#how they're yearning to be closer to each other
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herbarimoon · 11 months ago
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And all I ever do is soak through you
(Alex G - Soaker)
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urfriendlywriter · 2 years ago
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How to write smut ?
(@urfriendlywriter | req by @rbsstuff @yourlocalmerchgirl anyone under the appropriate age, please proceed with caution :') hope this helps guys! )
writing smut depends on each person's writing style but i think there's something so gut-wrenchingly beautiful about smut when it's not very graphic and vivid. like., would this turn on a reader more?
"he kissed her, pulling her body closer to him."
or this?
"His lips felt so familiar it hurt her heart. His breathing had become more strained; his muscles tensed. She let herself sink into his embrace as his hands flattened against her spine. He drew her closer."
(Before proceeding further, these are all "in my opinion" what I think would make it better. Apply parts of the advice you like and neglect the aspects you do not agree with it. Once again I'm not saying you have to follow a certain type of style to write smut! Creative freedom exists for a reason!)
One may like either the top or the bottom one better, but it totally depends on your writing to make it work. Neither is bad, but the second example is more flattering, talking literally. (Here is me an year after writing this post, i think, either is amazing, depending on the context. the type of book you're writing, your writing style and preferences!)
express one's sensory feelings, and the readers will automatically know what's happening.
writing, "her walls clenched against him, her breath hitching with his every thrust" is better than writing, "she was about to cum".
(edit: once again, hi, it's me. Either is amazing depending on ur writing style. Everything at the end is about taste.)
here are some vocabulary you can introduce in your writing:
whimpered, whispered, breathed lightly, stuttered, groaned, grunted, yearned, whined, ached, clenched, coaxed, cried out, heaved, hissed
shivering, shuddering, curling up against one's body, squirming, squirting, touching, teasing, taunting, guiding, kneeling, begging, pining, pinching, grinding,
swallowing, panting, sucking in a sharp breath, thrusting, moving gently, gripped, biting, quivering,
nibbling, tugging, pressing, licking, flicking, sucking, panting, gritting, exhaling in short breaths,
wet kisses, brushing soft kisses across their body (yk where), licking, sucking, teasing, tracing, tickling, bucking hips, forcing one on their knees
holding hips, guiding the one on top, moving aimlessly, mindlessly, sounds they make turn insanely beautiful, sinful to listen to
some adverbs to use: desperately, hurriedly, knowingly, teasingly, tauntingly, aimlessly, shamelessly, breathlessly, passionately, delicately, hungrily
he sighed with pleasure
her skin flushed
he shuddered when her body moved against his
he planted kisses along her jawline
her lips turned red, messy, kissed and flushed.
his hands were on his hair, pulling him.
light touches traveled down his back
words were coiled at his throat, coming out as broken sobs, wanting more
he arched his back, his breath quivering
her legs parted, sinking into the other's body, encircling around their waist.
+ mention the position, how they're being moved around---are they face down, kneeling, or standing, or on top or on bottom--it's really helpful to give a clear picture.
+ use lustful talk, slow seduction, teasing touches, erratic breathing, give the readers all while also giving them nothing. make them yearn but DO NOT PROLONG IT.
sources to refer to for more:
gesture that gets me on my knees !!
(more to comeee, check out my hot or kisses prompts on my master list!)
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lovelyhan · 25 days ago
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— 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.
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PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE
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★ 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
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.”
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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
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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. 
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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.
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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.”
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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.
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PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE
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⟢ 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.
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twilightkitkat · 8 months ago
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Poolverine but they dress up as each other for Halloween. I'm not just talking about swapping costumes—they go all in. They get those facial prosthetics to get each other's skin textures right, Wade goes in with makeup for detailing, and Wade wears a bodysuit while Logan wears slight platform shoes and shapewear to roughly match their builds.
They put on each other's suits and make sure the proportions are as accurate as possible. Wade even goes as far as to call in a few favors to get voice-changing abilities.
Then, Halloween, they pretend to be each other. They try to match each other's personalities and mannerisms and see if anyone can notice.
At first, you'd think it'd be obvious that they switched. But here's the thing: they know each other. Wade knows how Logan moves and talks and acts and fights. Logan knows how to predict Wade's moods and reactions and decisions. They're incredibly self-aware and in sync.
They both show up to their friend's Halloween party dressed as each other. The crowd is incredibly large because everyone invited all the people that they know, which includes Vanessa's new friends and the majority of the X-mansion.
The only person who knew off the bat was Laura. There was no hiding it from her with her sense of smell, but they didn't intend to. She was in on the joke and came to watch the shitshow in action.
When asked about their costume, "Wade" says that Deadpool is what all the kids want to dress up as for Halloween, and he was just following the trend! Besides, no need to waste money buying a costume when he has the best one right in his closet. He's the scariest to be, obviously, because Deadpool is such a fearsome name.
Logan matches Wade's pitch immaculately, curling his voice into a whine before going back to talking cheerily as if nothing happened. Nobody bats an eye, classic Wade behavior.
Any slight imperfections are hidden by the flashing lights and relaxed atmosphere and large crowd. It's hard to pick out their friends in a crowd, let alone tell the differences between their carefully crafted copycat plans.
Laura gets closer to "Logan" and asks him how "Wade" has been lately, playing along. He responds with a grunt and an exasperated but fond summary of Wade's newest hyperfixation, acting as if he didn't know any of the terminology for it.
She has to hide a shit-eating grin when some of the people who knew Logan from the X-mansion came up to greet him and ask him how he's been. Plan successful.
"Logan" reaches out and pats a few heads, lingering just long enough to show he cares but pulling away soon enough to avoid deep intimacy. He answers questions with the same gruff tone as the actual Logan, giving just enough information to satisfy their questions.
Miraculously, the night continues and they haven't been caught. This is quite frankly hilarious because the two had done their rounds with each other's friends and acquaintances and apparently knew enough about each other to answer accurately. It's a pretty big feat, and even Laura has to reluctantly admit she's impressed by how well they know each other to pull this off.
The two draw together near the end, bickering as usual and using each other's tactics. Wade has to stifle a giggle at Logan imitating his out to not break character, and Logan has to hold himself back from burying his face in his hands out of embarrassment.
The real challenge is when Vanessa comes in to greet "Wade," with her new boyfriend in tow. Because Logan knows how Wade should act: vaguely uncomfortable and awkward, cagey toward the new guy, with an undertone of yearning and regret.
He knows this, but it stings. It hurts to know that while Wade and him are living together, a part of Wade will always belong to Vanessa. He knows it's irrational and that he's the main person in Wade's life, but the thought of them together makes him feel vaguely nauseous.
But he promised Wade he'd try to do this with him. They'd made bets and everything about who would find out and who wouldn't. He didn't want to ruin his fun.
So Logan grits his teeth and shifts into character, acting a little tense but also relieved to see her. Acting a bit more closed off and tense when the new guy introduces himself, and a little embarrassed to be seen with "Logan." Guilty, almost, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.
But Vanessa's expression isn't remorseful or awkward. Instead, she raises an eyebrow, crosses her arms, and asks him what's wrong. Tells him that something's clearly bothering him and that he knows he can come to her for anything.
Logan becomes confused. What was he doing wrong? Was he not giving her the "puppy dog eyes" convincingly enough? Was he not portraying the bittersweet feeling of seeing "the one who got away" well?
But then she asks him if he and "Logan" were fighting. If something was going wrong in their relationship for him to act so cagey and upset.
...And Logan is baffled. What the hell does them fighting have to do with this?
Until she continues. She tells him that she knows how much "Logan" means to him and that she knows Logan feels the same (it's obvious just in the way he looks at Wade), so she's sure they'll figure it out soon.
She chuckles and shakes her head and says that it's endearing how Wade constantly talks about Logan as if he's the only topic in the world. That she's glad he's happy and that she remembered him asking to meet her boyfriend at some point so he could "rate her taste." She pats his shoulder, placatingly, and tells him that she's always there to talk if anything happens. Then she leaves.
And oh.
Logan thought he had Wade's personality down to a science, that he knew almost everything about him. His thoughts, his feelings, his relationships. ...But apparently, he was wrong for once.
Then he takes a second to stand there and analyze his interactions with Wade. And he realizes that she was right. That Wade glancing constantly back at him when Vanessa was there wasn't awkward pining for his ex, but just Wade wanting to look at Logan.
Now that he thinks about it, Wade doesn't just do that around Vanessa. He did it around almost everyone. He'd intermittently glance at Logan with what he assumed to be embarrassment over him, but now he realizes it was endearment. Awe. Bashfulness and slight pride over getting to introduce Logan to his friends instead of being ashamed of him.
And Logan realized that maybe he didn't know everything about Wade. That maybe, some of his assumptions were based more on his own experiences and past rather than the present. That he let his jealousy and insecurity and anxiety cloud his interpretation until it became foggy, creating the same rough shape but without the structure.
...And Logan smiles, under the mask. A warm, incredulous thing. That Wade spent most of his time with Vanessa talking about him. That it was so obvious Wade loved him that everyone commented on it. He'd never had someone be proud of belonging to him before, showing him off like he was something worth coveting. It felt nice.
Eventually, he rejoined "Logan's" side. He sidled up to him and threw an arm around his shoulder, throwing out a flirty comment and cuddling closer. "Logan" let him, letting his shoulder slump and wrapping an arm around him in return.
"Wade" stared at "Logan," watching his expressions shift and the curve of his lips as they moved. He let the adoration and wonder swell up in him, seeing how accurately Wade played the part.
It was obvious that he was staring, but nobody batted an eye. They all accepted it as normal, as if it was perfectly in character for Wade to stare at Logan with full focus even while people flitted and talked around them.
When Logan leaned in to kiss Wade's shoulder, nobody said anything.
(They manage to make it through the night without anyone calling them out on their impersonation. When they reveal it the next day, everyone is shocked. It was so realistic that they couldn't even tell.
Well, almost everyone is shocked. Laura rolls her eyes and Vanessa hides a knowing smile behind the rim of her coffee cup.)
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felibrary · 1 year ago
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wish you were sober
synopsis: in which you drunkenly confess to aventurine and he doesn’t believe you, rather believing that he’s not worthy, less even deserving of your love. despite that, his insecurity, you're under the belief that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. love - something that you want to introduce to him and show him “what it means to love you.”
pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 2.3k (i’ve gone insane) | content & warnings: hurt/comfort, alcohol; they're both drunk, insecure aventurine, unestablished relationship, they label themself as friends but reader barely knows anything abt him LMFAO, dual pov, DO YALL GET THE REFERENCE IN THE SYNOPSIS LMFAO??, rushed ending icl, half assed-ly proofread; oneshot
a/n: yesterday i listened to wish you were sober by conan gray and was like “damn.. this’d fit sunday” but then i asked azul what he thinks cause i couldn’t decide between su**day and <aventurine3. and they replied with that it’d be so much more angsty with aventurine (okay not quote on quote but you get the msg) and i dislike su**ay anyway!! so boom! (y’all are still getting another sunday fic..yay..ig.....)
tags: beloved @azullumi <3 and @cherieiu (stop punching me)
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“i love you.” 
your confession doesn't come over as surprising for aventurine, he anticipated it. just like how the ebb awaits the flood, yearning for it but disappearing as soon as it arrives. missing out on each other for just a split second, as the other party sweeps and slips away from the grasp of the other. nevertheless aventurine is glued to his seat on the rich sofa. 
colorful poker chips are splattered around the rich mahogany floor tiles, bottles of vodka and wine, some already with their cork removed and empty, others who haven't even been opened yet. a chandelier adorning the ceiling of the big room, its lightbulbs glowing dimly in the caliginous room, illuminating it.
one of the lamps flickers while the others continue to shine brightly - too brightly aventurine thinks, if he were to watch them any longer he’d feel like melting. the closer he got to you the sun, the deeper he'd fall into the bottomless pit he managed to crawl out of.
the room reeks of alcohol. is the temperature rising? he feels like every time the last number on the digital clock changes the warmer it gets. his blond bangs stick to his forehead and beads of sweat are running down his flushed cheeks - that answers his question.
it’s hot - humid even. he's not sure if he's able to bear the heat in this narrow atmosphere any longer. he tries to blow the sweat away by waving at his face with his hand, trying to cool off his face - a futile attempt. god, what's this a/c even good for, if it can't do it's damn job.
he opens his mouth with the intent of wanting to say that you're lying, that you shouldn't say stuff like that when you're drunk and that you'll regret later. but he doesn't, he refrains from doing so. instead he gulps down the words immediately, letter for letter. they're a bitter pillow to swallow. flowing down his throat like the wavering water running down a stream - intoxicating, similar to the alcoholic liquid you've downed.
the blond looks at you through half lidded eyes. you lift yourself off the ground, he takes notice that you have a hard time doing so, legs slightly trembling as you remove them from the floor tiles. (you've always been a lightweight he thinks)
as you make your way over to him, standing up and wanting to sit yourself next to him on the large black leather sofa. you clumsily bump against one of the almost empty shot glasses that still lies on the floor. tripping over the small glass as your foot comes in contact with it. the glass that still contained some of the red wine you've poured in, not too long ago, tumbles as easily as a domino tile, falling upon the smallest touch. making the flimsy piece immediately meet the ground.
it breaks into a few sharp shards and the remaining alcohol starts seeping out of it, staining your once white socks with crimson colored alcohol. “ah m’sorry!” you mumble as you quickly bend down to gingerly pick up the fragments, placing them in the palm of your hand carefully, so that they won't cut you and leave slits.
aventurine takes another peek at you as you tidy up. your face is flushed, your cheeks tinted in a bright red and you let out incoherent sorrys, blabbering incomplete phrases. he wants to tell you that it's alright. that he feels the same and reciprocates yours feelings, that you don't have to apologize and he'll help you.
but he freezes.
the words that he wants to tell you, the ones he's been longing to say don't leave his mouth. neither does he move. instead he coughs, continuing to watch you while you clean up. a tissue has found its way into your right hand, helping you soak up the alcohol. (its his hand that should be intertwined with yours, not the tissue)
his throat hurts. 
(he's not in the right mindspace to acknowledge if it's because of you - the unsaid words that he didn't reveal to you yet or because of the alcohol.) 
it's dry and lacks any kind of refreshing liquid that'd quench the drought that occurs in his throat. he contemplates, thinking about the choices he has. swallowing down his own spit isn't worth it, it makes his throat burn even more.
he comes to the decision to pour himself another glass of alcohol. (debatably his worst decision until now.)
twirling the almost translucent liquid in his glass, before fully gulping it down in one go. a bit of the alcohol escapes the depths of his mouth, running down his chin and messily staining his porcelain-like skin. 
he doesn't like the bitter taste, he can't seem to befriend himself with it. (neither can he befriend him with himself) although it's not the worst, he's just not able to find a reason to like it. after all, after a single sip it starts to sting as it enters his mouth.
the scent isn't great either, it smells strong, too strong for his liking, a scent that reeks of cleaning detergent and not to mention, it prickles on his tongue and burns as it slides down his throat when it makes its way into his blood. but there's one thing aventurine can't deny: it's efficiency.
it fulfills its purpose well making him lightheaded and dizzy, to the point of forgetting everything.
all sounds are drowned out. even the lame pop songs playlist you turned on because you insisted that “it'll set the right mood” is barely audible for him now. his ears hurt hellish, he wants to put his hands over his ears to escape the white noise. the sound that plays in his ears is similar to the one of when an airplane starts boarding - an unpleasant noise.
the only sound that remains for aventurine’s slightly drunk state is your voice. it echoes through his ears. your drunk confession playing over and over in his mind like a broken record, anticipating the day it'll be fixed, so the misery it is in ceases. 
his sloppy and sluggish movements - the way his hands tremble as he pours himself another glass, the nervousness that forms inside his body and the blush that spreads as quickly as a wildfire on his cheeks - they're tormenting him, and he blames none other than the alcohol for it. 
“a drunk mind speaks a sober heart, drunk words are sober thoughts, when you're drunk you reveal your true desires” his ass. the both of you are just friends. friends that are acquainted through work, nothing more, nothing less. aventurine couldn't bear to lose his only friend, after all he's already lost everything.
(anything he'd never want to lose will eventually be lost. it is as if fate had decided that everything that is worth wanting, everything that he wants to have and keep, will be lost the moment he gets his fingers on it. to aventurine there’s nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life that is full of anguish.)
his father whom he never got to meet, his mother and sister whom he was forced to leave behind and kakavasha, his younger self. all will be lost - everything was lost. if he wasn't careful now, one slip up on the thin ice or feet accidentally trampling over the floor full of eggshells, he'd not only lose himself in the process, but you too. his one and only friend.
crossing this line he set for himself, as he drew it along the earthy ground with his calloused fingers, trembling as they traced over the mud.
walking past the border that was created to keep everything and everyone distant from him, as he stood on the other side turning his back from the world, walking away and waving, to bid his goodbye from them.
the wall he built around him to shield him from the world, protecting everyone from the ugly thing that was kept inside , protecting himself from the people that only want to torment him.
forgetting all of these things, leaving them behind for you would mean showing you who he really was. a frail human being that hides himself behind a mask. the theater curtains revealing the person who played the role of the man who had called himself aventurine for the past years. placing him in the spotlight and giving the audience a show they'll never forget, like the fool he is. 
aventurine doesn't think that he is loveable, that he's undeserving of love - your love.
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you think that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. providing him with said love, embracing him and showing him how pure love can be. 
the blond caught your eye right away. he was charming, funny and handsome. aventurine turned into your little work crush, your motivation to convince yourself just to see him.
the road was rocky and full of obstacles, set up by none other than aventurine. it gave you a better perception of who he really was and it intrigued you even more. why does he hide himself away from the world? why does he convince himself to not get anyone close to him even though he longs for the touch of another person? who is aventurine, really?
you can't answer any of these questions and neither are you certain if aventurine really can but that doesn't stop you. you continue to climb up all the way to know who he is, who the person you fell in love with really is. 
love, is weird isn't it? it comes in all different shapes and forms.
if someone were to ask you why you like him, you wouldn't know how to answer, because neither do you know.
but nevertheless you still like him. why? how come you like someone that you don't even know, someone that is foreign to you, almost like a stranger. even though the both of you label yourself as “friends.”
you're not sure what the color is that infuses his irises, he keeps them hidden beneath his glasses. despite that, you long to stare into his eyes and let all the plain and dull parts of your life get painted in the same colors of his hues. a color that brings you comfort and cures your sorrow. it's the hues that you want to stare at as you tuck a golden strand of hair behind his ear, in return he grants you a small but genuine smile.
a smile that you want to see more often, one that you want to keep for yourself. 
as for his scent, every person has their own unique and special scent. you plead to the gods above that he’ll let you bury your head into the crook of his neck and absorb his smell so it becomes the only scent that lingers around your nose. 
there are so many more things that you want to know about him but you're unaware of. one might say that you're odd for liking - no, loving someone that you barely know.
a stranger, a foreign person whom you know little about to almost nothing about, is the person that you love. absurd isn't it? but love is weird, love can be pure and ridiculous, but it can also be painful and heart wrenching. love is a feeling that not only brings joy to oneself but also causes pain. but it's a feeling that you never want to get rid of - not until you introduced aventurine to it. showing him what love has to offer and has in store.
in the iridescent light aventurine remains to look as ethereal as ever. a scent of vodka lingers around aventurines figure, the smell is strong, but you couldn't care less. his hair is disheveled but nevertheless continues to shine in the dazzling light. he lets out a tiring yawn and you couldn't imagine aventurine any more beautiful than in this moment.
vulnerable and for your eyes only. making it unable for you to tear your gaze away from the sight before you. 
he's like a shooting star, if you don't continue to watch and follow it and blink, even if it's just for a single moment - it's all over and you'll never see it again. 
“stop looking at me like that.” aventurine mumbles quietly, almost whispering. upon hearing that, you make your way over to him, glass shards long forgotten as you place them on the small coffee table in front of the sofa.
your arms reach out to aventurine, clutching your hands on his shoulders. your grip is sluggish but you don't falter and continue to hold him. “like what?” your lips are slightly parted and your gaze is drowsy as you counter aventurine's question with a question of your own.
“like that.” he placed the hand that just rested on his thigh, on your cheek, slightly caressing it. “you're just gonna hurt the both of us if you keep this up any longer.” he's not sure where the boldness came from, he blames it on the alcohol once again; it finally seemed to kick in.  
“‘m not lying” you hiccup. tomorrow i’ll tell you how much i love you, no matter if it's once” a cough exits your throat “or a hundred times.” the words that leave your mouth are slurred, they're incoherent and muddled up. your grip on his shoulder weakens, hands slipping off and head falling against his chest.
..did you seriously just black out?
aventurine can only sigh at that. a small smile finds its way onto his face. he snakes his arms around you waist, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck and hugging you with the remaining power he had left before falling asleep. guess there'll be a lot to unpack tomorrow but for now he allows himself to indulge in this shared moment between the two of you. 
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© VYNICITY 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.
e/n: hope yall enjoyed this as much as i hated writing this!! (i wanted to throw up) i acc hate how i wrote this. it's not as choppy as when i started writing it but it still feels so rushed and so idk.. anyway reblogs with comments are very much appreciated! >< ALSO that one paragraph written in brackets..guess whose speech it was inspired byyyyy (hint: bsd!!)
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puck-luck · 2 months ago
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hi!!! could i order a café latte with peppermint (childhood friends to lovers (if this can be an element? i'm not sure lmao)), and cinnamon (breeding kink) for jhugh86 please? thank youuu and congrats on 1 year!!
hi! so i kept this as a jack x reader fic but just know... in my mind this is stg!jack x lani, his michigan situationship and childhood best friend who he's not sure how to treat anymore. sorry lan!!! (this also takes place when they're both 18, just before jack's rookie year and a month or so before lani goes to college).
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You’ve known Jack since you were both young teenagers, pimples and braces and questionable fashion choices and all. He’s been by your side since he moved to Michigan for Quinn’s NTDP days. It was a dream when three kids moved in next door, as you’d been aching for friends in the neighborhood for ages, and it was even better when you found out that one of them was your age. 
You weren’t immune to Jack’s good looks, either. He’s a pretty boy and you met him when you were in your peak boy-crazy phase. Despite being close friends, you’ve always had a crush on him, and you’ve done what you can to keep it secret so that your relationship doesn’t change. You love Jack, really, in a platonic and a romantic way. Your friendship comes first.
Years have passed since you met and Jack has been drafted first overall. It’s the end of the summer and he’s going off to New Jersey soon for the first time and you’re so sad he’s leaving. You’re doing what you can to support him, but you’re two of Quinn’s High Noons away from bawling.
Jack finds you in the backyard at the end of the night, sitting in one of the picnic chairs and staring off towards where Luke, Alex, and Trevor are playing basketball.
“You okay?” he asks, knocking your shoulder before he sits next to you. He pulls his chair closer to you and leans over the arm, into your space. “You seem upset.”
“I’m okay, J. I was just thinking that I’d miss you, that’s all,” you reply, half-heartedly smiling at him. “You’re going to be so far away.”
“I’m coming back every summer, you know,” Jack teases. “It’ll be like I never left.”
“I know.” You shake your empty can, looking away from him. “I don’t know, I just think it’ll be different when you come back. You’ll be gone for so long.” Then, quieter: “I’m worried you’ll forget about me.”
“I could never forget about you,” Jack says. When you look over at him, his eyebrows are slack with concern. “Do you really think I would?”
You shrug, feeling stupid and insecure. This is the first sign of the world you’ve known cracking and changing as you grow and it’s terrible. What else will change when you head to college and into the adult world? Probably everything.
Jack says your name, reaching out with his hand and laying it on your knee.
The touch makes you jump and look at Jack, both frightened and yearning for him to touch you more, higher, softer.
Something must have changed in your eyes, because the same thing changes in Jack’s.
He leaves in just a couple of weeks, but you find yourselves upstairs. You snuck past his parents and tiptoed until you found yourselves in Jack’s room, a place where you’ve never been before. It’s always been off limits. His twin bed is unmade and there are clothes and hockey paraphernalia on the floor. 
You stop in the center of the room, Jack’s hands uncertain and twitching as he lays them on your hips. “This is… are we doing this?”
“Not if you don’t want to,” you tell him. He’s touching you the way you’ve wanted since you were both 13 years old and baby-faced. 
“I’ve thought about kissing you since we moved here,” Jack whispers, eyes wide as he stares at you. 
Those are the words you’ve been dreaming of hearing all of these years. Your lips part and Jack moves forward when they do and all of a sudden you’re kissing him, he’s kissing you, you’re kissing each other.
And then you fall into Jack’s bed.
His shirt comes off, then your dress. He kisses your shoulder, where the strap of your bra has slipped down and revealed new skin. His shorts come off. His fingers work on the clasp of your bra and every touch is sweet and bumbling. You can’t believe you’re in Jack’s room and he’s kissing you and undressing you and touching you. It’s– it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of.
Before you know it, you’re both naked and he’s teaching you how to touch him, how he likes it, and rubbing circles along your hips. Your hand is on Jack’s cock– it’s inconceivable. You have to be asleep and you’ll wake up from this any minute, but it keeps dragging on. 
Jack tells you when to stop and you’re reluctant to do so, wanting to see him come undone just by a little stroking, but he soothes you with another kiss and promises that he’s going to find a condom so that you guys can do this right.
“Just pull out,” you tell him, knowing that that’s a bad idea and doesn’t prevent anything, but you need this. You need him to stay on top of you, touching you, because he’s going to leave soon. He’s going to leave you and go all the way to New Jersey, but at least you’ll have this night. “I want to feel you, Jack. I need to feel you.”
He groans. “I don’t… I don’t know if I’ll last. What if I forget? Baby, it’s going to feel… too much. So much.”
“Jack, please,” you beg. “It’s going to feel so good, I need to feel you inside of me even if it’s just this once.”
Jack blinks in surprise and whines at your begging, touching your nipples to ground himself, before making his decision. He hods and breathes out an “okay,” lining himself up with your entrance. The pressure is there and it’s uncomfortable at first, but as he moves slowly, it gets easier. It gets better. 
Jack is… Jack is the most beautiful, loveliest person you’ve ever seen. He breathes into your mouth and kisses you sweetly when you moan and whimper at his thrusts. He doesn’t last long, grunting out warnings about how it feels too good and he can’t stop himself and he’s “sorry, fuck, sorry Y/N, I didn’t mean to–”
His cum flows inside of you and makes you feel like you’ve never felt before, frozen in place. You feel claimed by him, empowered that he couldn’t stop himself from releasing his seed into your heat, and irreversibly connected to Jack. You’re his. He made you his.
Just once won’t be enough.
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cherrychilli · 1 year ago
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18+ Eddie Munson x f! reader, established relationship, reader has sensitive nipples, nipple play(f receiving), brief handjob mention, use of nipple clamps, allusions to PIV sex WC:4K
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You were right where you wanted to be, alone together in Eddie's van, not exactly cramped but you liked that it required you to press up against each other a lot more than if you were somewhere more spacious.
After an hour and a half of nervously pulling at the hem of your new pleated skirt, not used to showing your legs off like this, you allowed it to inch up around your thighs when he pulled you closer to straddle his lap, no longer concerned about how much skin you're revealing when he's touching you so eagerly, whispering honeyed praises against your heated skin.
The buttons on your blouse were undone while Eddie had his lips at your neck, sucking and nipping hard enough to make you draw sharp, shuddery breaths. One of his hands snuck underneath the unbuttoned fabric and smoothed over your ribs, thumb tracing the curve of your breast, finding no cotton or lace there this time.
The discovery prompts a smile to emerge on his face which you can feel as he presses sweet kisses along your jaw, one of your own starting to form on your lips as you pluck up the courage to take the lead.
Flattening your palms against his broad chest, you're able to gently guide him back against the leather seat, interrupting the path he was kissing up towards your lips. Eddie lets out a little groan in protest, lips pushing into a pout, not wanting to spend even a moment without his lips on your skin but he's quick to perk up when he sees you start to pull at your blouse.
Easing it down your shoulders, you let him see you like this for the first time, chest completely bare, nipples pert and pulled tight. You’re all warm and soft, perfumed skin turned dewy with a light sheen of sweat; your figure cloaked in moonlight that shines through the windscreen on this lonely dirt road he’s chosen to park at.
In the past, you've only ever let him touch your breasts over your clothes in the short time that you've been together, never receiving any kind of complaint about it from Eddie like you had with some of the boys you’ve dated previously. While those boys had bitched and moaned about it, claiming blue balls and other bullshit excuses in the hopes of getting you to take your clothes off, Eddie had only ever been respectful and considerate, treating you with the decency most others had lacked.
"Shit, baby they're so pretty", he breathed, saying it with so much adoration and sincerity it makes you swoon.
"Can I? please?", he begged softly next, hands drawing closer towards your breasts, waiting for you to give him permission to touch you there.
You draw in a deep breath to prepare yourself.
He was going to find out eventually.
You wanted him to find out. You'd been waiting for him to discover your little secret all on his own because you couldn't bring yourself to look him in the eyes and explain without burning up.
"Yes Eddie, I want you to touch me", you answer with a smile, soft and yearning. Those long, thick fingers you've daydreamed about while watching him pinch the end of a cigarette or pluck aptly at guitar strings were finally reaching for you, climbing higher, thumb and index fingers closing around a perky nipple.
It was easy to anticipate his touch but not the effect of it, calloused fingertips making sparks light up on your skin unlike what you could produce on your own, hot and instantaneous like striking a match.
The way you suddenly gasp and twitch in his lap has him pulling his hand away from surprise, eyes widening, lips parting.
"Sweetheart..."
This was it. This was the part that made your whole face feel like it might go up in smoke, watching the realization spread across his face.
You knew you were pretty sensitive, probably more than most people, some light grazing and gentle squeezing enough to set you alight whenever you played with yourself. For the longest time you wanted to hide it, that feeling only worsening when none of the other boys you went out with showed you the patience or kindness you deserved but with Eddie? Well, you were starting to feel differently about the whole thing now.
"Have they always been like this?", he asks with so much awe pooling in his eyes, all round and practically glittering with excitement that you feel no room for your usual self-consciousness to creep in and make you want to curl away from his sight.
Instead, you lean in a little closer and offer him a chaste nod, breath caught in your throat as he reaches for the same nipple again.
He's a little more gentle this time, index finger pointed to circle the outline of your areola, feeling you twitch and your chest rise and fall with a pleased sigh beneath his fingertip before flicking his eyes up to yours.
"Ever cum from this? just this?"
Oh.
He’s getting right down to it. None of that beating around the bush kind of bullshit and honestly, you liked that.
"Yeah. Yeah, sometimes", you tell him truthfully, growing more excited when he grins up at you, teeth bared like a panther ready to pounce.
Without warning, he begins swiping his thumb back and forth over one tender bud, his bulge growing more prominent under his jeans when you jerk in his lap, thighs squeezing around his hips, letting out a little mewl from the sudden stimulation.
You could have argued that it was mean of him to catch you off guard like that but you didn't. Not when you liked it so much. And he could tell that you did.
Seeing the corner of your lips pick up through your shaky exhale, he progresses to pinching both nipples gently, your spine curving when he tugged on them next and rolls them both between his fingers, squirming in his lap, nails digging into his leather jacket.
"Fuck, baby they're so sensitive", he covers your tits with his large palms, squeezing the soft swell, kneading them.
"Gonna put my mouth on them. That okay?"
"Fuck, yes Eddie please", you choked out, hands leaving his shoulders to wind your fingers into his soft curls, pulling him closer.
He tongues and laps at your nipples with fervor, flicking and swirling, lips sucking the sensitive peaks until you buck and grind down into his lap, clothed clit catching on his bulge perfectly.
The magma he'd breathed into your veins flows through your chest and spills down into your stomach, licking over your bones as it descends, surging, roiling, everything growing hot and contracting tight inside you. "Eddie, oh fuck– wai–", you'd meant to warn him but it all happens much faster and harder than you're used to. You came with your nails scraping along his scalp though he shows no sign of discomfort as you clutched at him, whining so high and loud, the wetness pooling in your panties transferring to his clothes.
Registering the dampness saturating the front of his jeans he reluctantly lets your swollen nipple go, able to pull back when your hold on him slackens, eyes searching for yours.
"Fuck– are you okay? could you do that again? is it too much? do you need a break?", he rambles, caught between not wanting to overwhelm you and wanting to watch you come undone in his lap again and again.
Large warm hands rub soothingly at your waist while you catch your breath, pulse just a little under racing when you give him your answer. One that leads to him making you cum twice more before it's your turn to help sate Eddie's throbbing ache, taking him into your hand and stroking him until he spilled messily all over your fingers.
Sharing your little secret with him sparked an obsession that you happily welcomed. Eddie couldn't get enough of how reactive you were to his touch, the way you writhed and moaned, no penetration required. You reveled in his attention and the pleasure it brought you. So much so that weeks later you find yourself wanting to take things further.
Wanting to surprise him, you had him drive you close to the mall under the pretense of needing to buy something important but it wasn't until you arrived outside the store you'd directed him to that you admitted what the item was.
The adult boutique was one you’d surveyed curiously out of the corner of your eye and only when you were certain no one else could see you do so every time you passed it on your way to the mall, intrigued by the cherry red neon sign advertising its collection of intimate apparel and adult toys, never thinking that one day you'd actually end up going inside.
From the moment you revealed the truth to Eddie, you knew what you were in for. The boy practically lit up like a Christmas tree, unable to contain his excitement. You had to tug him along through the store. Like blinkers on a horse, you kept him on path for what you had come in for, no detours. It was so clear he'd be in there for hours had he come in alone judging by the way his eyes kept darting to every corner, not wanting to miss seeing every item of paraphernalia displayed.
He's like a hummingbird, focus whizzing everywhere, pointing at every item that catches his attention, forgetting the last one as soon as he set his eyes on something new.
"Baby, what about that? you wanna go check it out?"
"Oh my god, look at those"
"What the hell are these even for?"
"Fuck, d'you see the size of that thing?"
And even though you roll your eyes you do find his enthusiasm endearing, even feeling grateful for it because it helps to put you at ease now that you've reached the part of the store you've been looking for.
"Oh honey...", he trails off, taking in the wall length display of literally every kind of nipple clamp one could imagine. While Eddie was awed by it you were a little overwhelmed by the collection and the options available – all kinds of styles, colors and attachments displayed and waiting to be picked.
"I don't know which ones I should choose", you admit, looking to Eddie for some guidance.
"Shit, I'll buy you the whole rack if that's what you want", he reached for a pair fitted with silver bells, poking it with his forefinger to make them chime. Not the most helpful suggestion but the gesture makes you fill with fondness for him nonetheless.
"I just need one pair, Eddie", you remind him with a giggle.
Aside from the store clerk who’d hardly paid either of you any attention, you were the only ones in the store and for that you were thankful. She was stony faced woman who regarded the two of you just once over her magazine when you entered, disinterest clear behind her reading glasses.
She left you and Eddie to browse as you pleased, seemingly having sized the pair of you up as the flustered first-time patrons that you were and looked to be past caring. Honestly, you preferred her distance over the types of sales assistants who tended to hover and with this being an intimate purchase, you'd rather not have a third-party looming over you as you surveyed the options.
You picked up different pairs of clamps off the display, trying to decide what might be best for you, getting Eddie's input too. Some looked cute and appealing and some bore too close a resemblance to something that might be used to commit torture. You ignored those in favor of the less intimidating ones.
"See these ones? they're pretty soft", Eddie picked up what you'd learned from your internet research was a tweezer style clamp, smoothing his thumb along the rubber tip. "Bet they'd fit great", he tells you, nearly holding them up to your breasts before remembering that you're still in public and within the clerk’s line of sight were she to look up from her magazine.
Drawing his hands back just as you let out a sunny laugh, the corner of your eyes crinkling in that way that made him want to kiss you there. He smiled then too; his happiness far vaster than what showed on his face as he saw you beginning to relax. "Anyway, they're not too tight. Adjustable. Could get you nice and worked up with just the right pressure".
It makes your cheeks feel warm hearing him talk about using them on you so unabashedly with that sort of confidence which came more easily to him than it did to you.
"Or these", he picked up a pair of alligator nipple clamps next, similar rubber padded tips adorning it but you know they're a little more advance than the previous pair. "I could get these nice and tight on you...if you want", he added, tapping on the screw mechanism that protruded from its side. "Keep those pretty nipples nice and pinched". He takes a step closer towards you and you can feel the heat radiating off him, just as you're sure he can feel the same coming off you.
You nearly whimper when he tips your chin up, thumb swiping along your bottom lip, tension building. "That what you want? want it to hurt?", he asked, eyes dark.
"Yeah, I want that", you answer, lips pressing against his thumb in a soft kiss, going from demure to brazen in an instant when your tongue slips out to lick the digit, doe eyes turning sultry.
"Jesus, baby..." he felt as if the world was somersaulting.
The choice was obvious then.
The clerk sighed when you approached the counter and set the alligator clamps down, eyes moving from her magazine straight to the register without connecting with either of you as she rang you up.
"Try not to hurt yourself", she said suddenly, all monotonous as your purchase beeped under the scanner and she tapped away on the keyboard.
The comment nearly makes you jump, launching into a sputtering ramble, cheeks very very warm as you assured her that you knew how to use them safely, your mind racing with all you'd learned from your research.
"I meant him", she cuts you off, tipping her head towards Eddie without looking away from the receipt as it spewed out of the thermal printer, tone impossibly bored like she'd been in this situation far more times than could be counted.
Confused, you looked to your boyfriend and quickly understood, finding his cheeks colored a deep shade of mauve, looking like the anticipation of what was to come had gotten the better of him. Your little playful swipe of your tongue must have affected him more than he'd let on.
"Remember to breathe or you'll get lightheaded, son", she advised, the epitome of world-weary. She tore off the receipt and held out your bagged up clamps in one hand and took her magazine back into the other, eyes lowering back to her article.
Eddie cleared his throat, the color draining from his face. Yours felt paper dry when you swallowed, mutely collecting your purchase before joining him in slinking away to the exit.
~
Eddie made the ride home in less time than you thought possible, even with you reminding him to slow down every time he pushed down too much on the accelerator. The mood wasn’t dampened for very long after you’d left the store.
"Sorry babe– I just can't wait", he’d said to you, smile bright, one hand leaving the steering wheel to squeeze your thigh. You felt the same way.
Back at yours, the bag rustled noisily in Eddie’s hold as he nearly tears the thing apart trying to get the clamps out while kicking off his shoes at the same time. You do your part in the meanwhile, shedding your layers of clothing until you’re left in just your panties.
“Alright” he huffed, cheeks pink, wielding the freed clamps, bag crumpled by his feet, tossing his shirt off and undoing his belt. “Got em. So how do you want to do this?”
“I was hoping we could try something I saw a few days ago?”, you posit hopefully.
Eyebrows raising, he listened intently as you told him about the videos you’d watched as part of your research. You had to click through quite a few, multiple viewings of women bound in leather and chains in dingy, scarlet rooms, their nipples slapped and pulled and clamped so tight it made you grimace. None of it was how you wanted to spend your first time using your own clamps with Eddie but then you found a different kind of video. Soft lighting, gentle caresses, airy moans. Sensual, lingering touches that made your own arousal climb, picturing your boyfriend handling you like that - readying you with both delicate care and fervent hands.
“That’s how I want you to touch me at the start. 'Want it like that before you put them on me”, you tell him.
With his pulse pounding and just as the clerk had advised, Eddie remembers to take a deep breath because listening to you talk about how you want him to touch you has him so terribly excited already. “Yeah, I can do that”, he replied, Adams apple bobbing as he swallowed.
So, you positioned yourselves in the same way as in the video you’d watched. Eddie laid back in bed in his boxers, his back against the headboard and legs spread enough for you to lie between them with your head resting against his chest.
The clamps are set aside on your bedside table for the time being. He’s sweet with you as he gets you ready, lips dropping kisses on your cheek, neck and shoulder, hands warming your waist, climbing higher to cup your breasts gently.
“You’re amazing you know that? Surprising me today with all of this”, he squeezed gently and you sighed like you've been deprived of his touch for too long.
“Wanted to do it sooner”, you breathed, fingers furling over your thighs.
“Yeah?”, he prompts, swiping a thumb mildly over your right nipple, coaxing it to perk up.
“Yeah…you make me feel so good…so safe…never would have done it if it wasn’t for you, Eddie”, you confide, earnestly.
His heart swells hearing you say all that about him. “Sweetheart”, he crooned, feeling you shiver in his arms when he said it, rolling your left nipple between his fingers as you moan.
You let him touch you like this for a few minutes, fingers circling, sweeping gently over each peak, surprising you with an occasional pinch and groaning proudly when it made you arch into him further.
“Eddie, I think I’m ready now”, you let him know with a soft whimper.
He picks up one of the clamps and brings it up to your chest, pressing down on the lever, both of your eyes trained on the rubber tips parting to make room for your nipple.
“Gonna start with one. Okay?”, he circled your right nipple and you sucked in a short breath in preparation.
“Okay”
It’s impossible to feel nervous when he’s holding you so lovingly, letting the rubber tips close around your nipple gently. "How's that feel?", he makes sure to check. Your right breast pulsed from the scintillating twinge; the peak of your nipple squeezed just the perfect amount between the clamps.
"Good, really good– hurts but not too much. I like it", you explain softly
He clamps the second one on as well, the same sensation washing over your left breast too, the weight of the clamps hanging on your chest heightening the intensity with a gentle pull adding to the pinch.
"Fuck, these look amazing on you", he praised with a low drawl.
You could feel Eddie's cock pushing against the base of your spine now, trapped behind his boxers for the time being. "Think you could play with your clit for me? Until it’s time to take them off?", he requests sweetly.
You nod, working a hand between your thighs, finding the bump of your clit over your panties and rubbing gently to stave the pressure inside you.
"That's my good girl", he encourages you. It makes him feel greedy listening to you pleasure yourself while he squeezes your tits, committing every little mewl and moan to memory, lightly nudging and tugging at the clamps.
“Can still hardly believe this if I’m being honest, honey”, he mumbles against your cheek, his chin balanced on your shoulder.
“Because I don’t seem the type?”, you guessed with a whimper.
“You hid it pretty well, you have to admit”, he shrugged “Unlike me. It’s no secret that I’m into this stuff. Just look at me”
You giggle softly. “Yeah, the handcuff belt’s not the most subtle thing, is it?” you teased and it makes Eddie laugh too.
“It wasn’t easy. Hiding it from you I mean. I didn’t want to. I’m glad I don’t have to anymore”, you tell him gasping as your clit throbs beneath your fingers, panties growing damp with slick.
“Me too– Jesus you look so fucking sexy with these on, angel. Pretty naughty”, he winds a hand up to wrap around your throat in a light grasp, tugging on one of the clamps with the other.
“Eddie… how much longer?”, you whined, feeling impatient.
“Just a little longer, baby”, he chuckled.
The pinch begins to develop into a sting, not unpleasant but definitely more intense now. Your fingers slow down on your clit, still working you up but not enough to tip you over the edge.
The longer the clamps remain on your body the more you begin to squirm and twist like you’re trying to get away from the pinch, nearing your limit and Eddie senses it easily.
“Alright, let’s get them off.”
Gently, he takes off the right one first, marveling at how swollen and puffy your nipple looks now. It tingles as the blood flow resumes, a subtle throbbing coursing through in time with your heartbeat as well. when Eddie removes the second one next it feels the same, both of your nipples tingling and throbbing, so tender and in desperate need of having his fingers on them.
“Eddie please touch me”, you mewl, raking your nails over his thigh with your free hand.
It’s fiery bliss when he plays with your nipples now, making you cry out when he drags the blunt edge of a nail across your areola.
“That’s it baby, keep playing with that pretty clit for me– god, they’re so fucking perfect and sensitive”
You work yourself over with messy circles, taking on a sloppy but firm rhythm as you continue to stimulate your twitching clit.
“I meant what I said back at the store. I’ll buy you whatever you want, shit– we’ll have to because I’m going to wear these the fuck out, I can already tell”, he groans into the juncture of your neck, lightly humping his cock against your lower back for some much needed relief.
“Eddie” you moan, your orgasm in sight as he rolls your sore nipples between his fingers, tugging them and releasing them to watch your breasts bounce against your chest.
“You’d look so pretty with them on while you bounce on my cock. You want that don’t you? Want me to fill you up while you show off these pretty tits?”
Your fingers have turned tacky with your slick, the beginnings of a cramp starting to form in your knuckles but you're too fucking close to even think of stopping now. “Yes, Eddie – wanna feel you inside while I wear them”, you keen, your thighs squeezing so tight, the same as your belly when finally, the floodgates containing your pleasure swing open.
The impact feels like a thunderclap, a choked cry of Eddie's name spilling out of you as you writhe in his arms, spine curving into a beautiful arch, nails sinking into your bedsheets, your cunt drenching your panties with your tangy essence.
When you come to, you feel like you've been drifting in and out of weightlessness, realizing Eddie's been soothing you through the comedown, gently stroking your body when you turn around to blink up at him, smiling thankfully.
"How'd that feel?" he asks as if the answer wasn't obvious.
"Amazing", you tell him anyway. "Fuck Eds, I wanna do it again".
His smile widens into a toothy grin. He turns to snatch up the clamps once more from the bedside table before he wrestles you onto your back, peeling your wet panties from your body as you squeal delightedly, face flaring hot when he takes a moment to lick at the slick soaked cotton and lets out a rumbling groan.
"Good because–", he moves on to gently reattaching the clamps onto your swollen nipples again as you mewl, tugging his boxers off and letting them join your panties on the floor. "Gonna make you cum all over my cock while you wear them this time."
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arislary · 3 months ago
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Foggier - Han Jisung x f!reader
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Synopsis: Aftermath of putting your panties inside of Jisung's pocket.
Pairing: nerd!Han Jisung x f!reader
Genre: MDNI 18+, smut
Warnings: unprotected sex (I write this waaaaaayyyyy too much, I can't help it!), creampie, spit kink, breeding kink, (used) panty kink, riding, oral (m & f receiving), nipple kink, glasses kink, they're perverts for each what can I say, I may be forgetting some idk
WC: <3.5K
A/N: Truly, I am so sorry 😭 this took way too long, I have nothing to say for myself tbh... BUT I did get a new job and it's consumed like my entire life, so please cut me some slack. I've had so much of this written and I just knew I was doing a disservice of not posting it. Part of me is iffy, but the other part just loves Jisung too much to care. I hope you enjoy nerd!Jisung as much as I do! VERY UNEDITED
Taglist: @inlovewithstraykids @nickgurl4life @darkwitchoferie @pochacco-baby @miyaluvvsyou @gnabsrihc @delicatetacozonkpony-blog @lattyjiji @supersonika143
Masterlist | Foggy
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Jisung felt his anxiety rise as he waited for your response, his hand like iron in his jean pocket still. He had finished his classes for the day and returned to his apartment, seeking for a semblance of peace, but found none with the underwear currently burning a hole in his pants. He scrubbed a hand over his face, disbelief and shock still brewing inside of him, but the overwhelming desire topped everything. He had never been so hard before, the boldness of your act, the look in your eyes, the promise on your lips. 
Fuck me. 
Jisung pulled the underwear from his pocket, having settled down on his couch. He felt the heat on his face as he brought the pair closer to his nose, digging his face into the material. He groaned unabashedly, free hand palming the tent in his jeans. The deep breaths of your faint smell did little to ease the tightness in his jeans and his fingers reached to unbutton his jeans, pushing them down his hips. 
The moan that fell from his lips at his touch through his boxer, mouth falling open to suck in your underwear. Tongue laving, teeth almost gnawing at the fabric for more of your taste. He licked at his hand, his fist creeping under his boxers, circling his hard dick and began to stroke himself at a rapid pace. He pushed his boxers down to his jeans, gasping at the sight of his length crying for a release, tip leaking with pre-cum. 
“Oh, fuck, ______,” words muffled through your underwear as he flicked his wrist, squeezing around the base. He moved the hand clutching your underwear down, securing it around, continuing to jerk his hand up and down, the added texture slipping around his slicked dick had him yearning for the feel to be inside you. Jisung could only imagine the idea of filling your tight hole over and over until it was dripping from your shared cum. 
The thought of your sweet pussy full of his seed had Jisung reeling his head back, eyes falling shut, the edge just in sight-
And his phone is ringing.
Huh? 
Jisung jolted forward, hand stilling over his aching dick and glancing to his side to see his phone lighting up with your contact. 
You were calling him?!
“Shit!” Jisung scrambled, hand lifting the phone to his ear, but immediately dropping it with how much his hand was shaking. His dick throbbed painfully and he groan unabashedly as his hand tightened around himself unconsciously from his scrambling. He jerked forward, grabbing the phone that now lay on the floor, pressing it to his face as he rushed out a greeting.
“H-hey.” 
Jisung winced, hoping he appeared nonchalant. There was silence on the other end and Jisung pulled it away to check you were still there. 
“_________?”
“Jisung.”
He gulped at your tone, the deep, velvety voice leaving him to jerk his hand, his dick crying even more at his name falling from your lips, your underwear completely drenched. 
“What’re you doing?”
“Just uh-“ Jisung glanced at the hand still wrapped around his length and gave it a slow stroke, biting his lip at the pressure building. “H-hanging out?”
“Hmm? Wanna know what I’m doing?” He could hear the shuffle of you moving around and the faint sound of something squelching. 
“W-what’re you doing?”
“Myself to the thought of you,” your voice breathy and the squelching sound becoming more prominent. “I can’t stop thinking of you, Ji,” you release a slight whine, Jisung tightening his fist further, biting his lips to suppress the violent moan. What did he do to deserve this? To deserve you?
“Fuck.”
“Jisung.. are you touching yourself right now?”
He let out another whimper, his hand involuntarily moving faster at your raspy voice, the need inside of him overpowering his senses. 
“Shit, I- ‘m sorry, I kept thinking of you a- and I- eungnh,” Jisung’s length was that of a fountain, the onslaught of visions of you invaded every crevice of his mind; his brain conjuring your velvety, tight walls squeezing around him, gushing with your essence. 
A high pitched moans sound through the speaker of his phone and Jisung is left fucking up into his hand, his hips sloppily making even more of a mess around his hand and your panties. “Please, I need to- I gotta-“
“Cum for me, Jisung,” the purr of your voice drew a wrecked moan from his lips, The spurts of cum explode around his fist, painting your thong a beautiful shade. His dick continues to leak, his lips falling open to release a stream of praise and thanks, his babbling being soothed by your voice. “Oh you did so well, I wish I saw you.”
Jisung pouted at nothing in particular, his hand clenching around the device. “You didn’t text me back.”
“I’m calling you now.. did I hurt your feelings making you wait, baby?” Jisung whimpered, his hips humping up into your thong, still wrapped around his half-hard member. 
“I thought you wanted me-“
“Oh, fuck I do, I’m sorry, Sungie, can I make it up to you for waiting?” 
“How?”
“Come over, I shared my location.” 
The blur of buttoning his pants, member still wet with cum, stuffing your panties in his pocket once again, to pulling up the directions to your townhome, and thank fuckyou were only 10 minutes away, all left Jisung’s head spinning. He found himself sitting in the driver seat of his car, parked outside your place, chest heaving and unbelieving this to be real. 
Was he really about to fuck the woman of his dreams?
Just imagining the things he could do to you, the things you could do to him. Jisung was ready to the throw his door open when a knock sounded at his window. He let out a shriek only to find you standing there wrapped in a robe and sandals. You had a small scowl on your face, your arms wrapped tightly around your waist. 
Jisung quickly moved to step out, locking the door as you opened your mouth to scold him. 
“You made me come get you, I’m freezing,” your lips jutted out the tiniest bit and the sight of you so open with him had him hardening completely. Not being able to stop himself longer, Jisung reached out to grab your waist, yanking you closer to him, his glasses slipping down his nose from the movement. 
Your lips pursed, as if you were holding back a smile, eyes gleaming up at him. This had to be the most animated he had ever seen from you and he wanted more, craved to keep this going. You rested your hands on his arms, squeezing the black fabric around the muscle he would hide under his sweaters. He felt an unfamiliar sense of possession, the idea of you and him gripping at his heart. 
“W-we’re together now,” the both of you pause, surprise evident at his boldness. You raise an eyebrow at him, Jisung’s cheeks painted red from the words that slipped out before he could stop them. The hands on your waist, shook and tightened their grasp to steady him. “Right?”
You don’t give him a response, you’re eyes holding a mischievous glint to them. Jisung can feel the insecurity in him rise, but is distracted by you pulling his arm, leading him towards the entrance of your front door. You had slipped your slides off, leaning against the wood trim. The emotions bubbled up inside of him, the fear of rejection overpowering him. His shoes now off, Jisung stands to his full height, hands fidgeting at his side. He moves his hand up to push his glasses back up his nose, but your fingers appear in his vision, middle finger pushing up the lens for him. 
You invade his space, the smell of you, the sight of you is consuming him. How could he just have you once? He wanted you forever it felt like, whatever this was. He shouldn’t have come, what was he thinking. But you had looked at him like that, fuck you gave him your underwear. The attack felt like it could happen any second, but suddenly hands press against his chest, rubbing the expanse of his chest and soothing him. His gaze flitted down to where you were pressed up on him, eyes watching your hands touch him. 
“I don’t just give my panties away, Jisung,” you run your eyes up to meet his, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down. “I also don’t just call someone as I masturbate to the thought of them.”
Jisung blushes bright red, feeling the heat in his ears, head dipping forward. Your fingers play with the hair at his neck, goosebumps raising all over his body at your touch. He shuffles closer to you, hands moving to your waist and lower back, pulling you even closer. He almost moaned as you grazed the tent still crying for you. 
One of your hands fisted his sweater and began to pull him further into your space. The scent of passionfruit and another tropical fruit he couldn’t place yet, but matched you perfectly. There was a soft humming of music playing in the background, and it was like you hated the idea of overhead lighting, as Jisung ran his eyes over every surface and area available to him, the space was lit by an array of warm lights, some neon, fairy lights, and candles. 
Jisung let you lead him towards your couch, pushing him until he sat. He could feel the sweat under his collar, the excitement he was feeling, the desire, the yearning, he was desperate. He reached towards you, pulling the knot of your traps closer until you were between his legs. His hands moved the skin of your legs exposed by the robe, his fingers gliding towards the back of your knees, pulling you to sit in his lap. 
The sound that fell from his lips as you settled on his lap was obscene. His hands moved with inexperience, desperate to squeeze and feel the fullness of you. Your thighs plush and soft to the touch as he squeezed every inch of skin he could find. It felt as though his mind was full of just you. You. You. 
Jisung moved quickly, grabbing the back of your neck and meeting your lips with a force that had you both clinking your teeth, mouths opening to welcome the other in his hurry. You let out a gasp as Jisung pressed forward, his hands moving your hips over his, grinding you down on his clothed dick that had been hard for almost the entire day. Your hands moved down his arms, squeezing at his biceps, nails digging in and he prayed they’d leave marks on him. 
You leaned back, lips moving to cheek, his jaw, up to his ear. 
“Did you bring them?” 
Jisung shivered at your whisper and nodded his head slowly, the blush returning to his cheeks. It was as if your thong had become a heavy weight suddenly, your fingers inching towards his pockets to feel for them. He covered your hand to stop your movement, the fear of you seeing what he had done to them becoming too much.
“I-“
“Let me see,” your fingers had wiggled their way into his pants and he stiffened once he knew you made contact with them. You maintained eye contact with him as you slowly pulled the soiled garments from his pocket. He watched as your eyes dropped down, widening at the sight and the most beautiful blush appearing on your normally more neutral face. You brought a hand to your lips, mouth dropping from surprise and something more, a glint in your eyes that Jisung couldn’t quite place, but drew a whine from him. 
“I can explain-“ he cut himself off when you purposefully rolled your hips against the tent of his pants, another moan passing through his lips at the pleasure and heat inside of him. He returned his hands to your thighs, fingers slipping under the fabric of your robe, pinching softly at the insides of your thighs. 
“Jisung, I-“ you stopped, Jisung’s eyes immediately searching your face. His brow furrowed, waiting for you to continue. “I’ve never wanted someone more, you’re a freak, fuck me already.”
You didn’t give him time to respond, scrabbling off his lap and sliding to the floor. Jisung yelped, eyes wide, hands reaching out to stop you as you fumbled with the button of his jeans. You swatted his hands and Jisung raised his hands to cover his face as you successfully unbuttoned and began to pull his jeans and boxers down past his knees, pouting up at him as your hand moved to circle his dick. 
“Oh, baby, you were that excited for me?” You cooed at him and Jisung felt every nerve in his body light up, a guttural groan escaping as you spit on his member, moving your hand up and down. “You couldn’t even be bothered to clean up, huh? Knew I’d take care of you?” 
Jisung nodded his head, mind turning fuzzy, and you continued to stroke his member, bringing your lips to his tip and blowing cool air. Jisung’s eyes rolled back and his head fell against the couch cushions. He felt his body shiver from the raging desire igniting his insides, hands digging into the fabric of the couch, mouth open, filthy noises escaping past his lips. 
The heat of your mouth, the wetness of your tongue sliding under him left Jisung gasping for air, hips involuntarily jerking upwards, frantic to be connected with you. You gargled around him, nose brushing his pubic bone, tickling his skin there. Jisung didn’t know where to look, your eyes, staring lustfully up at him, pleasure blatant, or the vulgar display of his hard length disappearing and reappearing from your mouth. 
You pulled off him completely, Jisung pouting after you as you stood to your feet, the dirty panties still tightly grasped in your fist. Your other hand slipped under the hem of your robe, Jisung unable to look away, but consumed with jealousy as your hand traveled upwards to your core. He shot forward, fingers gliding up your leg, following the same path of your hands, finally resting on top of them and together you both pulled your new underwear down your legs. 
Jisung leaned closer to you, his forehead resting against your lower belly once you were straight again, his glasses digging into his face. Breathing harshly against the fabric, his hands continuing their exploration, fingers touching the spot that had him salivating, hungry for a taste. Your hand running up his back, fingers sinking into his hair.
“Please?”
The whisper fell from you both, one pleading, the other demanding. 
He couldn’t tell you who moved first, but soon your robe was undone and your bare, leaking cunt humping against his crying dick. The slide of your folds drew a high pitched moan from him, Jisung’s hand moving down to guide his length inside of you; almost screaming in desperation when his tip caught your aching core. 
“Fuck, Jisung, if you don’t fuck me already, I swear- oh god!” Your hands scrambled for purchase on his body. Face completely flushed and looking throughly fucked, your eyes blown wide open. Jisung groaned violently, his face flush, glasses sitting askew on his face, useless with how close you are to him. He wouldn’t even need his own eyes with the way he’s memorizing your body, memorizing the way your tight passage, the wet warmth molding itself around his length. Spongy walls searing into his very being, almost making it painful for him to pull out.
But to see the look of your face every time he pushed back in, hitting that spot inside of you each time. Your robe slipping over one of your shoulders, hair surrounding your face wildly, your bottom lip tugged roughly between your teeth. 
You’re beautiful. 
Jisung couldn’t hold the high pitched moans, your hips moving rapidly above him, knees planted comfortably on either side of him. His hands resting, squeezing, pinching at the pudginess of your ass, Jisung suddenly felt overcome with the desire to taste it. He spread his fingers, bouncing each cheek in tandem with both your thrusts and grinds. 
“Oh f-fuck, you feel so good, b-baby,” Jisung’s face screwed up, he felt as though his heart would burst from his chest. The pleasure and emotions he felt for you were bursting out of him, leaving him to babble your praises, drool slipping down his lips as he mouthed at your nipple. The peak readily being bitten and sucked to appease his desires. 
Jisung’s ears were blessed with the sing songs of your moans, whines taking on a raspy tone. Your nails digging into shoulders and biceps, breaths a stuttering gasp as you continued to ride him. He felt as if he were, the reality of the situation solidifying with each thrusts, each wet sound of your essence gushing onto his thighs and shaft. 
“‘M g-gonna, I- I- think,”
“Don’t fucking cum without me, you said you’d be a good boy for me huh?” The furrow in your eyebrows emphasizing the filth coming from your mouth. A hand moved itself into his hair, gripping at the strands and pulling his head back, mouth falling open in immediate compliance as your lips descended onto his. 
Stopping just an inch short, Jisung whines as a glob of spit is suddenly shot into his mouth, your lips moving to his ear. 
“Swallow it, pretty,” gentle kisses are pressed into his Adam’s apple as it moves with his gulp, a large contrast to the continuance vicious movement of your lips, his hands still on your ass, squeezing and gripping, going up and down to help relieve you of some of the work. 
Jisung’s eyes suddenly zeroed in on the movement of your tits, nipples crying out to be kissed. As if under some compulsive force, his lips and teeth snag onto your right nipple, tongue laving and harshly sucking, moaning at the satisfaction running through his nerves. 
This can’t be real. 
You can’t be real.
It was as if the planets aligned, each stroke bringing him closer and closer to pure bliss, overwhelmed with the fear of it ending. Jisung latched onto your other nipple, becoming desperate to have his fill. Hands scrambling to squeeze and remember. 
His eyes moved to meet yours, still able to make you out even from the condensation on his glasses. Your eyes were fierce as you drew him closer, Jisung struggling to breathe from the intensity, willing to do whatever you asked or wanted of him as long as it meant he could stay buried between your thighs. 
You tugged his head closer, hands gripping at his hair and maneuvering his head where you wanted him. His mouth separating from your bruising and swollen nipple, a string of spit connecting him to it before breaking from the force of your hold. 
Mouths parted and touching, breaths being shared as you both drew closer to the epitome of pleasure. The high pitch of moans released in unison could’ve been heard throughout the entire neighborhood. Spurt after spurt, Jisung released inside of you, almost causing a visceral reaction from him at the fact that he just came inside you. Painting you with himself, continuing to fuck it back inside of you, hoping it would stick to you forever, leaking, dripping constantly down your legs for everyone to see. 
Jisung continued to whine even as the oversensitivity became too much. He suddenly felt your fingers slide up his shirt, pinching his nipples harshly, causing his hips to stutter and a few more spurts to release out of him. 
He slumped back on the couch, hands wrapping around you and tugging you flush against him, chests heaving. You hummed in his ear, moving your arms out from between the two of you and wrapping them around his shoulders, one hand gliding up to his hair and slowly massaging him. 
“You did so well for me, sweet boy, huh?” You turned your face, nose nuzzling his temple, Jisung pouted and tightened his hold around you. He nodded his head, moving his face to press his lips to your neck, mumbling his agreement further. 
One of your hands moved towards his face, straightening his glasses, the fog on them finally having dissipated. You pulled back, both of you wincing as you moved of him, your hand moving to cup your  cunt, moving quickly to avoid even the slightest drop of releasing. You slowly stood, your eyes dragging down his body. 
“Give me your underwear.” 
Jisung moved quickly, not wasting a second after your demand, ready to please you. The black fabric was yanked from his legs, tangling in his pants before he proudly presented them to you. The smirk on your face was pure diabolical as you slid them up your legs, snapping them against your hips. Jisung stared, mouth agape, still unable to believe that this was still happening. Never would he imagine ending his day bottomless and spent on your couch after being fucked by you. 
“Yea, we're definitely together now.” 
You bursted out laughing, your eyes falling shut, shoulders shaking. Jisung couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face, utterly content. 
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Thank you for reading, I hope your little freak came out 😈💕 👀
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anghraine · 2 months ago
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I was thinking about my personal "TOS is really its own thing" headcanons for K/S, and also, that one of the things that really surprised me when I actually marathoned the whole series was the acknowledged ethical issue around captain/crew fraternization.
To rewind back to my ship, lol: I definitely think that Spock and Kirk are obsessively in love with each other, and it's pretty obvious that every other relationship and person in their lives pales in comparison, but I don't actually imagine that they've said or done anything about this beyond the kinds of things we've seen onscreen.
I mean. Yes, that includes things like "when Kirk gets a massage on the bridge for his back pain, he just assumes it's Spock and is intensely uncomfortable to discover it's someone else" + the two of them saying breathtaking romantic things with obvious heart eyes while ignoring the existence of everyone around them + Kirk's most compelling and insightful love interest remarking that Spock obviously belongs with him as if he always will be at Kirk's side + everything "Amok Time" chooses to be + mutual seething jealousy/Spock excising his rival from Kirk's mind while he sleeps + Kirk saying Spock is closer to him than anyone in the universe + Spock regularly abandoning his principles when it comes to Kirk etc etc etc. But I don't think they've actually said what they feel or initiated a (physically) sexual relationship during TOS itself.
Taking TOS by itself and ignoring the regular reboots of their characterizations in ... well, everything else, I definitely feel like they're moving inexorably towards that kind of unambiguous romantic relationship in TOS, just that they haven't quite taken that last step yet.
In fact, I suspect that the "You are closer to the captain than anyone in the universe" statement from bodysnatched Kirk to Spock is likely the most explicit statement either has made about how they feel or what their relationship really is, and it carefully stops just short of saying too much. And it's immediately followed by a) a mind-meld, I think the fourth between them, but the first in which Spock effortlessly melds them without a single word to help, and b) one of the most extended periods of physical contact between them, with iirc some 25 seconds of Spock holding Kirk's bare hand/wrist on screen as they try to escape together signifying nothing, with scene cuts suggesting the actual duration may in fact be longer (*gasps in Vulcan*).
The show ends with that episode because of the cancellation, but there's something weirdly apropos about it as a finale on a purely shipping level. I definitely felt like the dynamic between them has reached such a point by "Turnabout Intruder" that there's no going back. But I don't think anything more significant than what we've seen has happened off screen, just that the acknowledgment of the nature of their feelings and the shift to an overtly romantic, sexual relationship seem inevitable at this point. And by "overtly," I mean to each other, not necessarily anyone else.
There are various reasons I feel this way. Partly it's the high-octane yearning and repression that both exhibit in very different ways, which I think make more sense if they haven't acknowledged anything yet or transitioned away from pretending it's platonic. But one reason I envision them as Not Quite There But Definitely Going To Be, that I've rarely seen mentioned thus far, is something I would never have guessed from pop culture or even fandom osmosis.
Early in the series, Kirk explicitly states that he considers his crew completely off-limits in a romantic context. This ethical restriction applies only to him and not any other senior officers. Throughout the rest of the series, we're told and shown that Starfleet does not forbid fraternization among crew members of different ranks. Kirk himself says that it would be fine for Spock to have a romantic relationship with Janice Rand, just not Kirk.
And moreover, Kirk never does voluntarily enter a romantic relationship with any crew member. He and Janice Rand have a mutual infatuation for awhile that both handle with as much professionalism as possible. The closest thing to an openly romantic interaction with a crew member is probably Kirk kissing Helen Noel after Helen and Dr. Adams artificially screwed around with his memories and feelings—but we discover in the process that he was the one who refused to do more than dance at the Christmas party, when he backed off and scrupulously talked about space while Helen was the one with the unsentimental sex fantasy who keeps pushing his boundaries even in the present. That's why he's so unusually hostile; they were never together, even as a fling, and she hasn't taken no for an answer.
I guess Kirk and Mulholl agreeing to be possessed by married aliens for a final goodbye kiss is sort of ...? I mean. You get it, sometimes there's some sci-fi plot device, but nothing real and nothing while he has full control of his body and mind.
Kirk's real exes are all former long-term girlfriends, most of them also part of Starfleet and professionals in science or science-adjacent fields, but never crew members.
It's not 100% clear in TOS if the repeated statements and suggestions about lack of Starfleet restrictions on fraternization except wrt the captain is Starfleet policy, or just Kirk's personal stance. Kirk says he's not allowed to have a relationship of that kind with Janice Rand in "The Naked Time," but he's contracted the disease by then and it's part of a generally unhinged ramble. It's later stated that romance isn't forbidden on Starfleet vessels, but that's about crew romances in general and not the captain in particular. So it's difficult to know the real source of the ethical prohibition. Maybe there are actual regulations around this (makes sense) or maybe it's just a hard ethical line that Kirk has independently chosen for himself (also makes sense), but when he's functional and autonomous enough to be held responsible for his actions, this is a line he does not cross.
The point here is that, while I don't remotely blame other K/S fans for ignoring this inconvenient fraternization detail, Spock is a member of Kirk's crew. Yes, he's a senior officer and the highest-ranking person on the ship after Kirk himself, so maybe it wouldn't be as egregious as with someone else—but then again, maybe Kirk propositioning Spock would be considered even more unethical than propositioning Janice, since Janice at least has other authorities over her, while Spock answers directly to Kirk in the chain of command and will do virtually anything Kirk tells or asks him to do.
Kirk and Spock's relationship is intense and [gestures] everything enough that there are scenarios where I could imagine Kirk dropping this otherwise non-negotiable ethical line (the classic is, of course, "Spock's human heritage makes his pon farr cycle erratic and it comes back early ... oh no..."). I don't think we've seen any such scenario during TOS, though.
In any case, I feel like Kirk is unlikely to proposition Spock either romantically or sexually during the five-year mission. After years of constant proximity and yearning and ostensibly platonic hijinks and assuming it would never happen, I could see his resolve crumbling if Spock tried to initiate a romance with him. But that is also unlikely throughout most of TOS, because of Spock's own hang-ups around emotion and attachment—he's struggling with shame over feeling basic friendly affection, and in reality he feels far more than that.
I also don't think their true preferences when it comes to love, or their sense of what love really is for them, are inclined towards casual/undefined relationships or even poly relationships. So I don't personally envision them as FWBs or in a "they were in love but not taking it that seriously" scenario; I don't think either situation would be all that probable or desirable for them. They're both conspicuously jealous of anything or anyone that could possibly compete with their own absolute centrality in each other's lives; Spock never so much as kisses anyone without being dubconned into it and is guilty about having friends; Kirk's entire sexual history when it's not For The Mission is consistently geared towards long-term and sentimentally romantic relationships. Kirk supplies a very clear, emphatic description of love as he understands it:
Is he important to you, more important than anything? Is he as though he were a part of you? [...] But you can't really love him. You haven't the slightest knowledge of love, the total union of two people.
Kirk understands impossible/forbidden love in terms of some fundamental separation from a single beloved, being perpetually apart from them and unable to achieve the kind of absolute joining of lives and minds that he regards as love. (In some ways, this seems an incredibly Vulcan perspective on love, which, well.)
I think he and Spock are close to crossing the last barriers to that point of absolute union by "Turnabout Intruder," given their extreme intimacy as well as the very real possibility of grafting their lives and minds to each other in the way both pretty clearly crave. But I feel like there are only two ways it can really happen: 1) some wildly fortunate circumstance makes it ethically justifiable for Kirk to approach Spock, or 2) Spock makes the first move, which means that unless they're just randomly very lucky, everything hangs on him coming to terms with himself.
Then again, I also think Spock's arc across the show is building towards a point where he is coming to terms with himself in that way, with asserting what he wants, what bothers him, and what he's willing to reach for or accept. By the finale, I can believe he's truly on the point of getting there.
The movies hit the reset and retcon buttons hard, but taking TOS by itself as aired, the arc of their relationship and its development over the course of the show feels more hopeful to me. I can believe that S3 Spock has grown into himself enough to get to the point he needs to be at to make the first ("first") move before much longer. This is the Spock who essentially told Starfleet to go fuck themselves because they wouldn't let him jeopardize a fraught diplomatic situation to search for Kirk, told Sulu to scan for Kirk for potentially years, then defied explicit orders and tracked him down personally. There is very little he wouldn't do for Kirk by S3.
Kirk, meanwhile, has never been anything but 1000% receptive to whatever Spock is willing to give him; he spends a significant portion of TOS looking like he's about to dissolve into hearts at eye contact and a slight mouth twitch from Spock, if that. By S3, though, he's visibly more ground-down and tired, he's been put through further horrors that he often only escaped via his intimacy with Spock, and he's increasingly desperate for real connection. I can believe that at this point, he'd finally be at "fuck it" if Spock's love was on the table.
So I don't think that during the time period of TOS, their romance is formalized at all, or even acknowledged, or that they have a sexual relationship beyond the turbo-charged UST and frequent physical contact (to a degree that seems likely obscene on Vulcan. but as Spock no doubt justifies to himself, they're not on Vulcan). But I also think that by the end of the show, their dynamic has moved towards a stage where the shift to an unambiguously romantic relationship, even if hidden, feels inevitable and imminent. I genuinely feel like they're so close to full honesty with each other at this point that it can't be long, and that's with over a year of the mission left.
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Hello everyone! I'm back with a (kinda late) spooky au! This is the monster-themed au that won the last poll, so here we go!
In this au, set in season 4 (post-Aithusa), where, after feeling Aithusa call to him from within her egg, Merlin could now sense dragon eggs.
Since dragons mated every year and laid multiple eggs each time, and there were only so many dragonlords around to hatch them, there were hundreds of dragon eggs hidden around Albion, waiting for a dragonlord to get close enough for them to call out to, yearning for the world outside of their shells. And since the dragonlords were nearly wiped out in the purge, those hundreds of eggs were still hidden, still waiting for a dragonlord to call them into life.
And now that Merlin can recognize their calls and knows how to call them forth them their eggs, he collects and hatches as many dragon eggs as he can, determined to bring the magical creatures back to their former glory.
And this goes fairly smoothly, except for one issue: he needs a place to hide all of them. They're all still so young, despite growing rather quickly, and the world is still hostile towards dragons, not seeing them as the majestic creatures of wonder that they are.
So, Merlin finds a hidden place for all of them to nest: an underground cave system beneath a mountain. It was near enough to Camelot that he could visit frequently, and the tunnels were large enough for all of them to have their own space, even as the number of baby dragons grew from five, to ten, to twenty, to well over seventy baby dragons took refuge inside the caves.
Aithusa was delighted by each new baby sibling Merlin brought to her in the caves, and she took care of them as best she could. (Kilgharrah, the rubbish babysitter, was not invited to the nests, as he would surely fill the babies' heads with all sort of nonsense about hating humans.)
And so, Merlin kept this up for well over a year, hatching dragons and bringing them to the nests, where he would be bombarded by baby dragons looking to cuddle with their egg-father. He loved spending time with all of them, but he worried about them too. What would happen when grew too large for the caves? Where would they go? Would they be safe?
But as the young dragons grew, they were content to stay in their hidden sanctuary, keeping each other company and eagerly awaiting their egg-father's sporadic visits. They especially enjoyed his stories of Camelot and his golden king. They loved to imagine the man their father was describing, a man with gold for hair and jewels for eyes. He must be the greatest treasure in all the lands! It was no wonder their great and powerful dragonlord kept him safe in his hoard!
And it went on like this for several years, up until Morgana heard rumors of strange growls and reports of terrible beasts coming from the caves underneath the White Mountains. Upon hearing these rumors and sensing with her magic that were was a small army of powerful magical beasts within the caves, she came up with the brilliant plan of luring Arthur, Merlin, and the knights into these tunnels and trapping them there. Those beasts, whatever they were, would surely make quick work of all of them!
Her plan, of course, succeeds. After all, she knew that using a knight as bait would lure all of them into the caves, and then using her magic to collapse all of the exits was simple work. As she walked away from the mountain, she cackled with furious glee. At long last, all of her enemies were doomed! Camelot was hers for the taking!
Meanwhile, underneath the mountain, Arthur, Merlin, and the knights were all trapped. While they hadn't run into any of the monsters Morgana had mentioned, they could hear growls echoing off of the stone walls, heralding their doom getting closer and closer.
(The growling, translated from dragontongue: Papa! Papa! Papa's back!)
As the sounds of the ferocious growling grew closer and closer, they could see the shadows of the beasts approaching on the walls of the cave. They were enormous, with wings and claws! Arthur and the knights all drew their swords, ready to fight to the end against a mob of these horrid beasts.
As the monsters came into view, the shocked gasp came from the group. Before them was an impossible sight, dozens of dragons, each as long as two men and as tall as Percival!
(Merlin gasped at the sight because his babies had suddenly hit growth spurts! They were so much bigger than the last time he saw them!)
Arthur and all his knights braced themselves for what would be a devastating attack from the monsters, when suddenly, to their horror, Merlin ran out in front of them!
"Merlin! This is no time for your sacrificial idiocy! Get back behind us!"
But Merlin didn't even glance back at them, h simply ran forwards towards the beasts!
Arthur gave out a heart-wrenching cry as the monsters pounced on his friend, their razor-sharp claws tearing through his skin and their horrid jaws opening to bite at his flesh.
(Merlin, meanwhile, was being cuddled and playfully licked by his dragons, who took great care to keep their claws and teeth away from their egg-father's soft human skin.)
With a savage and anguished war cry, Arthur ran forward, sword in hand, praying that Merlin was still in one piece. Jolted out of their horror by Arthur's cry, the other knights follow, ready to slay these monsters and save Merlin from their grasp!
The dragons, who recognize Arthur from Merlin's descriptions of him, dart forward, excited to finally meet the golden king that their lord talks so much about! The golden king was as radiant as their lord said he was, and he even gave a play roar and charged at them! He wanted to play and be their friend!
His strange gray hand-fang stung a little bit when it hit their scales, but it hurt no more than their siblings' claws when they were play-fighting together.
The young dragons had a great time playing with all their new friends, who gave play roars and hit them with those strange gray fangs. Their new friends were so fast too, not letting the dragons hit them easily.
This went on for a while, until Aithusa become too excited by all of the play fighting and accidentally knocked the golden king down too hard, knocking the air out of him.
Aithusa whined apologetically as she walked over to him, opening her mouth so that she could breath her healing breath on him, when he suddenly grabbed his grey-fang and aimed it at her open mouth, ready to strike. Aithusa flinched back in surprise, but the golden king's movement was halted by a call from her lord.
"STOP!"
Everyone, knights and dragons alike, froze at the order, even though the command had not been given in dragontongue. Aithusa whined in apology again. She hadn't meant to hurt her lord's king! She had just forgotten he was less sturdy than her siblings!
"Merlin! You're alright! Come quickly, we must leave before these beasts... why is that dragon nuzzling you like an overgrown housecat?"
Merlin gave Arthur his most innocent look, but it wasn't very convincing. Sighing, Merlin wrapped his arms around Aithusa's neck and hugged her, which caused her to start purring with joy, much to the knights' shock.
"Well, you see, I kinda... found a dragon egg out in the woods one day? And I couldn't just leave it all by itself, anything could have happened to it, so I put it somewhere safe! And then, it hatched! And I couldn't just leave the poor baby to fend for herself, so I brought her here, where I thought she'd be safe and not bother anyone. But then I couldn't just leave her alone here, so I came back to visit her and bring her food!
And then, I started finding more dragon eggs and brought all of them here and took care of them!"
Merlin finished his rushed explanation with a smile, hoping that Arthur would just buy it and not ask any questions, like how Merlin found any dragon eggs in the first place. By the end of his explanation, Arthur had gone from alarmed to completely exasperated.
"So what you mean to tell me, Merlin, is that you found dragon eggs, and, instead of killing them before they could become threats, chose to raise them like they were stray kittens instead?"
Arthur's tone indicated that yes, he had bought Merlin's lie, and yes, he also thought Merlin was a much bigger idiot than he did before.
Merlin just nodded, praying to anyone that would listen that none of the knights would possess any critical thinking skills and start poking holes in Merlin's hastily made-up story.
Merlin's fears were alleviated when Gwaine began laughing hysterically, walked fearlessly between the dragons, and clasped a hand on Merlin's shoulder.
"My friend, I knew you were a special kind of crazy for putting up with Arthur all these years, but this! This beats any insane stunt you've done before! You've just tamed dragons, you madman! Hell, you've got them all wrapped around your finger by the looks of it!"
Gwaine, amazed and almost giddy, looked around at the dragons, who were contently cuddling up around Merlin now, tired from all of the play fighting.
Merlin rubbed the back of his neck, nervous and slightly embarrassed at all of the attention. The other knights looked on in wonder as Merlin told the dragons to go off the sleep in the nest, and they all listened. He really had tamed them!
Merlin turned and gave Arthur, who was still looked at Merlin with frustration and disbelief, a nervous smile.
"So, uh, it's probably a bit late to be asking this, but do you think I can keep them in Camelot?"
And that's all for now! I had a lot of fun writing about Merlin army of baby dragons! Please let me know if you'd like a continuation of this!
And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings!
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yutasbellybuttonpiercing · 9 months ago
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#3 "i dare you to fuck me (hoshi)"
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kinktober 2024 — #3
pairing: kwon soonyoung/ hoshi x reader
au/genre: smut, slightly fluffy (?), best friends!au
word count: 4293 words
warnings: brief nipple play, fingering (f receiving), not detailed oral (f receiving), awkwardness, a bet about orgasms, soonyoung has a big dick (how does this always happen?), piv sex (reader is on unspecified birth control), unrealistic stamina, cream pie 💞
a/n: I WUV HOSHI 🐯 also, can someone please count how many times i've described his body as muscular?
taglist: @rjreins @meowniee @deezbin @ant-onie @ablackbtsstan @gacktsa
"There just is no way you can do it, no one can!" A groan escapes you as you fall back onto your mattress, throwing a pillow over your face to hide your half-embarrassed, half-distressed feelings written all over your face. It's awfully quiet for a moment, and to have a peek to what you assume is happening, you remove the pillow, immediately being greeted with your best friend's face hovering mere inches in front of your own, signed with that look – and therefore be proven correctly.
"I think I can." Soonyoung grins, leaning in closer. His knees rest on each side next to your hips on the mattress, his hands creating deep imprints beside your shoulders as he stares down at you. Involuntarily, your breath hitches. You find yourself staring into his eyes, switching from one to the other as your own widen in realization that – maybe – you're not as much against the idea as you initially suspected.
Soonyoung is commonly known to be absolutely competitive. If everyone was backing down from a challenge, Soonyoung would be the last man standing, facing the difficulties and tearing them apart like a cheese grater. It is something you do admire about him, well, under normal circumstances that do not include your... your body.
"And I think you're being a creep," you announce, pressing your pointer finger to his forehead to push him away. With a whine, he compliantly retracts, a pout forming on his lips, all while you feel like you can finally breathe again. With a scoot, you sit up against the headboard, switching between looking at your best friend and fighting your hardest battle of trying not to look at him. 
"Well, I think you're not giving me a chance," he states, criss-crossing his toned legs that you probably shouldn't gaze upon right now to stand your point, but how could you when they're practically begging for you to bite into their muscly flesh?
"Well, I think-" You're forcing your eyes to take in anything but his thighs – a quest hard enough to bring even the strongest soldier to their knees in defeat – "that would cross boundaries that can't be un-crossed."
The playful glint in his eyes disappears suddenly, leaving him to contort his brows in concern. "For real?"
"I mean, yeah?" Your shoulders tense up and your fingers begin fiddling with a loose string on your sock. "Look, the thing is that I'm fine. I don't need to- you know."
The look he sends you is unbelieving, doubtful, unconvinced.
"It was just a random fact I threw into this conversation, I didn't mean for you to jump on the opportunity," you reason, hands gesturing weirdly in front of your chest.
"Alright, my bad," he grins and you thank the universe for the one thing that characterizes your best friend more than his competitiveness: his naivety to believe every lie you tell. Because if he'd tried convincing you for a minute longer, you would've presumably given in. It's not like you don't want to, it's not like the voice between your legs hasn't yearned for Soonyoung's touch once or twice or thrice or more in the past years of being friends. It's just that- how does one move on from that?
"Great!"
"I mean it's your choice if you don't want to cum." Soonyoung shrugs, eyebrows risen with a sly smile on his face as he turns his head, then side-eyes you.
"Exactly." You grin fakely.
"I mean, not to brag, but the feeling is pretty great."
"I know. I can do it myself."
"Sure, but" he sighs dreamily "it's different through the hands of another person."
"Weren't we going to play Mario Kart?" You ask through gritted teeth, trying to change the topic away from your sex-life. Soonyoung might be great at a lot of things, most things even, but how can you be sure he's good at this too? How does one move on from that – okay, maybe that’s somehow possible… but how does one move on from that failing miserably?
"Oh, of course," Soonyoung scoots to sit down next to you and presses a controller into your hands. You would like to say the cool material eases the sweaty feeling of your palms, but it actually intensifies, highlights the feeling, and you try your best to ignore how it threatens to glide from your wet digits every passing second. Not long after, the game starts with Soonyoung immediately taking first place. You try to concentrate, mood dropping when you have to, once again, realize that he is pretty much unbeatable. Saltily, you side-eye him, only to see a smug grin on his face. "What can I say, I'm pretty good with my hands."
"Oh, for God's sake!" You throw the controller down, crossing your arms over your chest and watch Soonyoung win the game just seconds later. Slowly, he turns his head towards you, grinning evilly.
"What?"
"Nothing," he smiles sweetly and you huff, then get ready for the next round which goes by just as quickly as the first, and with the same outcome. Annoyed, you throw the controller across the bed only for it to bounce off the edge and hit the floor with a thump. 
"You seem pretty tense, maybe I should help you relax," Soonyoung grins, and you wish upon the Gods to either let the ground swallow you whole or to give you a way to wipe his awful smugness off his handsome features.
Maybe you could punch him. It would most certainly shut him up, but you're not a violent person. You like peace, you like the pigeons, and punching him would only result in the same outcome of a ruined friendship, but without the fun.
Maybe you could kiss him. It would also ruin the friendship, but at least you get half the fun. 
Maybe you should just go for broke.
"Okay," you simply say. Judging by the look that takes over Soonyoung's face, he is definitely surprised, but not opposed. He blinks, bottom lip pushing forward in disbelief.
"What?"
"Do it," you demand, grabbing the remote to turn of the TV (the Mario Kart Theme Song is not the ideal background music for getting intimate with your best friend, you decide) and lay down on your back. With a swift motion, you lose your pants, kicking them off your legs and down the bed to pool in a little jean-mountain next to the controller you'd sent off earlier.
Soonyoung looks like he's been petrified while looking at a pot of freshly made budae jiggae. It takes him another split of a second to collect himself before he comes crawling over to you. "Are you sure?" 
"I'm sure that if you don't do something right now I will kick you out and keep your switch," you answer blandly and, in the same breath, wonder when all of your uncertainty turned into passive-aggressiveness and impatience. 
"I didn't pressure you into this, right?" Soonyoung's stare into your eyes is so intense that a part of you melts, but a different part of you wants to show him, to prove him wrong. There is no one who's ever been patient enough with you to make you finish, so maybe it's your poor choice of men, maybe it's your body, maybe it's something else entirely. Of course it bothered you at first, but you've come to terms with it. That was until today. There is just no way that he can bring you an orgasm. It cannot be that simple.
"I swear to God-"
"Can I kiss you?" Soonyoung's voice sounds so soft, uncharacteristically soft. He's appeared besides you, finally settled in laying on his side, slightly towering over your form. The scent of his cologne meets your nostrils as you dare to look up at him, a dark gaze set upon his eyes that makes you gulp, throat drying up with the thought of what's to come.
"Just do whatever you need to-" You don't even get to finish before his soft lips press against yours. He slips his hand beneath your chin to lift it up the slightest bit for better access. His mouth moves gently against your own, obnoxious sounds of lips parting and connecting again litters the quiet room. Sounds that would usually make you gag upon hearing them, but something about it being him makes it okay, makes you not even realize. 
It's then when you notice his hand leaving your chin, trusting the way your lips move against his own that you will not pull away without the support. He traces your form, hand stroking over your sides to come to a quick halt at your hips. You gasp as he moves it up again to gently trace the outlines of your breasts through your shirt. 
Tingling sensations of want spray through your body like a miniature firework. Soonyoung knows how to touch you, even though he never has, not like that, and when his thumb brushes over your clothed nipple, you gasp against his lips.
You just know he's going to be smug about it, you're not even surprised when you feel him smirk against your lips before resuming to kiss you deeply, adding a little tongue to lick over your lower lip, not yet begging for entry.
His hand leaves your breast, and you feel a little disappointed until you realize he pushes your shirt upwards to create real, skin-on-skin contact with your nipple again. You'd be surprised at how easy it was for you to let yourself go for him, to let him in, to let him explore, if you could concentrate on anything but the way his self-declared skillful fingers are making you feel right now. 
With your shirt pushed further up to reveal your body to his eyes, his lips leave yours to attach to a nipple instead, sensually licking and sucking on the bud to leave you back-arched and hungry for more. You voice your wish, and Soonyoung, not without a chuckle, lets go of your breasts to kiss you once again. 
His hand leaves your chest to travel south, tickling the sensitive skin of your stomach briefly before exploring the sensitivity of your thighs. He traces soft patterns on the supple flesh, riling you up even more before finally attending to your clothed core. 
At the first touch, your eyes roll back behind closed lids, hips bucking into his touch as if having a mind of their own. You know he can feel how your wetness drenched the flimsy material of your panties, and when he finally reaches inside, you feel much less like needing to prove a point. To say his fingers feel good would be an understatement, you would even dare say that you've never had someone else’s touch feel this good.
Soonyoung glides a finger through your folds, collecting enough of your wetness to spread upwards over your clit, then begins circling it. The action makes you clench around nothing. He knows just how to touch you, and you start to believe that he might actually be able to make it happen.
His motions, speed and pressure intensify over time, making you grasp the sheets to keep yourself from thrashing around. At this point, you don't even realize the sounds you're making, nor the volume of them, only spurring Soonyoung on to keep touching you just like that. 
Pressure begins building. Your heart skips a beat, then hammers away at twice its original pace to make up for it. The familiar knot in your stomach keeps forming, you cry out, hands, touching everywhere at once to find the closure of knowing what to do with yourself, finding refugee on Soonyoung's shirt. Your lips are no longer connected, instead your forehead rests pressed against his, allowing your panting breath to tickle his lips.
It's happening, it's going to happen-
It’s… it’s gone.
As slowly as it came, it ended abruptly. It still feels good, everything feels so, so good. You feel yourself being on fire, every part of you yearns to feel Soonyoung, more of Soonyoung and Soonyoung everywhere. It's just not enough.
Whether he felt your build up and crashing or not, he does not seem to be ready to give up just yet, instead reaching down to insert a finger into your waiting hole, then another. His movements are neat, concentrated on making you see stars with the way he drags along your walls, pads of his fingers pressing upward to massage into your spot just right.
It builds, it builds, and it's gone.
Reading your signs, Soonyoung moves to lie between your legs. The absolutely drenched material of your panties meets the floor moments later before Soonyoung dives in, lips and tongue connecting to form a firework of sensations between your legs. But it's just not enough, you realize, and you feel like crying. It can't be, he is doing everything right, better than right, so why isn't it working?
"S-Soonyoung-" you bring out. "It's not- it's not working."
"Are you sure? I mean, I could-"
"I can't. It's not going to happen."
"Just let go-"
"I can't!"
"Please-"
"Just let it go!"
It's not awkward, it just feels a little weird. None of you had realized just how much time Soonyoung spent between your thighs, and the reality came crashing down on you as you looked at your phone to overcome the awkward silence, showing numbers that indicated that Soonyoung's last bus was gone for good and there was no way for him to get home.
Hence, the two of you stare holes into the darkness lying next to each other on your bed about half an hour later. 
"I'm sorry I couldn't-" Soonyoung whispers into the quiet room.
"That's why I told you, it's impossible," you whine, hiding your face in your hands even though he can't see you anyway. 
"Was it... just not good in general?" The uncertainty in Soonyoung's voice is uncharacteristic for him, voice usually overflowing with confidence to a point where it's almost unbearably annoying sometimes. It makes your heart ache.
"No, you were not the problem. You did... everything right, to be honest. I don't want to stroke your already massive ego too much, but I've never been touched like that," you admit, turning to your side to face where you assume him to be.
"Phew," he says, and you can hear the playfulness in his voice clearly. You roll your eyes, but crack a smile. Rustling noises coming from Soonyoung's side of the bed, paired with dipping motions of the mattress that let you guess that Soonyoung's turned to face you as well. Carefully, you reach out to touch him.
"That's my f-, I swear to God if your finger ends up in my nose, that's your problem- no wait, I'll turn on the light," Soonyoung says and follows his own words with actions, and you giggle, closing your eyes to shield them from the stinging brightness of your lamp and scooting your body closer to Soonyoung until you can feel the warmth radiating from his body not only on your hand, that's touching his chest. It's silent for a minute.
"It was really good..." you admit again, Soonyoung's scent reminding you of the happenings earlier, and maybe this is your subconsciousness telling you to try it again, but you're unaware of it.
"If I didn't know any better, I could swear you're trying to fuck me right now," Soonyoung laughs and earns slaps to his chest from you until he has enough and grabs your wrist. "For real though..."
"What?"
"Let's try it again- wait! Hear me out," he warns, and you shut your opening mouth in defeat. "Let's make it a competition, whoever cums first has to buy ice cream tomorrow."
"Ice cream?" You mumble, head spinning a little at his eagerness to try again. You can't believe that this is only his competitiveness speaking, yet you can only speculate the reason why he is so head over heels at the idea of being intimate with you again.
"Ice cream," he confirms, but the tone of his voice dropped in both deepness and volume. A tingling sensation washes over your body, causing your breath to come out shakily as you subconsciously press yourself closer to Soonyoung.
"But isn't ice cream like really cheap? Shouldn't we compete for something a little more... expensive?" You don't notice how your tone changed as well, making it sound like you're unintentionally purring your words.
"It's not about the ice cream, silly," Soonyoung tsks, making you look up at him once again by lifting your chin, "I just want you."
You whimper at that, and fortunately, Soonyoung is quick enough to pull you into another kiss before you can feel embarrassed about your shameless display of attraction. Quickly, the kiss gets heated, yet not hasty, no teeth clashing, no lips crashing, just raw desire and a little too much spit. It’s perfect.
Soonyoung’s hands find your waist, pulling you closer, before shamelessly reaching for the supple flesh of your ass, generously groping a cheek with his hand, making you whimper once again, uncoordinated hands tugging at his shirt, wanting it off, wanting to see the bulky richness of the body you know he’s sculpted to upmost perfection at the gym in the past years.
Following your desperate request, Soonyoung pulls the fabric over his head, he himself too affected to even act cocky about you wanting an opportunity to visually take in his beefy torso, instead panting softly as his intense gaze meets yours.
Though not for long, as yours immediately falls to his strong chest, muscles visibly bulging through his skin, and you can feel yourself gulping from drooling so much. Your nimble fingers quickly find their way onto his skin, softly exploring the wide expanse of muscle paradise as your lips find his again. 
Soonyoung softly grunts into your mouth as your fingertips briefly circle his assumably sensitive nipple, then softly pushes you onto your back to hover above you effortlessly, strong arms wrapping around your figure before pulling your shirt off as well.
The in between is a bit of a blur, every glimpse at Soonyoung's body enough to get your head spinning, every one of his touches feeling electric with how turned on you are, and soon, there's not a layer of clothing separating you. 
Soonyoung reaches down gently, spreading your folds with his fingers to find your wetness greeting him once again, insisting on preparing you for what's to come as he softly kisses along your neck.
This time, you feel, he's less determined, there's no goal in his mind, he genuinely wants to explore the depths of you, every little part he missed in his determination earlier. But that doesn't make it any less mind blowing.
“You’re so… perfect,” he mumbles into your neck, the sound almost getting lost in your gasps and soft moans as he stretches you with three of his digits. 
“Soonyoung…” you whimper needily, trembling hands running down his body, reaching their destination as you wrap a hand around his length. 
“Fuck, you’re big,” you gasp in mild surprise, unable to hold back the implied compliment, and the charged atmosphere briefly lightens as Soonyoung lets out a soft chuckle. 
“You want it?” He asks, and it’s not only a question of if, but also him trying to gauge if you're ready for him yet.
“Mm,” you hum in approval, hooded eyes hazily looking up at him as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Soonyoung lets out one last breathy chuckle before aligning himself with your entrance, intense gaze meeting yours as he carefully shifts forward, his tip briefly catching on your hole before sliding inside.
Your breath hitches at the stretch despite his preparations, yet you want more, you want all of him, all of Soonyoung as deeply as possible, and to never let him go. And he complies, slowly pushing deeper and deeper, every vein dragging deliciously along your walls that struggle to adjust to the intrusion.
With your eyes rolling back, you let out a soft groan, hands grabbing onto his bulging biceps for any form of stability as your head spins, his tip seeming to slide deeper endlessly, his cock filling you to the very brim before he finally bottoms out.
“Holy shit,” Soonyoung grunts softly, panting breaths leaving his parted lips, eyebrows scrunched in a mix of raw pleasure and trying to hold himself back from just pounding into you right now.
He takes a deep breath, grabbing onto your thigh to adjust it around his waist before stroking all the way over the flesh of your ass and up your waist where he rests his hand to hold you in place as he pulls back slightly, then thrusts experimentally.
A whine escapes your parted lips, fireworks going off behind closed lids, the butterflies in your stomach going crazy at the feeling combined with the mere reality of this situation. Soonyoung’s inside you, reaching depths that you’d naively describe as uncharted territory, and, God, he feels heavenly. And your body seems to agree, clenching automatically as if not wanting to ever let him pull out entirely again.
Soonyoung gasps, then buries his face in your neck again, lips attaching to your skin, peppering open mouthed kisses everywhere he can reach as he repeats his thrust before setting a slow yet steady pace.
Moans tumble from your mouth uncontrollably, the bet about ice cream long forgotten, as well as your uncertainty about whether you can even cum from someone else's touch. 
And Soonyoung takes you for hours, pushing your legs and body into every possible position one could think of, whispering sweet yet dirty nothings into your ear for only you to hear, and gifting you the best night of your life. 
By the time he announces that he's close, he’s a panting mess, a layer of sweat covering his muscular body while the wetness between your legs has increased to a point where it's almost too slippers, and yet all you feel is pure bliss.
“Cum in me,” you gasp breathlessly, your legs feeling like jelly at this point, “it’s fine… cum in me…”
With his last remaining strength, Soonyoung’s head snaps up, a look of pure astonishment on his face, “for real?”
“Y-yeah.. yeah, I’m-,” you interrupt yourself with a moan as Soonyoung’s thrusts pick up, “yeah..”
“Oh my God..” Soonyoung’s moans get whinier, a tad higher in pitch as he gets closer and closer. He’s managed to manhandle you back into your original position with you on your back, and his hands grip onto your waist to be able to piston his hips into you faster, his face buried in your neck as he grunts in pleasure, “oh, fuck, thank you…”
His thrusts get sloppier, almost losing their rhythm and all you can focus on is how his body slowly tenses up more and more, the veins on his strong forearms bulging as he moans your name into your neck needily. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum…”
Just as you open your mouth to encourage him once again, he picks up his pace yet again, pounding his hips into yours with such force and speed that it makes the bed crash against the wall repeatedly. It takes you by surprise, your back arching and your jaw dropping at the sudden overwhelming sensation, your nails digging into the skin of Soonyoung’s wide shoulders.
He pushes into you harder and harder, as if losing himself completely, his moans growing louder and louder, maybe a bit too loud for the time of night, but neither of you care, merely focused on the pleasure you’re both feeling. 
Soonyoung bottoms out again, once, twice, before pushing in impossibly deep, and you can physically feel the exact moment he orgasms, his length pulsating wildly and a warm sensation filling you, and that’s when it happens. 
With a soft, tired whine, you feel the knot in your stomach, that you didn’t even notice was forming, snap, your own walls clamping down around Soonyoung repeatedly, albeit rather softly and not as intense as Soonyoung’s high. It takes you a moment to realize.
Your eyes widen. Was that…? The same moment, Soonyoung’s head snaps up, his eyes as wide as your own. Oh, he felt it.
“Did you…?” He whispers, as if afraid that if he talked too loudly, it would turn back time and undo your orgasm.
With parted lips, you stare back at him, “I… y-yeah…”
You expected everything from a cocky remark over an ick-triggering victory dance to an actual orgasm-celebration party featuring everyone Soonyoung’s known since birth, but Soonyoung just leans back down and hugs you tightly. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah,” you whisper back. Hesitantly due to your surprise, you slowly brush your fingers through his hair, suddenly deeply in thought.
Soonyoung actually made you cum? And it was… that easy? Well, despite the fact that it took literal hours… and why did it happen when he- and generally, what now?
“Can I take you out on a date after getting you ice cream?” Soonyoung suddenly speaks up, too exhausted to lift his head once more so his voice gets muffled in your neck.
“Huh?” You ask, sure you must’ve misheard him.
“Date…” is all Soonyoung can mumble.
“You-,” you begin, but quickly shut up. Why not? “Yeah, why not?”
“Fabulous,” Soonyoung mumbles, then presses a wet kiss to your shoulder. A few minutes pass by before he speaks up again. “I’m feeling sticky. Are you feeling sticky? Let’s shower…” he lifts his head, then slowly begins grinning. “We can reminisce about this experience in there…”
Ah, there he is. 
© 2024 YUTASBELLYBUTTONPIERCING all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works.
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michaelswilliam · 5 months ago
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lets talk about how byler will happen in ST5
mike will initiate it.
why? well, because will has given up on any chances that he might be with mike in season 4. i do believe that if byler is going to be endgame, it will be because of mike pursuing will.
will is not going to try to get with mike romantically, not when he thinks mike still loves eleven and vice versa. 12 year old will was really to kill himself to save the town that hated his guts, he is never gonna put himself before others, especially not someone who is now his sister and has saved his life.
if byler is happening, it will be because mike decides to make the first move.
i think the painting discussion will happen in episode 1, i think it will lead to mileven breaking up and both el and mike will connect the dots to will's feelings. next two episodes, mike's attention gonna stay on will as he tries to figure out his feelings for him.
maybe will comes out in between 1-3 episodes, this will affirm his sexuality to mike. i think in between those moments, when holly disappears and both of them are stuck in the circumstances with each other, there will be a heat of the moment, where mike tries to kiss will.
and maybe they get interrupted? or will tries to pull back because he just cannot comprehend that mike is actually returning his feelings, the feelings that will has made peace with himself to keep and do nothing about. oh i think it would be so angsty, i think there will be a lot of pining and yearning up until the last (two) episode. ngl i do think it will be dramatic, either will getting vecna-d or mike, and they confess their feelings to each other then. crazy together, right?
or maybe before the final battle? where both of them don't know if they will survive it? how mike will tell will that he chooses him. how their love isn't some coincidence, or god forbid, fate.
no, their love is the fruit of their will, their choice. mike will fight for this love, he is fighting for it, and both of them will not gonna die, because mike will bring his best friend, the love of his life, to the other end of the war. and they will spend the rest of their lives choosing each other, loving each other. oh and it's gonna be so sweet, and will gonna stand on his tippy toes and kisses mike. or maybe he will grab mike by the shoulders to pull him down, pull him closer and kisses him. and it's gonna be so, so beautiful. mike will hold will by the waist, lift him up until his feet barely touch the ground. it will be soft, but it also be hungry, and... desperate. because they don't want their first kiss to be their last, but if it does, they're gonna savor every moment, every touch. swallowing each other's breath.
and maybe either lucas or dustin will pull a harry potter and scream "OI, IS THIS REALLY THE TIME, WE HAVE A THREE-HEADED MONSTER COMING OUR WAY!!!"
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emryslore · 4 months ago
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if you ever get into merthur i'd love a rec, i love your other recs sm <3
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Hi Anon!
I do love merthur myself so I wanted to share my favourites I've read recently! Thank you for the ask! I hope you enjoy!
A Language With No Words (E) 55k by neptunesyellowsands
Its a really incredible long fic with a sequel
A little smile had touched Arthur’s lips, drawing up the corners of his mouth. He’d looked keen and kind, and like he’d just solved one of the greatest mysteries of all time. And part of Merlin had wanted to point out the idiocy of having missed this rather obvious detail until now, but that part was drowned out entirely by the feel of Arthur’s eyes locked onto his, of being on the receiving end of his smile. Not the cocky ones or the condescending ones, but this one, this one right here, small and soft and warm. The sun was streaming in through the window, and, for a moment, Arthur’s hair and his skin and all of the world Merlin could see was golden, and that was it. That was all it had taken. Merlin was absolutely, unequivocally not his own from then on. Merlin arrives at Camlann just in time. When the truth comes out, will Arthur accept him? Will they be able to face the feelings each of them has for the other? Will they ultimately defeat Morgana - together? This is the story as it might have ended if things had been just a little bit different.
tempest in a teacup (get unique) (G) 1.6k by trickytricko
A retelling of s1 ep10 with outside pov
Hunith watched the two young men for a moment, her expression softening as she took in the easy camaraderie between them. It was clear that Merlin had found more than just a prince to serve in Arthur. He had found a friend, a companion; something that she knew was incredibly rare for someone in his position. *** a partial retelling of ep.10 season 1 featuring Hunith's "he likes you!!" bc we love how she ships it.
I choose you and me religiously (E) 111k by koffeinkaos
Not completed but oh its so good it has everything a long term merthur fan would want
It sniffed the air. "Emrys? Magic itself serving a Pendragon, Uther's son, a corrupted Camelot." The raven haired man tensed at those words a jolt of fear rushing through his body. But he couldn't get distracted now. He pressed the panic down so hard, he felt like he might vomit. He was turned to the monster, all the knights were behind him, so he couldn't see the shocked expressions on his friends faces when the words sank in. Lancelot tried to get closer to Arthur in case he wouldn't take the revelation well, but one of the wolves bared his teeth and snapped at him warningly. So far Arthur had only stilled. His hands had fallen uselessly to his sides, eyes fixed on the back of Merlin's head. "I don't serve the king and I don't serve Camelot. I only serve Arthur. I am loyal only to him. If you touch him, you'll die." Another vicious snarl left the wolf's throat. "We'll see." ---- Or Merlin has to reveal his magic to save his friends and Arthur is head over heels for him. Gay fluff with plot and a bit of smut in between (warnings in the chapters for that) Have fun reading
in this and every life (T) 26k by winterbucky (winterbuckyy)
And ofc last but not least here we have some good old OP merlin, yearning and dimensional travel
Over 10 years after their memories return, Arthur, Gwen, and the Knights have to make peace with the heartbreaking fact that the might never find Merlin and Leon again. It's as if by chance that Gwaine finds people who look just like them, in some club in Florence of all places. So, despite their friends' disbelief, Arthur and Gwaine set out to find their missing pieces Merlin and Leon have long made peace with their immortality, and they're thriving in the life they lead, even through their friends are lost to them. They're not expecting to see them every again A chance encounter of the four men sends them on a wild journey through the and universes, trying desperately to find their way to each other. And maybe find other versions of themselves along the way or dimension time travel with a lot of yearning, powerful merlin, friendship and feels, battles, and happy endings
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bbybhr · 6 months ago
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Just wanted to write smut with old man logan cause my loooong looong fic about him is still in progress and they're refusing to sleep with each other...bummer huh?I just use my drabble card
MDNI
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Old man logan is the kind of guy who loves his pillow princess, life was so hard on him that he found himself yearning for taking control, and you; his sweet little angel knows it pretty well because he reminded you that so many times.
when he's kneeling infront of you, eating you out,practically devouring you with his mouth while holding your hips in his rough calloused hand, his shoulders beneath your knees, holding your lower body in the air as he sucks at your sensitive clit, making you mewl in overstimulation, and when you do as much as try to move a little on his tongue so you could get rid of that knot in your stomach hoping to get off a little sooner , he would growl while still lapping at your sweet cunt but now with more force, his hand grabbing your hips tighter, bruising them, not wanting you to move, just lay down and take everything he gives you. It's an unspoken yet clear rule.
And when he's done with your now puffy nub, having you sobbing infront of him, he would slowly lower your legs... but don't take that breath of relief yet! He would straight up his leaned posture, still on his knees looking down at you, admiring the mess he made out of you.
"My beautiful fucking girl"
He would rasp out as his hand touch the wetness that you made on his beard than slowly leaning on you again grabbing your knees and forcefully parting them
"Not done yet,princess"
He rubs his index finger along your foldes coating them with your juice as he leans closer to your pussy
"Can't get enough...what have you done to me..."
He mumbles more to himself than you
You're trying to maintain your tears as your body jerks from the sensation of his finger
"Logan..."
You plead, your voice shaking
"Shh I know, I know"
He would say before slowly teasing your entrance with his middle finger slowly pushing it forward, feeling your hot and wet walls around his digit. He would touch your inside with the tip of his finger and soon enough finding that gummy spot inside of you and pushing on it.
"Found it..."
He voices with a mean tune as a loud moan skip you and you try to move away from his touch.
"Uh uh,there's no running my little bunny...take it"
He pushes his finger further in you, pressuring the same spot, his other hand moves up resting at your lower stomach and as soon as he pistons his finger inside you he would press it with a little force.
You moan and squirm under his touch, the only thing you could focus on is how his finger feels inside of you; and the sweet pressure on your stomach where the same knot of pleasure builds up and up and up again.
He would add another finger expecting you to take it like the good girl you are, now two fingers knuckle deep pumping inside of you as a string of "pleas pleas pleas" leaves your lips
"Please what darlin"
He would ask unbothered by your state having you right where he wants you
"Need... need you. Lo...please"
You beg him for what?you don't even know. Your mind clouded and your body feels like a bunch of nerves ending, feeling logan everywhere
"Need what sweetheart?need more?you greedy little slut"
His voice gruff and full of need to be inside of you but he could tolerate it, if he gets to see you like this a little more
"Just wanting my full fucking attention on you huh?Well I'm gonna make damn sure that you get it"
He places his thumb on your oversensitive nub starting to stroking it in circular motion, deliberately ignoring your plead to stop
"I know what you really fucking want darlin, this shit ain't work on me"
He says as he's hand on your stomach move up pinching your nipple twisting it between his two fingers, his other hand still working wonders, making you see stars and you moan his name almost as loud as a scream
"Jesus...music to my ears"
He mumbles before grabbing you by the back of your neck pulling your face close to his, folding you in half and smashing his lips on yours; growling at the sweet taste you leave on his tongue and how your delicate body trembles under him...one again the knot in your stomach snaps and the rush of hormones washes over you leaving your body weak.
"That's it doll...there we go"
He cooed on your lips before biting your shaking bottom lips and riding you down your high.
You're a fucking mess under him as he lay you on your back again,body full on display and covered in a thin layer of sweat, glowing under the dim light, you made a wet patch on his bed between your legs and your cheeks and lips are blushed, an absolute goddess in his eyes, his innocent little lamb ravaged by the big bad wolf that he is
At this point he can not take it any longer, just grabbing you by your side and manhandling you with ease so you can lay on your stomach
"Lo...logan no...no more, please...I can't"
You beg with no hope
"Well tough luck honey...I'm just getting started"
He takes out his waistband before grabbing your delicate wrists and tieing them with it, harshly tug on the end of it to make it fit, than without any patient unbuttoning his pants and taking his cock out
He'll place his hand around your stomach and lifting you up just enough...his palm placed on your lower stomach yet again, with his other hand he guid his cock through your foldes, closing his eyes from the pleasure of the contact before he tease the tip in you making you cry harder from pain and pleasure
His hand than came up of your back, caressing the skin before going through your hair and pushing your head in the mattress as his tip rest inside of you, your walls pulsing around it repeatedly, a deep growl skipping from his chest at the feeling
"So perfect for your old man aren't you?now deep breath...Big stretch"
He talks you through it while pounding into you like a man possessed, at one point grabbing your neck again and pulling you so your back leans on his chest while the pathetic sound of "uhuhuhuh" skips you, one hand choking you and the other still on your stomach feeling the bulge he makes every time he fucks into you
"My perfect little toy...mine to fuck...mine to destroy"
He whispers in your ears before biting on it and that's the last thing you remember tomorrow when you wake up in his strong arms caging you
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thewulf · 1 year ago
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Teaching Trails || Azriel
Summary: Request - can i request a teacher reader x azriel where she's Nyx's teacher/tutor and feyre or rhysand asks az to pick him up since they're busy and he swears he falls in love on sight seeing reader be so sweet on Nyxie and how comfortable Nyx is around reader? just something sweet and fluffy and maybe a super nervous az when reader notices him at the doorway?? You can decide the rest. love your work!
A/N: Ahhhh I loved writing this. Idk I just picture Nyx as a sweet bubbly 5/6 year old in this. Adored writing this!
Pairing: Azriel x Female Reader (Night Court Reader)
Word Count: 5.0k +
TW: Use of Magic (fluffy!!)
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As you stand at the edge of one of the many expansive terraces of the House of Wind, the air around you is crisp, the sky a clear, deep blue above the sprawling city of Velaris below. This majestic residence is perched like an eagle's nest atop a solitary mountain and commands a breathtaking view of the Night Court. Its beauty a sure giveaway to ancient power and elegance. Yet despite its grandeur there’s a poignant isolation to it. Especially for young Nyx, whose days are spent within these walls that soar closer to the stars than to the streets where other children play.
Inside the palace is a labyrinth of ornate halls and vast chambers. Each room a masterpiece of art and architecture designed for gods rather than a playful child. The echo of Nyx’s laughter often bounces off the high ceilings. A reminder of the solitude that accompanies his royal upbringing. He is a small but vibrant figure roaming the endless corridors exploring shadowed corners and hidden nooks. His solitude veiled by the splendor surrounding him.
It's during one such quiet evening as the horizon painted a watercolor of twilight hues that Feyre brings up her growing concern to Rhysand. They are in their private chambers. A place where the masks of High Lord and Lady can be set aside. Where vulnerabilities can be voiced without the weight of a crown.
"Nyx needs more than just us. He needs more than this palace," Feyre starts with her voice steady yet filled with an urgency that draws Rhysand’s full attention. "He’s missing out on normal interactions. The kind that happen away from royal duties and ceremonial greetings. He’s a child. He should be learning through play, through friendships formed in mud and laughter. Not just in state rooms and formal gardens."
Rhysand’s expression is torn. As a father he yearns for Nyx to have every happiness the world can offer. But as a ruler the thought of his son, so precious and so exposed, wandering beyond the enchanted safety of their home is daunting. "It's dangerous, Feyre," he counters. His voice laced with a protective edge. "The world isn’t always kind, especially not to those of royal blood."
"But isn’t it more dangerous to raise him in a bubble? How will he learn to lead? To understand his people, if he only ever sees them from a balcony or at formal events?" Feyre’s hands gesture emphatically. Her eyes alight with passion. "We need to let him explore, Rhys. We need to let him be a child. Not just a prince." Their conversation stretches into the night. Debates entwined with silent contemplations until a resolution begins to dawn much like the first light over the Sidra. Rhysand’s fears don’t dissipate entirely but his love for Nyx and his trust in Feyre’s instincts lead him to a concession.
"Alright," he says finally. A reluctant smile breaking through his concerns. "We’ll find him a teacher. Someone who can guide him, teach him, yes, but also someone who can take him beyond these walls. Let him learn about life. About our people through his own experiences. Not just through stories and reports."
Feyre’s relief is palpable and together they set out to find the perfect candidate. The search is exhaustive with candidates from across Prythian and beyond interviewed. They seek not just an educator but a guardian of sorts. Someone who understands the delicate balance of nurturing a child like Nyx. Someone who can foster his curiosity and protect his spirit.
The search for a tutor for young Nyx was not a decision taken lightly. Within the ornate conference room of the House of Wind, Feyre, Rhysand, and other key members of the Inner Circle—save for Azriel, who was away on duty—gathered to commence the rigorous interview process. The room was filled with an air of solemnity as each candidate presented themselves. Their credentials scrutinized not just for academic excellence but for a deeper understanding and alignment with the values of the Night Court.
Mor, with her keen sense of people, led the questioning. Her bright eyes missing nothing. Cassian injected moments of levity lightening the mood with his humor. While Amren's piercing gaze seemed to delve into the very souls of the candidates searching for sincerity and resilience. Each member of the Inner Circle brought their own perspective ensuring that the chosen teacher would not only educate Nyx academically but would also nurture his emotional and cultural development.
Then you entered the room. With a demeanor both warm and composed you introduced yourself. As you spoke about your educational philosophy making sure to emphasize experiential learning and emotional intelligence the panel was visibly impressed. Your background in educational psychology coupled with your years of experience teaching in diverse environments highlighted your capability to adapt and thrive in any teaching scenario. More importantly your genuine passion for fostering young minds resonated deeply with Feyre who nodded appreciatively at your thoughtful answers.
Throughout the interview, your approach to education which focused on developing both the intellect and the heart of a student was clearly aligned with the Night Court's ideals. You spoke of the importance of understanding each student's unique needs and adapting lessons to fit those needs. Even suggesting outdoor classes and cultural excursions that would allow Nyx to learn about his heritage in a tangible, engaging way.
As the interviews concluded and the candidates departed the room buzzed with discussions. It was clear to everyone that you stood out not just for your qualifications but for the gentle strength you exhibited. A trait they all deemed perfect for handling the sensitive nature of their prince's education.
When the decision was made Feyre personally reached out to offer you the position. The joy and excitement in your voice as you accepted was palpable. Aware of the immense responsibility of teaching the heir of the Night Court you were nonetheless thrilled by the opportunity to make a significant impact in a young child's life.
As you prepared to step into this new role your heart was buoyant with anticipation. Not just for the challenges ahead but for the chance to contribute to shaping a future leader of the Night Court. The trust placed in you by such revered figures was not just an honor but a truth to your life's work and passion igniting a fervent desire to start this new chapter.
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In the heart of Velaris away from the towering isolation of the House of Wind you spend a delightful morning with Nyx at one of the city's lush public gardens. The day is warm. The gentle buzz of the city a distant backdrop to the laughter and learning that fills the air around the two of you.
You laid out a picnic blanket under the shade of a towering silverleaf tree. The spread covered with books, sketchpads, and an assortment of colorful pencils. Today's lesson is about the flora and fauna of Prythian. A topic that has Nyx bubbling with excitement and curiosity. As he sketches a butterfly that landed briefly on the edge of your blanket you explain the role of pollinators in the ecosystem, delighted by his insightful questions and the meticulous care he takes with his drawing.
"Nyx, do you see how the colors of its wings can tell us about its environment?" you ask as you were pointing to the delicate patterns that mirror the blooms around you.
"Yes!" he exclaims. His eyes lighting up with understanding. "It’s like camouflage, right? They blend in to stay safe from predators!"
"Exactly," you reply. Your heart swelling with pride at his quick grasp of the concepts.
The lesson shifts seamlessly from science to history as you guide Nyx through the stories of the Night Court. Each tale woven into the landmarks visible from your spot in the garden. Nyx listens, rapt, as you tell him about the ancient fae who once walked these paths. The battles they fought and the peace that now thrives in their stead.
As the morning progresses Nyx's natural curiosity leads him to a question that makes you pause. His small voice tinged with genuine wonder. "Why don't you have wings like my mom, dad, Uncle Cassian and Uncle Az? Like that pretty butterfly?" he asks. His head tilting as he regards you thoughtfully.
You smile softly, touched by his innocent inquiry. "Well, not all fae have wings, Nyx. Just like not all flowers have thorns," you explain using an analogy you know he'll understand. "Each of us is unique with different abilities and gifts. It’s what makes us all special in our own way."
Nyx nods considering this. "I think it’s cool you don’t need wings to fly. You have books and stories that can take you anywhere," he decides with a wise look crossing his features that makes you chuckle.
"That’s a wonderful way to put it, Nyx. And remember, we all have our own ways of soaring," you say ruffling his hair affectionately.
As you begin to pack up the day's learning materials you lean closer to Nyx with a conspiratorial whisper. "Tomorrow, we’re going to do something special. We'll join a class with other children your age. You’ll get to play and learn together with them," you tell him watching his face light up with sheer delight.
"Really? I'll have friends to play with?" His voice is filled with excitement. His earlier thoughts about wings forgotten in the anticipation of meeting new friends.
"Absolutely," you assure him sharing in his excitement. "It’ll be a lot of fun and you’ll make lots of new friends."
Nyx's eyes sparkle with anticipation as he begins to imagine the possibilities. "I'm going to tell mom and dad all about it tonight!" he exclaims already planning out his evening conversation. "And I’ll tell Uncle Az too. He likes hearing about my adventures."
The mention of Azriel, whom you've only heard about through Nyx’s enthusiastic stories, adds an interesting layer to your perception of the mysterious figure. "That sounds like a great idea," you respond, amused, and intrigued by Nyx’s affectionate mention of his uncle. "It seems Uncle Az is quite the hero in your stories."
"Yeah! He’s really cool! He can disappear like a shadow and is always on secret missions," Nyx says. His admiration for Azriel evident in his wide eyes and animated gestures.
The day ends with Nyx bouncing along the path back to you classroom chatting animatedly about all the things he hopes to do with the other children. His excitement about sharing his upcoming school day with his family, especially with his beloved Uncle Az, whom you've yet to meet but feel like you already know through Nyx's tales, fills the air with joy.
Your heart warms at his enthusiasm knowing that these new experiences are exactly what he needs. As Nyx sketches another flower with his small hand moving confidently you know these moments of joy and anticipation are as precious to him as they are to you, nurturing not just a young prince’s mind but also his spirit. The connections he's building with his family, with you, and soon with his peers are shaping him into a thoughtful, well-rounded individual, ready to explore the world with confidence and curiosity.
As the sun begins to dip below the horizon casting a warm, golden light through the windows of your classroom the day's adventures wind down to a quieter, more reflective pace. You sit in a cozy corner of the room on a soft, plush cushioned area you've set up specifically for reading. Nyx nestles beside you as his energy from earlier now softened into the gentle tiredness of a day well spent. In your hands a beautifully illustrated book about the legends of Prythian opens to a page where the heroic deeds of ancient warriors are painted in vivid colors.
As you read aloud, your voice smooth and soothing, Nyx's eyelids begin to flutter gently. You notice his weary smile as he listens. The adventures of the day transforming into the adventures in the pages. Gently, almost instinctively, you begin to caress his hair. Smoothing it back from his forehead in a tender, rhythmic motion. It's a peaceful scene, the kind of simple, heartfelt moment that often goes unnoticed in the bustling life of the Night Court.
Unknown to you his Uncle Azriel stands at the doorway having arrived to pick up Nyx. He pauses there, a silent observer, taken aback by the tranquility and warmth of the tableau before him. His task had been simple. He was to retrieve Nyx and bring him home but the scene he encounters tugs at something deep within him. A longing for such unguarded peace.
Azriel watches as Nyx's breathing deepens, the sweet child drifting closer to sleep with each gentle brush of your hand. Your care for Nyx, so natural and affectionate, strikes a chord in Azriel. He's seen many facets of life. So many forms of relationships and bonds but the simplicity and purity of this moment resonate with him profoundly.
He remains there at the threshold hesitant to interrupt the moment. He was captivated by the gentleness of your interactions with Nyx. The world he usually inhabits—one of shadows and secrets—feels miles away from the soft warmth of this sunlit room. In this pause Azriel realizes that his task isn't just about escorting Nyx. It's about respecting and appreciating the sacred, everyday magic that people like you bring into Nyx's life.
Eventually though the story comes to an unfortunate end, and you close the book before looking down at Nyx to see him fully asleep. A contented expression on his young face. As you carefully consider how to wake him Azriel finally clears his throat softly announcing his presence.
You look up, startled slightly, your eyes meeting his for the first time. There's a moment of mutual acknowledgment. A silent appreciation for the scene he's just witnessed. An understanding that while your worlds may be different the care you show to Nyx bridges them beautifully. Azriel steps into the room. His movements gentle as he did not want to disturb the serene atmosphere you've created.
"Thank you for taking such good care of him," Azriel says quietly. His voice carrying a warmth that surprises even him. "He obviously treasures these moments with you."
"You're welcome. It's truly a pleasure teaching him," you reply with a warm smile. Your eyes reflecting genuine affection for Nyx.
As you gently wake Nyx his eyes flutter open gradually clearing as they adjust to the presence of another in the room. When he spots Azriel standing quietly by the door a bright, sleepy smile spreads across his face. He quickly scrambles to his feet, excitement replacing any remnants of sleepiness.
"Uncle Az!" Nyx exclaims. His voice filled with delight as he runs into Azriel's open arms. Azriel catches him effortlessly before lifting him into a warm hug. They share a moment, uncle and nephew reunited, their easy laughter filling the room. You grin recognizing him as the infamous Azriel in Nyx’s life.
Then as if struck by a sudden realization Nyx turns back towards you with a look of proud excitement lighting up his features. With a firm grip on Azriel's hand he pulls him closer to you and announces, "This is Miss Y/N, my favorite teacher ever!" His voice carries through the room filled with genuine admiration and joy.
Azriel's gaze shifts to you. A slight tension beneath his calm demeanor as he processes Nyx's enthusiastic introduction. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he says, his voice steady but softer than usual, a subtle undercurrent of nervousness mingling with his words.
You smile warmly, extending your hand in greeting. "I've heard a lot about you, Azriel. Nyx tells me you're quite the hero," you say. Your tone light and inviting.
Azriel takes your hand and for a moment his usual composure falters under your gaze. He's momentarily taken aback not just by the warmth of your smile but by the unexpected impact of your presence. She's beautiful, he thinks, and kind... The realization that he's slightly awestruck surprises him. He finds himself momentarily lost for words.
"And I've heard you've been learning about heroes in your lessons with Nyx," he manages to say his voice carrying a hint of warmth that rarely surfaces. Nyx obviously pleased with the exchange claps his hands excitedly.
"Can we all walk back home together?" Nyx asks looking up at both of you with hopeful, bright eyes, “Please!” He adds in for good measure as if you weren’t going to immediately say yes to him.
"Of course, Nyx," Azriel responds after looking to you for confirmation.
You nod, gathering your belongings, and the three of you step out into the cool evening of Velaris. As you walk Nyx fills the air with chatter about his day seamlessly weaving together his two worlds with tales of butterflies and ancient warriors. Azriel listens with a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His initial nervousness easing as he's drawn into the simple joy of the moment. His thoughts linger on you, intrigued, and unexpectedly moved by the genuine connection forming between you, Nyx, and himself. A beautiful end to an enriching day.
As the three of you begin your walk back through the twilight streets of Velaris the usual calm that Azriel embodies seems to waver slightly. He is typically a figure of stoic composure, his presence both commanding and elusive shadowed by the mysteries of his duties as the Spymaster. However, today, as he walks beside you, something is distinctly different.
Azriel's steps are measured. His usual fluid grace tempered by a hint of uncertainty. His glances towards you are quick, almost cautious, as if he's trying to decipher an unfamiliar script. The conversation flows easily around Nyx's enthusiastic chatter about his day but each time you turn your attention directly to Azriel a subtle tension flickers across his features.
"You really have a wonderful way with Nyx," you say hoping to bridge the gap with kindness. "He's always so excited to share what he's learned with you."
Azriel nods. A slight flush visible beneath the dusky hue of his skin. "Thank you," he murmurs as his voice is softer than usual. "It's... it's good to see him so happy. You do a lot for him."
The simplicity of your interactions, the easy smiles and gentle teasing you offer to Nyx, resonate with Azriel in a way that is both heartening and unnerving. He's unaccustomed to feeling this way—unsettled yet drawn in, eager yet shy. His hands though normally steady and sure whether wielding a weapon or a shadow clench slightly at his sides betraying his internal struggle.
As Nyx runs ahead a little, bursting with energy as he recounts another part of his day, Azriel takes a moment to compose himself. He glances at you again. This time holding your gaze a moment longer than before. The vulnerability rarely seen by others is palpable now as it was a quiet admission of his nervousness.
"I'm... not usually this unsure," Azriel confesses quietly almost to himself. "But there's something about these moments…. seeing Nyx so at ease with you. It's more comforting than I anticipated."
Your response is a gentle smile, one that acknowledges his admission without pressing further. It's a smile that seems to say you understand that the quiet spaces between words can be filled with kindness, not just silence.
The rest of the walk continues with a softer ease. A budding respect forming amidst the shared glances and the fading light of day. Azriel's initial nervousness slowly ebbs away instead replaced by a quiet appreciation for the unexpected warmth this evening has brought into his usually guarded world.
As the three of you approach the grandeur of the House of Wind, the towering structure casts long shadows over the cobblestone paths. It’s presence as awe-inspiring as it is imposing. Nyx who was still bubbling with energy despite the day's adventures, rushes ahead. Clearly he was eager to recount his tales to Feyre and Rhysand. You pause at the entrance. The vast doors open as if welcoming back its prince.
"It's been a wonderful day, Nyx," you say, giving him a soft hug. "Don't forget to draw that butterfly we talked about!"
"I won't, Miss Y/N!" Nyx promises. His voice echoing slightly in the vast entryway. He turns and dashes inside as his laughter lingered in the air.
You turn to Azriel with a smile gracing your lips. "Thank you for letting me share part of your evening. I should head back home now."
Azriel’s expression shifts. Concern etching his features. "It’s getting late," he observes while glancing at the skies, now painted with the deep blues and purples of dusk. "Please, allow me to walk you back to your home. The streets can be less than forgiving at this hour."
You pause appreciating his concern but ready to reassure him of your safety. "That’s very kind of you, Azriel, but it’s no worry. I know these streets well," you say as you turned to make your way down the path.
Before you can take more than a few steps a subtle but firm presence stops you. Looking down you see one of Azriel’s shadows has stretched out across the path in front of you almost playfully barring your way. It's a gentle unspoken plea that catches you by surprise echoing Azriel’s silent wish for you not to go alone.
Azriel takes a step forward. His gaze earnest. "I would truly feel better if I could ensure your safe return. Please," he adds. A rare hint of vulnerability in his voice that you hadn't expected.
Seeing the genuine concern in his eyes and touched by his quiet insistence you nod to him with a smile spreading across your face. "Alright, Azriel, if it means that much to you then I’d welcome the company," you agree. The warmth in your tone matching the softness in his eyes.
"Thank you," he replies visibly relieved. He quickly steps inside to ensure Nyx is settled and returns to you with a more relaxed demeanor ready to accompany you.
As you and Azriel begin the walk back to your home the streets of Velaris are bathed in the gentle glow of the stars and softly lit lanterns casting an enchanting light over the cobblestones. The atmosphere lends a serene backdrop to the conversation that begins to unfold between you.
"You know, Nyx speaks so highly of you," you start by breaking the initial silence with a warm tone. "He's always so excited after spending time with you. You must have some exciting tales from your duties."
Azriel chuckles softly. A sound so serene that it seems to dance in the night air. "Nyx has a way of making everything sound more thrilling than it might actually be. But yes, there are times when my duties hold some... intrigue." He pause, as if weighing what to share. "Mostly, I'm just ensuring that the court and our lands are safe. It's not always as adventurous as Nyx might depict."
"And what about when you're not cloaked in shadows and mystery?" you ask genuinely curious about the man beside you beyond his role as the Spymaster.
A hint of surprise flickers across Azriel's face. Surprised yet pleased by the interest you’re showing in him. "I enjoy solitude, usually. Reading, training... Though I have a fondness for sword making. It’s a craft that requires precision and patience much like my usual work but with a more tangible, creative result."
"Sword making? That’s fascinating," you remark smiling at the thought. "It must be rewarding to create something so intricate and vital."
"It is," he agrees. His voice softening ever so slightly. "And what about you? What do you enjoy doing in your free time?"
You nod before reflecting on your simple pleasures. "I love hiking and just watching nature. There’s something peaceful about observing the natural world. Just seeing how it exists so beautifully without any need for interference."
The conversation flows naturally from there. The earlier apprehension melting into a mutual appreciation for each other’s hobbies and life outside of official duties. As you talk Azriel’s steps seem to synchronize with yours. His presence an incredibly comforting shadow by your side.
When you finally reach your doorstep the city around you has quieted even further. The only sounds being the distant murmur of the Night Court's nightlife and the gentle rustling of leaves. Azriel pauses, standing just a bit closer than before. His usually guarded demeanor dimmed under the starlight.
"Thank you for allowing me to walk you home," he says. His voice sincere and gentle as if reflecting the calmness of the evening.
"It was my pleasure," you respond, finding yourself reluctant to end the conversation. "I enjoyed our talk, Azriel. It’s nice to see the person behind the shadows."
He smiles. A true smile that reaches his eyes making them sparkle with a rare lightness. "I did as well. More than I expected. Perhaps we could do this again, maybe take a hike together?"
"I’d like that," you agree. Your heart light with the promise of future conversations, of shared paths both literal and metaphorical.
"Good night, Miss Y/N. Take care," Azriel says as he steps back ready to meld back into the shadows from which he came.
"Good night, Azriel. And thank you… for everything tonight," you call after him. A smile still playing on your lips as you watch him disappear into the night. The connection between you both stronger and sweeter for the shared walk under Velaris’ starlit sky.
In the days that follow Azriel finds himself inventing reasons to visit your classroom or accompany Nyx to his lessons more often than strictly necessary. Each visit, purportedly to check on Nyx’s educational progress or to discuss scheduling with you becomes a cherished opportunity for him to engage in brief, yet meaningful conversations with you.
Each encounter, ostensibly casual, subtly deepens his affection and admiration for you. He begins to notice the small details: the way your eyes light up when discussing a new teaching method, the gentle patience with which you guide Nyx through difficult lessons, and the enthusiasm that bubbles up when you talk about your nature hikes. Azriel who was typically reserved and composed finds himself drawn into your world of vibrant enthusiasm and heartfelt dedication.
One afternoon as Azriel stands somewhat hidden by the doorway of your classroom just like he did that first day he met you observes a particularly touching scene. Nyx, having mastered a particularly tricky spell, turns to you with a triumphant grin. You laugh, your joy as vivid as the sparkle in Nyx's eyes. He swears your laughter seems to light up the room.
Watching this Azriel feels a warmth spread through him. A warmth that has little to do with the sun filtering in through the windows. It’s in this simple, unguarded moment that he realizes his feelings for you have deepened beyond mere admiration. He's not just falling for your kindness towards Nyx but also for the genuine spirit and infectious joy you bring into every interaction.
As he steps away from the doorway with a thoughtful smile playing on his lips Azriel knows that what he feels is something profound and undeniable. Your spirit which was so vibrant and full of life calls to him in a way that no one else ever has. And as he walks away with his shadows trailing behind him he’s certain of one thing. He wants to explore where this connection might lead not just for Nyx's sake but for his own heart’s as well.
After ensuring that Nyx was safely back at the House of Wind you begin to make your way back towards your home. The day's light is waning casting long shadows that stretch across the cobblestone streets of Velaris, adding a mystical allure to the city’s evening charm.
As you step forward, the sound of your footsteps is a soft echo in the quieting city. You're lost in thought pondering the pleasant interaction with Nyx and looking forward to the solitude of your evening walk home. However, before you can get far you hear Azriel’s voice calling out from behind you.
“Wait, please!” His tone carries a blend of urgency and hesitation that halt’s you in your tracks.
You turn around surprised to see him approaching quickly. His usually composed demeanor replaced by a slight breathlessness. The shadows that always linger around him seem to pulse in sync with the heightened beat of his heart.
Azriel catches up to you. His expression earnest. “I just wanted to ask properly,” he starts, his voice steadying as he meets your gaze. “Would you join me for a hike this evening? There’s a trail not far from here that’s especially beautiful in the evening light. I think you’d really enjoy the views, and...” He pauses before taking a breath reassuring himself, “I would really enjoy the company.”
Your smile deepens, touched by his sincerity and the vulnerable way he presents his request. The softening of his features and the hopeful look in his eyes paint a picture of a man stepping beyond the shadows that define him.
“I would love to, Azriel,” you reply warmly. Your voice filled with genuine excitement. “It sounds like a perfect way to end the day.”
Relief washes over Azriel’s face. His usual stoic mask giving way to a rare, genuine smile. “Thank you,” he says as if a weight was lifting from his shoulders. “Shall we meet at the edge of the city in half an hour?”
“That sounds wonderful,” you agree already anticipating the quiet beauty of the trail and the shared moments ahead.
As you both part ways to prepare for the evening hike the anticipation of the upcoming adventure brings a new spring to your step. Azriel turns back once more watching you walk away, his heart lighter. He realizes just how much he’s looking forward to exploring not only the natural wonders of Velaris but also the potential of a new and blossoming relationship with you. The thought brings that rare and hopeful smile to his lips. One that he carries with him as he disappears into the shadows to ready himself for the evening.
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gingernut1314 · 8 months ago
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Don't Jinx It ch. 5
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Summary: Silco comes to visit you at work to let you know he has a surprise to show you.
Content: female reader, gendered terms, pre-season 1 arcane, Nadia is Viktor's mom, young Silco, young Sevika, young reader, pre-Sheriff Grayson, reader using water manipulation, unrequited love, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna, The Gray)
Word Count: 4.5K
A/N: so I'm still SCREAMING over those Vander flashbacks and Silco--SILCO my loveeee. So we're giving Silco long hair as per canon eheheeheh its perfect. Also we're aged up a bit now so lots of fun! I hope you all enjoy!
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Act 2: 
Four Years Later
For the past year or so the same small batch of enforcers visited at your Boss’ diner-shop. A batch of enforcers you were convinced your boss only let in cause she had made friends with their Sergent. A one Ms. Sergeant Grayson. 
You, Nadia, and Sevika watched Grayson and Boss laugh together in the booth they occupied, chatting with each other like they’d known each other their whole lives. 
“I still don’t get it.” Sevika gruffed, slicing into a gray-scaled fish you two had helped catch that morning. “Boss hates enforcers. Spits on their shiny gold badges any time she spots one, but she’s all but eating out of the palm of that one's hand.” 
“They’re fucking.” You chimed in from where you leaned against the counter watching the spectacle unfold before you. “They have to be fucking. That’s the reason.” 
“So vulgar.” Nadia shook her head at you two, nose wrinkled at your words. “Maybe Boss has just made a friend in her. Is that so hard to believe?” 
“No, no. You’re right.” Sevika started, beginning to slice the pink flesh of the fish into tiny strips. “Boss definitely’s been in her. That’s for sure.” You laughed while Nadia huffed. 
“You two are barbarians.” You flipped around, snatching a bit of sliced fish Sevika had just cut. You grabbed for a second slice before you had even shoved the first into your mouth, the woman chopping her knife all too close to your fingers in her way of telling you to knock it off. 
“You know we can’t help it, Nadia.” You mumbled around chews, the fish nearly melting on your tongue. You offered the second slice to Nadia who took it gently. 
“Unfortunately, I do know.” She huffed, taking a small bite from the bit of fish. 
“You coming to hang out with us tonight?” You asked Nadia hopefully. 
“Forgive me.” You gave a dramatic groan Sevika mimicked. “Nikolai and I are taking Viktor to spy on the newest…eh…flying…ship?” You quirked a brow at her as she bit another near-mouse-sized bite from her slice of fish. 
“Airship?” 
“Yes!” She beamed at you, “I prefer to keep my eyes on the earth and my paints but you know how my boy is.” You nodded, peaking a glance at the fish Sevika was still cutting up. 
“He still gonna build me that mini-fridge?” You joked, slyly inching your fingers closer and closer to the bits of fish. Nadia chuckled at your words. 
“I think in the near future, yes. He’s slowly beginning to toy with bigg--” You yelped when Sevika snatched hold of your wrist and yanked you closer. 
“You keep being a little seagull and Boss’ girlfriend is gonna have none.” You smirked up at her. 
“You think that’s it? They're together together?” Sevika gave you a long roll of her eyes, releasing your wrist. “It’s a perfectly tragic story. Two enemies turned lovers yearning for each other despite everything.” You gave a playful gasp. “They’re forbidden lovers.” 
“You two need to stop meddling in their business. They just seem to be friends.” Nadia chimed in. 
“You’re right, Dee. Enemies to friends to lovers.” Sevika joined in once more, taking a slice of fish and tossing it your way. You caught it just as Nadia sighed deeply. “Makes it even more tragic.” You gave a mockingly mournful nod. 
“You two are insufferable.” She popped the last of her fish into her mouth before she went back to her tables. Tables you and Sevika had purposely made sure were other like Undercitians, not wishing Nadia to be near the true barbarians of the night. 
Nadia was kind. Too trusting of others and both of you feared it would only lead to an enforcer getting the wrong idea.
You and Sevika, on the other hand, had no problem letting those bucket heads know just where they could shove it. And if they needed a bit of help neither of you had any problems doing it for them.
You had just shoved your newest piece of fish into your mouth when the bell hanging above the door gave a ring. 
“Better tell him it’s not a good time before Boss kills him,” Sevika spoke, gray eyes looking to who had just walked in. Excitement shot through your chest fast at her words, knowing exactly who she had spoken them about in moments. 
You tried your best to not whip around in your search for him. You didn’t want him to actually think you were excited to see him. No…nope. Not at all.
Silco’s seafoam gaze found you instantly, a small smile tugging to his lips as he walked over. 
“You have two minutes Silco,” Boss called from her booth, her eyes not lifting once from her glass of wine, which she gave a small swirl. “Before I let this one take you back with her to Piltover.” 
“Be gone in one,” Silco responded, Boss giving a heavy sigh.
Grayson, despite her being a horrid badge-wearing oppressor, was fair. She was one of the very few enforcers, maybe even the only enforcer, who didn’t have a stick shove so far up their ass it stuck out of their mouth. 
And she chuckled at Boss, saying something only she could hear. 
“Gods--I mean their practically fucking right in front of us,” Sevika muttered so only you and the quickly approaching Silco could hear.
“What do you think?” You asked in way of greeting Silco, who pulled so close you could smell the fresh shower he had just taken. It was a smell you thoroughly enjoyed, one you wanted to grab and rub your face all over, but one you knew had a bitter backing. 
The same year you had met Silco, Piltover had reopened the mines they had promised would stay closed forever. Opened them in the promise of progress and ample jobs for all. In helping ease the “struggle of the good people” down here.
You wanted to say it was fine at first. That it gave jobs to those who might not have had one otherwise. That Piltover might be right for once, but you would only be fooling yourself. 
Working in those mines was like dancing with death herself and Piltover knew it just as well as everyone else.
You had the usual risks, cave mouths collapsing and people getting lost within the labyrinth that the mines made up, but then there was the Gray. Smoke that still leaked its way out into The Lanes from past generations, more so now thanks to the mines having reopened as such. 
And the Gray--well, the Gray was death’s lover. 
Smoke so thick you couldn’t see through it. A smog that clogged your throat and made it feel like every breath you took filled your lungs with a thousand tiny needles.
Janna, the very Winds of the Undercity, had been trying ever since its birth to rid its poisonous wrath from us. She told you the story of her first coming to the Undercity a few times over the years. She had been called here on the prayers of the people who were suffering from its oppressive choking hold. She had managed to keep it at bay. To give the people a moment's relief to breathe freely.
But ever since then, she has been struggling to try and purify the smog. 
It was a story she typically told you when she had you practice trying to purify the waters lapping at The Lanes’ jagged edges. 
And every time she had you practice, every time she told you her tale, you asked how you were supposed to do the same if she, who was a goddess, couldn’t even do it herself?
She would settle you with her glowing, unblinking gaze before instructing you to try again. 
All play no work that one…if only. 
You hated that Silco and Vander went down there, especially since there was nothing to be done for the Gray. It was something you told him many times that same year he had started work. So many times he had snapped at you to stop because it wouldn’t change a thing. 
What very little money the boys earned went right into The Last Drop to keep it standing as Piltover rose taxes and Vander’s father passed, leaving every leak and creaky floorboard to him.
So you agreed to stop bothering him with your worries…though it did nothing to keep you from doing so voicelessly. 
“Oh, I don’t know.” Silco glanced their way, the two seeming to have grown even closer in the two seconds you had taken your eyes off them. “Seems a perfectly typical interaction between officer and civilian.” His eyes found yours own more, a smirk tugging at his lips. 
You couldn’t help but look over every feature you could get away with looking at. Took in his nicely sharp features, his thinly soft-looking lips, and the shaggy hair he was allowed to grow out. Hair he planned on growing out so long he could braid it and gods did you agree. 
No longer was he the scraggly and bony teen you had first met. No, he had grown rather handsome. 
Painfully so. 
A beauty you struggled to think past most days.
And just as you knew how handsome he had grown, so had the rest of the Undercity. Women and men alike were drawn in by his looks and his smooth talk. 
His all-seeing and ever-calculating eyes only grew sharper. Eyes he used to see just how to make a girl grow ever the more flustered and fidgety under it. Eyes he used to track and log just what they liked to hear from him. 
He had become quite the playboy, capturing the hearts of many but never holding onto them for long. 
You think it has grown into a game to him. A game to see how many he can draw in and claim. See how many he can break in the same breath. 
You think sometimes he tries to play the game with you…and oh do you wish to play, but you knew he never truly meant the looks and the playful words he sent your way. 
You two were…friends. 
Strictly. 
Even when it disappointed you greatly. 
“Nah, they’re screwing.” Sevika huffed, reeling you back in from Silco’s charming looks. 
“What are you doing here?” You asked him, backing slightly away only for your hips to hit the counter. His eyes quickly tracked your movements. Movements he did the opposite of and stepped closer one more. 
“You get off work at seven.” He matter of factly told you. 
“What? Do you keep my schedule pinned to your wall or something?” Silco all but rolled his eyes at you. 
“I have something to show you.” Curiosity sparked at your heart and you instantly leaned closer despite knowing you should keep far away for your own heart's sake. 
“Ooo…what is it?” 
“And ruin the surprise?” You nodded quickly. Surprises were great but you found yourself impatience. Silco teasingly smirked your way. “Never.” And just like that he pulled away, leaving you feeling as if you had been tossed around by a riptide. “I’ll be back at seven.” He called to you as he headed back for the door. 
You swallowed sharply.
“Yeah. Okay.” You called back. 
You watched him give Nadia a small wave goodbye, the woman more than edger to do the same, before he was back out the door like he never was there in the first place. 
Sevika huffed at you, gaining your attention once more. 
“What?” 
“Nothin’.” You watched her sharply as she plated the beautifully cut fish on an equally as beautiful plate. She fixed you with an all-too-teasing gaze. “You two are just as bad. No…no. Worse. You’re worse.” Your brows furrowed in confusion as she passed you the plate to take over to the Boss and Sergent Grayson. 
“What do you mean?” Sevika all but ignored you, looking back over the diner.
“Dee, it’s worse right?” Sevika called to Nadia who was carrying a stack of dirty plates back to the kitchen. 
“Much worse.” She agreed as she passed. Before you could snap at the two for an answer, Boss called your name sounding not pleased. 
“This is not over.” You huffed Sevika’s way who only smirked back at you. 
“Sure, guppy. Sure.” 
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You spent the rest of your shift cursing yourself for not having packed a better change of clothes. You had planned on being able to head home to change into something a little more nice before you went to The Last Drop, but Silco’s surprise threw a big wrench in your plans.
Not that you were complaining. Not truly.
You would pick hanging out with Silco over a nicer pair of clothes any day.
You found Silco waiting outside for you just as he had said, messing around with one of his daggers. He perked up instantly when you emerged, dagger put away as you came to his side.
“So…you want to tell me now?” You asked, only for Silco to lean downward so that he was looking directly into your eyes. You felt your heart give another damning flutter in your chest. 
“Tsk, tsk.” He smirked, “Impatient thing aren’t we?”
“This just something you're figuring out?” Silco gave a small, amused huff of air from his nose. Those seafoam eyes danced over your face, not helping the restless movement in your chest.
“Come,” He gestured with his head for you to follow. “It’s not too far away.”
“As soon as I drop Nadia off I’m getting drunk, ya hear you two!” Sevika called as you began following after Silco. 
“Won’t take long,” Silco called back to her. 
“Better not.” She shouted, “I’m itching to beat you at cribbage tonight.” 
“Want to bet on that outcome?” Silco glanced back to the woman, eyes bright in the promise of competition. 
Your two friends were unchallengeable at any card game they played. Their smarts and trickery were not something to go up against lighty.
When the two played against each other, the game always was a close one. One point could determine the winner.
And between the two…you would bet on Silco to win. He was the only person in all of the Undercity you had known to ever beat Sevika and beat her he did every time. 
Sevika, of course, never admitted it.
“Nah, 'cause I know I’m winning. No need to jinx it all to hell on a damn bet.” She called back as she started off with Nadia. 
“If she wishes to win that bad all she needs to do is play against you.” You sharply shoved Silco away who only gave a chuckle. 
“You’re an asshole.” You huffed, pulling the strap of your patched-up bag further up your shoulder. “I can play cards.” 
“You can play Go Fish.” 
“Hell yeah I can play Go Fish! I’m the best damn Go Fish player in all of The Undercity. No--The Undercity and Piltover.” You threw your arms out dramatically as you turned on your heel to face Silco as you walked backward. “In the entirety of Runterra.” Silco quirked an amused brow at you.
“Oh really? The whole world?” You gave a humming nod. “Well then, Go Fish World Champion, we’ll play tonight.” 
“And I’ll beat you.” You knew you wouldn’t. Even in the only card game you had mastered, Silco was still the best at it. 
“Want to bet on it?” You turned on your heel once more to face away from him. 
“Nope. Sevkia’s right. Betting beforehand is only going to jinx it.” You once more adjusted the strap of your bag.
“Jinxes are just a fiction.” You shrugged. 
“Maybe…but what if they're not? Huh? What are you gonna do then?” You asked, craning your head to look back at Silco who was watching you closely, an easy smile on his thin lips that you couldn’t help but mimic. 
“Then I guess I’ll face it head-on.” He quickened his pace a bit to come back to your side. “Let me carry your bag for you.” He offered his hand out for the item. 
“You trying to steal from me?” You asked in mock concern. 
“Oh yes. I want your dirty work clothes and sea shells.” You shrugged. 
“You're right. The sea shells would be worth stealing.” You pulled the tote from your shoulder and handed it to Silco, who slung it over his. “Got a pocket watch in there too.” 
“Oh? And where did that come from?” He asked, pulling at the edge of the bag to look for said watch.
“Those enforcers were so generous. Just gave it to me out of the goodness of their heart.” Silco let the bag fall back against his side. 
“How kind of them.” He huffed. “Why your boss feeds them is beyond me.” You gave a sharp nod. 
“Agreed. That’s why we think there is something else going on. Boss kills enforcers on the spot typically.” Silco shook his head, eyes turning away from you as a deep anger filled them. 
“Shiny things are nice,” Silco started, seemingly changing the topic.
“Very nice.” You agreed once more. 
“But it’s not worth putting you at risk.” Concern. He was concerned for you and was telling you that. 
You couldn’t help that damn fluttering again.
“I thought we agreed a long time ago not to do this.” Silco’s hardened eyes glanced back down at you, seafoam softening at their edge the longer he watched you. 
“Do what?” 
“Oh please be careful. Oh, I’m so scared for you. Oh, those big bad enforcers are going to catch you. Oh please be safe.” Silco gave you a dramatic eye roll at your mockery.
“Please. I’m hardly saying any of that.” You gave him just as dramatic an eye roll back. 
“Really? Then what are you saying?” 
“I’m saying--” Silco’s gaze flickered quickly over your face before looking away once more. “That if you steal from them enough your boss will find out.” 
“Still kinda feel like you're worried about me.” You felt Silco’s hand on your arm only for it to shove you away. A wicked cackle pulled from your throat. 
“Look whose being the asshole now.” Silco gruffed. 
Silco led you down another street, through an alleyway, climbed down a steep stairway that seemed to go on forever, and right back down another street before coming to a small, hardly used bridge. 
You knew you were right on the border of the Promenade Level, where your boss’ diner-shop was located, and the Enthresol Level which was where The Last Drop beat at the heart of the city. 
You had taken this route a few times in the past. Only ever with Silco, so you were familiar with it, but why you two were taking this roundabout way to the bar was what nagged at your curiosity when you could have just walked back with Sevkia. 
“What are you--” Silco pressed a thin finger to his lips, telling you to keep quiet before heading for the metal ladder built into the side of the bridge. 
You followed close behind, the bite of cold metal digging into your palms. Silco hopped onto the grated platform, rusted bits of metal having created holes here and there within its flooring, before turning to offer you his hand. 
You took it, even though you knew you didn’t need his help, but you knew you needed to be able to feel his skin against yours. Chill skin that was covered in tiny scars and callouses that always made you feel like it was just the two of you in that moment.
He didn’t let go of your hand as he led you over the platform and you couldn’t help the growing warmth that his hand was creating in you. A warmth that rushed up your arm and all over your body. Warmth that made that damning flutter grow near pounding. 
You made it all the way to the other side of the platform and that's when you heard it.
It was soft at first. A sound you almost didn’t believe you were truly hearing until you were standing before the source, staring at the bundle of twigs, string, fur, and hair nestled between a rounded design in the arch of the bridge. 
“Oh…Silco…” You breathed, watching the small, featherless baby birds chirping and chirping for their mother, little bulging bellies no doubt starving. 
“Fantastic aren’t they?” You nodded, holding his hand a little tighter. 
“How--they shouldn’t be able to live down here.” Your voice was quiet to keep from startling the babies, but also in disbelief. 
Quiet in a growing dread that they probably wouldn’t make it for very long. 
“Yes…yes, it’s quite strange.” Silco spoke just as softly as you. “I saw their mother and followed her down here. Found these sweet ones.” You felt his hand hold yours just as tightly back. “But this means it can really happen.” You turned away from the miracle before you to look up at him. 
Silco’s seafoam eyes were already watching you.
And you knew that look in his eyes. A look he only got when talking about one thing. 
“Zaun.” He nodded, that hopeful gleam in his eyes burning with passion. It was a dream you all let burn deep within your bellies. A dream you all spoke of often. Spoke of enough you all had given such an outlandish wish a name. 
You turned to look back at the babies, who still had yet to stop begging for food. 
“But what if…those plants don’t even live near the bridge.” You thought of the rooftop you two had first encountered each other on. A roof where someone had been trying to grow tomatoes, though those tomatoes had withered and died before they could even yield a ripe crop.
“We’ll come visit them. Maybe we can help keep them going.” You nodded, even though your negative side nagged at you that it wouldn’t matter. That these sweet babies would wither and die before they had even sported their first feathers. 
As if reading your mind, Silco grabbed your other hand, turning you to face him. To bare his determination for Zuan down onto you. 
“It will happen.” He spoke like he was trying to convince himself it would. You nodded again.
“I believe it. We’ll make it happen.” But that look didn’t fade from his eyes. A look that mixed with something else that told you something was upsetting him. Something outside of the typical truths of your lives you lived down here in the filth. “What--did something happen?” You asked hesitantly. 
“I--” He hesitated himself. It had taken Silco a long time to fully be able to open up to you. Friends you may be, he kept his true feelings, deep dark ones, hidden behind a high wall. And though he more freely spoke with you on such topics now, you knew it was still a struggle. That, even though the wall had created a door for you to peek inside, the door wasn’t always unlocked.
“A mine shaft caved in this morning.” It was all he had to say for you to understand what had happened. For you to know why he had followed the bird down here. Why he had come to visit you at work. Why he had voiced his worry for you. 
Because he’d seen death today. 
More death that only Piltover could be blamed for and Zaun was Silco’s--no, everyone’s last bit of hope for things to get better.
You silently pulled him closer. Silently pulled your hands from his only so you could wrap them around his waist and hold him tight. And Silco silently let you hug him, when typically such affection was slapped away. 
Silco snaked his hands around your own waist, pulling you flush against his thin, yet strong body. You felt his breath against your neck as he buried his face there, warming your skin nicely.
You two stood like that for a long moment. Long enough that the babies stopped chirping, thinking you two had turned statue. 
“I have an idea.” You murmured, giving him one last, tight squeeze before pulling away. Typically you would curse yourself for ending such a moment. A moment you so rarely got but you wanted to try and lift his spirits, if just for a moment. 
Silco watched you carefully as you reached into your bag, which you didn’t bother pulling from his shoulder. You rummaged around for a little bit, making all the random trinkets you carried in it clink together until you pulled out one of the larger shells and your canteen, which you had learned to always carry with you for easy access to water. 
“What are you doing?” He asked to which you tossed him a playful smirk.
“And ruin the surprise? Never.” He huffed in amusement at your repeat of his words from earlier that night. 
He watched you carefully as you found a level spot on the bridge to place the shell, before unscrewing the canteen. With little effort, you reached for the water with your magic, pulling a fist-sized droplet of water out. 
Silco eyes shimmered in fascination, pulling so close his shoulder was pressed against yours. You once more savored the touch, turning yourself so you could peek unstrained glances up at his seafoam eyes here and there as you worked. 
“For their mama. And for these three when they grow up.” You said. Silco glanced down at you as you let the droplet of water fill the shell. “And because it’s magic water.” You gave your fingers a little wiggle at the word magic that further tugged a smile to Silco’s lips. “It’ll never run dry… hopefully.”
“You’ve been practicing,” Silco observed.
“Yep. I’ll be able to create tsunamis next, just you watch.” Silco’s easy smile came back in full then. A smile that brightened his eyes and stirred those damned flutters right back up in your chest. 
“I will.” Silence fell between the two of you, now filled with the returned chirping of the babies. A silence that thickened and made your eyes flicker downward to his lips, which you wanted to feel so so badly against your own. “Thank you…for all that.” You swallowed the growing dryness in your mouth down sharply. 
“Yep--” You gave your throat a little clearing as you turned away from Silco, knowing the longer you looked at his handsome features the more you were going to be drawn in. “Yep. No problem.” You recapped the canteen and all but shoved it into Silco’s arms. 
“Alright, I need a drink.” You announced, making your way towards the ladder and begging your heart to stop beating so loudly. “I’m kinda feelin’ like I might want to bet you about that win now.” Silco laughed, his footsteps sounding as he followed after you.
“I thought you said betting beforehand would only jinx it.” You shrugged, throwing him a mischievous little look. 
“I think I’ll just face it head-on, like you said. I’m feeling lucky.”
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