss drunk, and said some things that I didn't mean then, nor do I mean now. It wasn't right. And I only realized what happened a few days ago. I'm sorry."

"Well... I mean, she kind of told you the truth. Not the whole of it, but still."

Theo's stomach dropped at her words. He took a step back. "What?"

"I told her that normally you're not my type but that I was willing to put that aside-"

Like a switch was flipped with her words, Theo's mouth smashed against Y/n's, his hands back to caressing her throat.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. "Sorry. You're in my jersey telling me this and that stupid fucking lip gloss was practically begging me to get rid of it."

Y/n chuckled. "That's okay, Theo."

"Fuck, say that again." Theo gruffed, pulling the girl closer. It took her a minute to figure out what he was asking. It wasn't every day that she used his nickname, and he needed to memorize the sound of it.

I decided to just throw caution to the wind a bit, bringing my lips to his ear, a breathy moan filling my voice. "Theo."

"Don't play with me, Y/n. That's mean," Theo whispered, bringing his mouth to hover over mine.

"Who said I was playing?" I asked, my voice just as quiet as I slowly dragged my fingers down his torso to toy with his waistband. "We've wasted enough time. Don't you agree?"

"I don't know... I mean I'm sure they'll be expecting us soon." Theo looked torn between me and leaving the room.

"Listen, I'll respect if you don't want to, Theo. But being close quarters those days together, and thinking I shouldn't do anything about it... It was frustrating."

"I know. It was for me too. I can't tell you how much time I spent with my fucking hand. Ridiculous, really." That was enough to send a fiery, rampage of hormones running through my body.

"Y-you touched yourself to the thought of me?" I asked, breathless as I drew him in impossibly close.

Theo only nodded before he muttered an expletive and captured my mouth back in his. My hands cradled his face as he drove me against the desk, shoving his knee between my legs. Moans slipped through my mouth as he rubbed his thigh roughly against my core.

"Sound just as I imagined. So fuckin pretty," he muttered, grabbing my breast from under the jersey. "So soft."

"Theo," I breathed out, tugging at his shirt to get it off. "Need you, now."

"Impatient little thing, aren't you?" he asked, shedding all of his clothes. My hands reached to do the same, but after my shorts and panties hit the floor, he snatched up my hand before I could get rid of the jersey.

"Keep that on, will you? Wanna fuck you while you sport my name. Then let everyone know who you belong to afterward," he said, turning me around, and tracing along the letters on my back.

I'd be lying if I said a new wave of arousal didn't make its way through me, finding the obvious possessiveness Theo was exerting to be a turn on.

"This okay?" Theo whispered, lining up with me. His tip lightly pressed against my entrance, teasingly testing the waters.

"Y-yes, Theo." My breath was coming out heavy and staggered and my nails were digging into the desk in anticipation, seconds feeling like minutes and I waited for him to fill me up. "Theo, Baby. Please-"

Her words turned into choked moans as he pushed half of his cock into her.

Fuck, she was so wet and tight. Theo grunted as she chased after him, silently begging for more. He brought his hand to her ass, rubbing before smacking the flesh. Y/n whined, and Theo grew impossibly harder inside of her.

"Baby, be patient." Still, Theo pushed the rest of the way, eating up the lewd noises from the girl he'd been silently harboring feelings for. He'd almost convinced himself his feelings weren't real until that night in her room. Now look at him. Filling her up. Grabbing a fistful of her hair to yank her head back.

"Fuck," Theo groaned against my neck. "Your greedy little cunt is squeezing me so good. You wanted me that bad, huh?"

"Says the one who's rock hard and buried inside of me," I somehow managed to mumble before he thrust hard into me.

Theo tutted, apparently not amused by my response, and pushed my chest into the desk surface. The surface was cold, seeping through the jersey with no problem. It was a nice contrast to the heat that radiated between Theo and me.

"Fuck, I could get used to this. Bent over my desk like a little fucking whore," Theo grunted. Every few words were backed up by a thrust, and each thrust was met with a moan.

I wasn't sure what I expected from Theo, but I certainly wasn't going to complain about my predicament. My body was a fire, and he was the fuel, each thrust inside of me building up the inferno that originated in my belly. I needed more.

"Theo..." I whined, digging my nails harder into the desk.

"What, Love? You wanna come?" Theo asked, already snaking his hand around my hip. "I got you."

His assurance was soft, contrasting with the forceful ministrations he was wreaking my body with, as was the finger that began circling my clit with a nearly featherlight touch.

I was nowhere and everywhere when I came hard around Theo, my moans and whines filling the air as my body filled with static, electricity seemingly running along my nerves and lighting them on fire.

I was in bliss, as I faintly heard Theo come on my ass, muttering a string of mostly incoherent curses.

As I came down from my sex induced high, More and more started filtering through to my conscious.

The staggered sounds of being out of breath from the two of us, the thundering music barely muffled by the bedroom door. A faint knocking.

Theo, somehow already put back together, smirked at me as he helped me back into my clothes, squeezing my ass through my shorts and giving me a chaste kiss.

He crossed the room and opened the door. Mattheo appeared as if he was about to knock again. He let his hand fall as he looked us over before shaking his head.

"You're lucky I managed to check on you, and not Enzo. Otherwise you'd be fixing him again," he said, gesturing towards Theo's face. "Nice chat, then?"

"The best," Theo smirked again, grabbing my hand and pulling me over to smooth down some of my hair. I felt my face flush from Theo's insinuation, and turned my face away.

"Yeah whatever, just hurry up, will you? I'm not saving your ass again.

HP Masterlist

[mixelation]

Itachi's rep.... this got away from me but im hitting send anyway.

If you never talked to him or been in close vicinity: cold & stoic but with a soft side... have you seen him interact with his little brother? kyaaa too cute!!! (top 5 love interest for in-village tween rpf. features in stabbyninjakittygirl au fics (lol))

You talked to him/been in his vicinity exactly Once: he's quiet, intense, focused. on the verge of too intense and blunt but incredibly dreamy... imagine all that attention on you? in-village rpf writers in this once dream of him kabedonning them.

You talk or are in his vicinity Rarely: you have the not so grudging suspicion that he is judging you, but you forget because he is soo pretty and dreamy and strong and cool so everything he says has a layer of shoujo sparkles over it. what if you sparred together and he catches you in some hot pinning move... or you run into him on a mission somewhere and its raining and theres only one bed...

You talk to him Sometimes: hey is it just you or is he actually a dick who doesnt think you're capable of reasonable thought? if you dont know anyone else who interacts with him- yeah its literally just you and you are misinterpreting his mysterious ways!!! you wake up from dreams where he's staring dispassionately at you like a disappointing lab specimen. you're not sure if its a sexy dream or a nightmare.

You have to work with him Occasionally: oh ok he is actually mean and brutal. at least he's scarily competent and pretty...? you join a support group at the bar of others like you and occasionally wake up from a nightmare with the impression of his judgemental gaze and the bonedeep knowledge that you will never be good enough

You are on his ANBU Team: he is so scary and mean and doesn't believe you about physical limitations. there is definitely something wrong with him & no one will do anything about it bc he's too good a ninja. your only solace is that at least you're not the unlucky fool who's on the enemy on this mission. you will have nightmares about him for decades about things he's off handedly implied

You Know him: a loser in all things not shinobi. He's got no social skills, no rizz, can't cook for shit, literally squinting all the time bc he wont wear his glasses. he doesn't know how to be nice execpt maybe to sasuke and thats... questionable. he genjutsu's his way out of regular social interactions. you and a very small group of select others suffer the truth alone: he's not even particularly good looking.

THAT LAST LINE IM CRYINGGGGGGG

this is like 92% what my meta would have been (will be?) TBH. i want some more subtlety with people who have to work with him because i do think that, even if he's a mean dick about it, an itachi who's not actively trying to be a missing-nin would probably like.... adhere to a select handful of philosophies that would be really valuable in a captain, esp in ANBU. like itachi is not leaving you behind to save the mission; he's just going to save the mission. he's a dick but he's not going to entertain unprofessional/petty behavior on his missions so he's surprisingly good about preventing hazing and bullying and stress-induced conflict between team members (even if he is uh. VERY likely to make you feel stupid for just existing). so i think working with him once is like "wow, that was intense"; working with him a handful of times is like "so that was unspeakably horrible" and working with him more often is like "actually fine and great for your CV, just keep these two hundreds things in mind....."

[marixrose]

MC breaks up with the brothers

I changed their colors to they’re real ones, I guess I’ve been getting confused with their hair colors instead lol

Lucifer

He doesn’t argue. Not right away. He listens, straight-backed and composed—like always. You can’t even tell if he feels anything.

“I understand. If this is what you want… then I won’t stop you.”

But the moment you’re gone, the walls come down.

He locks himself in his study. Cancels every meeting. Music plays softly from his phonograph as he sits in the dark, fingers clenched around a forgotten glass of demonus.

“I would’ve given you everything… and still, it wasn’t enough.”

He won’t chase you. But he’ll keep the pact mark.

He can’t erase you—not yet.

Mammon

“Wha—W-Wait, hold on. You’re jokin’, right?”

He laughs. It sounds forced.

You’re serious.

“No… no, ya can’t just walk out like this! I’m your first, your ride or die—!”

His voice cracks. His hands reach for yours, then drop when you don’t take them.

“Tell me what I did wrong. I can fix it. I promise, just—don’t leave me.”

When you’re gone, he cries. Hard. Alone.

And for days after, he waits by the door, hoping you’ll walk back in and say you didn’t mean it.

Leviathan

Instant Spiral Into Worthlessness

Levi freezes. Then his whole body sags.

Of course. Of course.

“I knew it. I’m just a shut-in loser. You finally realized.”

His voice is hollow. His eyes go glassy. He doesn’t yell—he shuts down.

“You deserve someone normal. Someone who can take you on real dates. Not… not someone like me.”

You try to explain that it’s not his fault, but he’s already retreating into his room, the door sealing shut behind him.

“Don’t worry. You won’t have to deal with me again. I’ll delete your contact from my D.D.D. Just… take Henry 2.0 with you. I don’t deserve him either.”

Satan

He stays eerily calm as you say the words.

“I see.”

He nods. Too calm. Too smooth.

He asks no questions, makes no accusations.

“I hope whoever you choose next… knows how lucky they are.”

You leave thinking he’s okay.

But that night, every book in his room is torn from its shelf. The pages of your favorite one? Burned.

And in the aftermath, he sits among the wreckage, knees pulled to his chest, whispering your name.

“Was it ever real for you…? Or was I just your favorite chapter?”

Asmodeus

Asmo laughs when you say it. A high, painful sound.

“Darling, please… you’re just tired, right? We’ll talk again tomorrow, and—”

“No,” you whisper. “I’ve already decided.”

“O-Oh… okay.”

He doesn’t beg. He smiles. Nods. Blows you a kiss with trembling fingers.

“Then I guess this is goodbye~ I hope you’re happy.”

You leave. He closes the door.

And then he screams.

The mirror cracks. Lipstick stains his pillow as he cries into it, whispering every pet name he ever called you.

“You promised you loved me. Why wasn’t I enough…?”

Beelzebub

You can barely say it. He’s so sweet. So kind.

“You’re breaking up with me?”

His voice is small. Confused. He doesn’t understand.

You nod. You don’t have a good reason. Or at least, not one you want to say aloud.

He just stands there. Eyes wide.

Then he lowers his head.

“…Okay.”

He doesn’t try to stop you.

But when you’re gone, he skips meals. Stops training. His strength fades. He barely talks.

“Food doesn’t taste the same without them.”

Belphegor

He laughs. Scoffs.

“Oh, you’re serious? Wow. You got bored of me that fast?”

You try to explain. But he’s already snapping back:

“It’s fine. I knew it would happen. I mean, come on—who stays with a demon who killed them?”

You flinch. He sees it. And suddenly he’s quiet.

“Sorry. That’s not what I wanted to say…”

His voice softens.

“I’ll miss waking up next to you. But if leaving me helps you sleep better… then go.”

And when you’re gone, he crawls into the attic alone, clutches your pillow, and sleeps for two days straight. Dreaming of you.

[msnihilist]

Idea for a fic I just had, sharing it because I will probably never write it:

CH.1

During "Lost in Fairy World," Hazel and Dev stumble upon Timmy's old Chosen One statue, of himself holding the White Wand. Hazel is intrigued to see a statue of a human in Fairy World, and wonders if he was a godchild, like them. Dev doesn't really care, and is exceedingly jealous of whatever this human did to get himself memorialized this way.

When Cosmo, Wanda, and Peri catch up with the kids, Hazel asks about the statue. (She's already got her own amazing story written in her head, lol.) Dev says something to the effect of, "What did this loser do to get a statue of himself?"

Peri immediately takes offense to that, snapping that Dev isn't allowed to call him a loser. "Well, why not? What's so great about him?" "He's my brother."

Wanda and Cosmo are very uncomfortable with this conversation and visibly saddened. But they tell an abridged version of the story since the kids are curious and Peri didn't really remember it all, since he was a baby at the time.

Through the story, Wanda and Cosmo get caught up reminiscing, getting stuck on the funny little details and wishfully recounting their misadventures with Timmy. It's clear that they love him very much. (Hazel isn't jealous. She isn't.)

Hazel asks where Timmy is now and doesn't get an answer. After the five of them get back to Earth, Cosmo and Wanda retire early for the night and Peri is quiet with Dev, too.

CH.2

Dev thinks that they should track this "Timmy Turner" down. (He wants to prove that he's better than this guy, but doesn't want to admit to himself why he wants Peri's love/attention like that.) Hazel thinks they should leave well-enough alone, because talking about Timmy made their fairies so sad. (Sad like how she gets sad about Antony, but at least she can call her brother. None of the fairies spoke about Timmy in the present tense.)

Dev convinces her by saying that it'll make them happy if they can reunite the fairies with Timmy. Hazel reluctantly agrees.

It's pretty easy to track Timmy down. Turns out that he lives in the city, and his buckteeth are the same as they are on the statue. Dev and Hazel immediately clock him. They come up with an excuse to talk to Timmy by stealing his wallet and then "kindly" returning it to him. After which, Hazel insistently talks about anything and everything to Timmy, because what's he gonna do? Tell two kids to fuck off?? No, he's a polite adult and he endures this weird interaction.

Except Hazel and Dev then keep following Timmy around, learning his schedule so they can keep talking to him. Hazel needles little details about Timmy's life out of him, and realizes that he's lonely and clearly missing something. This makes her determined to reunite him with Cosmo and Wanda (even though a part of her desperately doesn't want to share). Dev is still convinced that Timmy is a loser. He speculates that there's no way this guy saved the planet, and Cosmo and Wanda were probably just talking him up.

Either way, Hazel slowly forces Timmy to be friends with her. He is an adult, so he's slow to admit that he's lonely enough to be friends with a ten-year-old, but Hazel reminds him of a kind girl he used to be friends with as a kid wears him down and he grows to tolerate and then even enjoy running into her around the city.

CH.3

Hazel eventually arranges for Timmy to meet her at the fountain, and also asks Cosmo and Wanda to be there in their human forms. She's super excited for them to finally meet again!! (Dev doesn't tell Peri about this — he doesn't want to admit that he's worried it will go too well if they do meet up again.)

Except that when Timmy arrives, Cosmo and Wanda aren't happy to see him. They look completely devastated. Timmy greets Hazel and awkwardly introduces himself to Cosmo and Wanda. Cosmo bursts into tears and flees. Wanda sticks around long enough to mumble an excuse and then also leaves. Timmy is confused, and Hazel doesn't know what she did wrong.

When she finds Cosmo and Wanda, they confess that they have been keeping an eye on Timmy. How could they not, you know? But it hurt too much to see him living his own life, doing fine without them. They started godparenting Hazel in part to have a distraction, so that they aren't thinking about Timmy and aren't watching him. Seeing him in person brought those ten-thousand years of hurt to the surface.

They also explain to Hazel that Timmy doesn't remember them at all, and that's the worst part — that all of the love they had for each other ended up meaning nothing at all, that they got too close to a godkid and paid the price and there's nothing they can do about it.

Hazel is crushed, but also not giving up. She tells them that Timmy does need them, he's an adult but his life is still empty. No one ever really stops needing their parents.

Wanda, tearfully, says, "But we're not his parents." That's the reality of their situation, and they have to face it no matter how much it hurts.

CH.4

Her plan a bust, Hazel leaves Wanda and Cosmo alone and goes to talk to Dev about what happened. She wonders how awful Peri must feel, sympathizing that she wouldn't know what to do with herself if she just woke up one day and Antony didn't remember her.

Dev (who is getting really fed up with hearing about Timmy) can't and refuses to empathize. He says that he's always been fine as an only child, and if he's supposed to be a "distraction" for Peri, then the least he could do is act like Dev is a priority instead of moping about someone who doesn't even care about him all day.

Hazel asks where all of this is coming from, Dev sneers that Peri hasn't been the same since they visited the statue. Peri doesn't talk about it, but it's clearly about Timmy. Hazel tells him that Peri is obviously hurting, and Dev snaps that he's hurting, too, and Peri should be doing his job. (Why do people only care about him when its their job?)

Hazel simply asks Dev why he's hurting, and Dev freezes. He doesn't really know how to articulate all of his upset and anger, and that forces him to pause and quiet himself. He then admits to Hazel that everyone is so obsessed with Timmy, even she's been hanging out with that loser more than him. And Dev just. Misses them. Wants attention. He wonders if anyone will care about him if he were to disappear, the way that the fairies care about Timmy.

Hazel assures him that she would care. She'd cry over him for 10,000 years at least! Which makes Dev giggle, even though he's still trying to be upset. Still, Hazel apologizes. She was trying to make everyone happy, and she didn't realize that she was failing him. Dev brushes her apology off, saying, "It's not your job to make me happy — it's Peri's. He's just been slacking."

Hazel also admits that she's jealous of Timmy, too. She feels bad for being jealous, but that doesn't mean that she's not. She knows that Cosmo and Wanda love her, but she also knows that she'll never replace Timmy for them.

The fairies finally reveal that they were listening the whole time. (After they left, Cosmo and Wanda went to Peri to tell him about what Hazel and Dev were doing behind their backs. Peri is at first upset that Dev kept Timmy a secret from him, but also acknowledges that he isn't really surprised. Dev is a complicated, hurt kid, and he needs more than what Peri has been giving him, especially lately.)

Cosmo assures Hazel that she can't replace Timmy, but no one could replace her, either. She's wonderful all on her own, and Cosmo and Wanda adore her — they wouldn't want her any other way.

Peri apologizes to Dev for not doing his job. Dev awkwardly accepts, then tells Peri that his job is to grant wishes, not "care" about Dev. Peri teases him by saying, "If that was my job, I would be working over-time." He says that Dev isn't a "distraction," at all, and that if Peri didn't want to be with him, he could leave at any time. Reaffirming that he's here because he wants to be spurs Dev into hugging Peri, albeit only briefly.

With all of the apologies and hugs out of the way, Dev asks to see Da Rules. He flips to the section about losing your fairies and says, "It says here that a godchild must lose memories of their fairies and all things magic... But it doesn't say that another godchild couldn't wish those memories back."

The fic ends with Timmy at the fountain again. Hazel approaches with Dev, and the fairies in their human forms. She asks Timmy if he remembers the three of them. Timmy confesses that he doesn't. Hazel grins: "I wish that you did."

Fin