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husbandhoshi · 5 months ago

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title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

wc: 30.8k in total; part 1: 15.4k, part 2: 15.4k summary: between remembering last night’s party and pleasing your unrelenting family, you think being a princess is hard enough. then you’re thrust into an arranged marriage to royal darling joshua hong—straight-laced, infuriatingly obedient, and everything you’re not. pretending to be the perfect couple? impossible. notes: romcom + smut (part 2), modern royalty!au in which yn is the princess of cotria/joshua the prince of acros (both fictional), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, quarterlife crisis/coming of age, very very slow burn. lots of swearing, lots of alcohol, lots of feelings. very special thanks to @meiozis for all their help with worldbuilding and @wuahae for bearing with me through the endless drafts, scene changes, second guessing, horrible word choices, etc. you are the only reason this got done, and i love you to the moon and back <3 [read part 2 here!]

Here, in the dark, there is just you.

The strobe lights press into your skin with all the brilliance of the sun, there's half a Modelo running down your leg, and you think you kissed the stranger behind you last week, but if you close your eyes, it's just you. No rules, no five second curtseys, no talk about the throne or whoever's ass happens to be keeping it warm at the moment.

Here, you're nobody, and it's perfect.

"I'm getting more champagne," Somi says, her voice careening over the music. "You sure Jihoon doesn't want any?"

You glance back at him. He's flattened up against the back wall, holding your purse, like a raccoon caught going through the trash. This is one of the many trials he's forced to endure for your entertainment, but it's his job–not as your closest friend, but as your legally employed bodyguard.

"No, he's on duty."

"Right," she slurs. "Sometimes I forget you're a literal princess."

If only it were that easy. Five drinks in and you think you can still feel your mother's vice grip on your arm and all the little white crescents of her french manicure.

You love this song–at least, you think you do. You're too drunk to tell, but it doesn't matter. The dance floor is muggy, sardine-packed with one warm body after another, and it's heaven. The crowd moves, and you move with them. Shakira waits for no one.

Somi must have secured another bottle of Cristal already. Soonyoung, your other partner-in-crime, hands you a flute and you take it, the glittery foam already bubbling over the lip.

"Cheers." Out of his too-drunk mouth, it sounds like a new word altogether, but you bring your glass to his anyway.

Tomorrow, you have a meeting with your parents. This, unlike all of your other involvements, is actually important, they said, and their voices had wound around you like a snare.

When it gets late, Jihoon will sling your arm over his shoulders and haul you back to the palace, still tipsy and holding your stilettos to your chest like a shield. Tomorrow will come, and it's then when you'll have to try to be good. It's a useless, stupid affair, but you'll go through the motions anyway.

But tonight, there is you and the music and the wonderful laughter of your friends, and you don't have to be anything at all.

"Cheers," you tell Soonyoung, and you drink.

There are four large topiaries in the palace garden: all lions. They stand tall in their planters, majestic and hairy with French lavender. Today you notice that the rightmost one's nose has been pruned off by accident, and he stands, snoutless, staring at his green brothers and sisters.

You know this because this is the view from the study, and it has never changed. There is only one study in the east wing, and it is small and useless and the perfect room for your parents to sit you down and remind you that you do not, in fact, own a single thing about your own life.

There is nothing new about this ritual. Even as a child, when you were more desperate to please, you could never be the right kind of daughter to your parents or princess to your country. Again and again, you landed yourself here, in trouble once more.

So you stopped trying–you would find these four walls anyway, no matter what you did. Why not enjoy your Fridays instead?

By now, you’ve memorized the carvings on the armrest of the chair you’re in (a knobby column, then underneath, the whorl of a seashell). There are thirty-four terracotta stones on the way to the fountain, all spaced perfectly apart, sanded down to the millimeter.

The scene remains unchanged. Your mother now stares down at you over the bridge of her nose, with that tight-lipped frown you've gotten so used to. Your father paces near the window, either wondering why you can't be softer, more pliable, like your older brother Jeonghan, or, alternatively, why one of the lions is missing a nose. Maybe both.

"Enjoy yourself yesterday?" your mother asks.

"Yes," you reply, out of other answers.

"Wonderful. Then our early morning briefing with PR was good for something. You should be grateful last night's pictures won't make it out of the darkroom."

Her voice, bitter and incisive, makes the hangover bubble up in your stomach. You and the tabloids weren't exactly on good terms, but it wasn't your fault so many people seemed to care about what you were wearing or who you were out with.

"What did you want to meet about?" you ask, hoping to change the subject.

You can't put your finger on it, but there's a cloying, heavy energy hanging on you. You feel as though you're on the precipice of something, although that could just be the consequences of all that Cristal ready to reintroduce themselves to your digestive system.

Your mother clears her throat.

"We have arranged for you to marry someone."

And all at once, it seems as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. There's a sharp pain lodged somewhere between your chest, your stomach, and your unhappy liver. The larks sing emptily in the garden.

"What?" Your voice sounds like it's unraveling somewhere in your throat. Quickly, frantically, you grasp at the faraway possibility that it can't possibly mean what you think it does. Marry? You can’t even remember the last time you thought of going on a second date with someone. Now you might actually throw up.

"Prince Joshua, of the Hong family. The crown prince of–"

"Acros. I know," you interrupt, the words jumping out of you in shock and anger.

Of course you know who Joshua Hong is–Acros is a tiny, unremarkable country nestled into the border of your much bigger one, and Joshua their crown jewel. If you were the nation's problem, he was their darling. A bland thing to coo at when life got boring, the walking embodiment of a media training session. Smile and nod, smile and nod. He might as well be AI generated.

You wouldn't last a day with him. Not with your impatience, your opinions, or that loud mouth your parents always scold you for. Your mind swims with the mental image of the two of you on a gaudy parade float, doing that stupidly slow wave everyone seemed to insist on.

"Wonderful. So you'll pack a bag? The Hong family will be thrilled to meet you tomorrow," says your father.

"Why?" you ask. Your voice wobbles, treading over that childlike waver you never learned to control. "Is this to punish me?"

"My dear, your brother will be ascending to the throne soon," your mother answers, looking you dead in the eyes. "It’s his face that needs to be on the front page, not you in another abomination of a swimsuit. The Hongs will keep enough of an eye on you.”

She's right. She's always been right. Maybe not about the swimsuit, but you haven’t exactly been the PR princess your family needed you to be. If anything, you would think it made Jeonghan look better by comparison, but you know that your parents would prefer you to make appearances in something other than Deuxmoi’s Sunday Spotted. But the royal charade never fit you well either; it clings and sticks and bunches up at the seams like a cheap Halloween costume.

"The Hongs thought their country would benefit from our money. It was an easy decision, really," your mother finishes, as if that makes you feel any less like a silly, bikini-clad pawn in a game of chess you never asked to play.

"Does Jeonghan know?"

"He sees its purpose,” your father says simply, like that was all that mattered. “You will too, in due time.”

He nods solemnly, which is how he closes every conversation–just another turn of the silent knife. As your parents turn to leave, their silken garbs trail behind them like ink in still water. Business as always, especially with you.

"Your brother will be coming home from his press tour this week," your mother says on her way out. "You mustn't ruin this for him. The car leaves for Acros in the morning."

There's a mean, barbed feeling in your heart. You don't know whether to scream or to cry, so you do what your mother taught you to do. You sit, stilled by a feeling of hopelessness, and let yourself be emptied.

When you were thirteen, you learned how to ride a horse.

Not the impractical, side-saddle way drilled into you when you were a little girl, with your skirt billowing over the fender and catching in the stirrups, but how to really ride a horse.

It was on a night much like tonight–indigo and starless. Your brother had climbed up the marble trellis, his teenage, noodle body a perfect fit for scaling the lattice, and threw a stone at your window, just like you had seen in the movies. Jeonghan was still young, then, rebellious and unchanged by the throne.

It was him who laced up your riding boots, hoisted you on your first horse, and pressed the reins into your palms. You remember the unforgiving hold of the leather saddle, not yet broken in. You were so sore the next day, you were bed-bound–truly a punishment worse than death, if not for another reminder that everything you do ends up hurting you a little.

"It's great," Jeonghan had told you, breathless and haloed by the moonlight. "You can just ride. nowhere to go and no one to answer to."

You had spent the summer this way. Every night, you learned the sound of the forest at twilight, chasing Jeonghan's mud-splattered palomino. In the mornings, breakfast consisted of rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and whispering about whatever misadventure you had found yourselves tangled in the night before.

That was before he had come of age. Before your father gave him the Throne Talk, and before he was whisked away into endless meetings and etiquette lessons and parliaments. Your inside jokes became foul, overripe in his newly coached mouth. He even learned to play golf, and he hated golf.

Past August, you don't think you ever got your brother back.

You slide the oaken doors of the stables open, feeling your arms squeeze underneath your riding shirt. Here, it’s always quiet after sundown.

It hasn't changed since the day you first snuck in with Jeonghan. You let the green scent of the hay fill your lungs, the sleep-stir of the horses like music to your ears. Dokyeom has left the tack room open by "accident" once more, likely to avoid catching you picking the lock with a bobby pin like he had a few months ago.

"Hey, you," you whisper, coming to the stall of your own horse. Astrid, a bay thoroughbred, was Jeonghan's gift to you on your 18th birthday, a wistful reminder of a summer now past its prime. "No surprise here, but I had a really, really bad day."

Astrid, oblivious, noses at your palm in search of a nonexistent sugar cube. Somehow, this brings the anxious chatter of your mind to a crescendo—would Astrid come with you to Acros? When would that happen? More importantly, when were you moving? You think of a too-warm summer morning, the ridiculous, oversized brim of one of your mother's sunhats, and a moving truck. That, and a country ready to delete you from its ranks.

It's now, with the bridle in your fists, that you hear the wheedling groan of the stable door as it slides open. Without thinking, you quickly push out the first excuse you have. "I apologize, I was—"

"It's me."

Jihoon.

You would tease him about his fear of ponies—perhaps it's because he is quite literally the same size as them—but you think hearing another person tell you off would officially push you over the edge. You don't want to be dramatic, but you don't even know if Acros even had horses.

That, and somehow he's both the first and the last person you want to see. The guilt feels a bit heavier when you know his life is about to change too, in no small part due to your own failings.

"Jihoon, I…" you start. There’s an apology that’s been sitting on your tongue, one you haven’t quite learned to spit up yet. You don’t know who it’s for—yourself, or everyone else—but Jihoon interrupts you before you can finish your thought.

"You forgot your jacket," Jihoon replies.

For once, you can't read him. You wonder if he's thinking about if he'd get along with the other bodyguards, but, more likely, he's probably pitying you. You're the last person in the world that should be in an arranged marriage, and even someone who kills people for a living could tell.

"I'll be in the foyer."

You don't exchange any more words. Jihoon knows that there is nothing he can say that will erase what's about to happen, and like always, he is right.

After you saddle up, Astrid takes you to the forest like usual. Honestly, you've lost count of the times you've come out here to cry, usually about a boy you don’t even like, or, worse, Jeonghan declining your weekly Facetime session again. But now, you think you both know this time is very different.

"Astrid," you groan. "Joshua looks like a Ken doll from hell. He probably pronounces tomato like tomahto and has a closet dedicated to his tweed collection. I can't marry him."

Astrid is none the wiser. You wish she was human for a moment so you could show her the crater-sized hole that "prince joshua google images" left in your browser history.

"Do you think he only listens to classical music? I think a Kim Petras song would kill him instantaneously."

The mental image of Joshua Hong being struck down by the first ten seconds of Throat Goat makes you laugh, but you still don't feel far away enough from the truth.

You remember your 21st birthday, a balmy spring Friday. Jeonghan had been helping out at the local youth theater, and the opening night of their production was coincidentally the same day. Jeonghan had never been one for theater (last time, he had fallen asleep during Mamma Mia, of all musicals). You knew the press turnout was expected to be huge, but the whole thing felt like one big charade to you.

So you had planned your big birthday bash—you only get one 21st, after all—that day. The paparazzi fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. Unsurprisingly, drunk, hot girls made for a better story than Greek theater.

You remember the raw, stinging look Jeonghan had in his eyes the next morning. He didn't even have to say anything, but you knew. The memory carves out an abyss in your chest. You knew you should have done better for your brother, but he didn’t even feel like your brother anymore.

Still, actions have consequences, and this was a hell of a consequence. Even out here, the inconvenient reality of it seems closer than ever. but you're out of time. The night fades fast, especially ones like these.

So you press your heart to Astrid's mane, the pale moon high over the both of you, and you ride.

Late spring is kind to Acros.

The tulips push their bright heads out of the dirt, winking and blazing in the daylight, and the green fields stretch so far they look like water.

You had spent the car ride with your nose pressed to the window, watching all the sun-bleached buildings zip by. You mustn't ruin this for Jeonghan. It spins around in your head like an old pair of shoes in a washing machine.

Now you stand in the grand foyer, your parents on either side of you. Jihoon hovers behind, holding the overstuffed duffel bag you had rushed to pack this morning.

A hushed arrival such as this was unbecoming of your family, but it was necessary. Your parents had stressed that the arranged part of the deal was not meant to be public knowledge because it was bad for optics. To you, the arrangement was actually the entire deal. That, and you and optics never exactly got along.

Waiting for Joshua and his parents gives you a moment to observe what could be your new home, although you’re still waiting for the miraculous plot twist that will save you from your fate.

That being said: you’ve set foot in plenty of nice places, but if HGTV ran segments for castles, this would certainly be the blueprint. It’s smaller than the palace in Cotria, but you like that—it’s cozier, less cold-seeming.

The filigreed ceilings vault dizzyingly high, and the chandelier above the muraled walls is set afire with the noontime sun. The blushing azaleas cascade from their pots, and they line the hallways with joyous pops of white and pink. Breaking the spell is the distant staccato of several sets of footsteps on marble, and you straighten your back, as if by divine command.

Three figures approach you: Joshua and his parents. Even from a distance, you can see the trained walk of royalty, their shoulders straight enough to hold water. You’ll give credit where credit is due—they look even less thrilled to meet you than you are to meet them.

Unfortunately, up close, Joshua is more handsome than the cameras would betray. He's taller than you had imagined, too. Without trying, it looks like he jumped out of a shitty Disney movie, one where the prince says two words and still gets the girl. More than that, you notice how his face is like glass—unwavering, cruelly still. One wrong move, and you'd break him.

"Your highnesses," you say, lowering your head in a pronounced curtesy.

Joshua bows in response, like clockwork. He reaches for your hand, then brings it to his lips to kiss the back of it.

At once, you feel your hackles jump up, even though many a man has done far nastier to you. You can’t tell what pisses you off more: a, the fact that he smells like a hotel lobby, or b, that he managed to get his mouth on you in less than five seconds.

"I'm elated we have the privilege of welcoming your daughter into our home," Joshua's mother says. Like him, she is staggeringly elegant and even harder to read. "She's beautiful."

Fortunately, she has picked the one compliment that your parents can agree on without lying through their teeth. You watch them laugh and titter amongst themselves, and it's now that you notice Joshua has been looking at you this whole time.

You think look is too kind of a word, though. It's something colder than that, more clinical, and you really don't like it. Your stylist had spent upwards of two hours today in front of your vanity this morning, mostly in a losing battle with a pair of fake lashes, and you wonder if one of them is crooked. That, or Joshua is similarly wondering just how he will endure a life wedded to you.

"Joshua, please," his mother chides, and you watch him almost immediately pivot towards her, like he’s on wheels. "Where are your manners? You should show the princess around. Get to know each other a bit before press tomorrow."

Press. Of course. Your least favorite word. You vaguely remember your parents mentioning it in the car this morning, but it must have gotten lost among all the other terrible things they'd told you.

Your head starts to hurt. Joshua keeps smiling at you, empty, doll-like.

"Yes, I'd love that," you say, feeling like a deflating balloon. You were hoping his company will be better than watching four grown adults fall all over each other, but you're starting to doubt that.

Joshua offers you his arm, and you take it anyway.

"We'll be off then," he chirps before bowing once more. His freakishly shiny shoe nudges yours to remind you to do the same. Begrudgingly, you listen, watching your shellacked, angry expression in the patina of his loafers.

Not a good start, but what did you expect?

You tamp down your irritation and let him lead you into the Great Hall. It's a shiny, golden tunnel, studded with glossy oil paintings of his parents, his grandparents, then the next set of old people before them. Their eyes stare at you, pools of hazy paint in their moon faces. You briefly imagine your painting up there, with Joshua's hand hovering meekly over your waist, unused to being more than two feet away from a woman his age.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Joshua says. "I think I've only seen you in pictures."

He's referencing the one of many “encounters” you've had with the paparazzi, a la yesterday night. They take trashy photos, overexposed and grainy from the camera flash, with your ass most likely in the frame.

You choose to let it slide—you have no choice, really. At least you have an ass.

"The pleasure is mine," you reply. "I believe you were at the cricket championships a few months ago, right?"

"Correct. Do you watch? I don't believe I saw you."

"No, but my brother was there." Your footsteps echo against the marbled walls. "Just trying to think of your last public appearance," you offer unhelpfully, since you and he both know those are few and far between.

"That's right. He mentioned you were busy," Joshua replies. "Glastonbury was that weekend, was it not?"

He's right. It was, but you don't like the insinuation he's making. You weren't at Glastonbury anyway—your parents wouldn't let you attend, and Jihoon was unwilling to come up with a cover story for you. Because you would rather watch paint dry than attend another cricket game, you instead spent it with takeout and reruns of Rupaul's Drag Race.

"Can't recall," you answer. "Doesn't matter. I'm not one for cricket, anyway."

"Didn't know you had a choice."

You watch Joshua halfheartedly gesture to the Great Hall. The seemingly mile-long dinner table is empty now, save for a gratuitously piled fruit bowl.

Your country frequently hosts guests, but the Hongs are notoriously insular. You imagine the four of you, crammed together at one end of the table, making horrendous small talk every morning over wilted danishes and raspberry preserves. Somehow, your mood worsens even more than you thought possible.

"Can I see the library?" you ask in an attempt to pivot.

"Of course. Do you enjoy reading?"

"A normal amount." You pass by another set of windows and take note of the rose garden outside, verdant with the May sunshine. Astrid has a bit of a penchant for eating roses, which would definitely complicate your plan to smuggle her in. No matter—you’ve done worse. "I studied political science at university, so I got a healthy dose of it."

"Didn't we all?" Joshua chuckles.

He pushes the door open to the library, which is just as lavish as the rest of the palace. You wonder how well-worn it is, how many spines have creases in them, how many dedications were speckled with a funny annotation or two. But judging by first impressions, you wouldn't be surprised if all the books still had their dust jacket on.

"I mean, I read an insane amount of Dan Brown," you reply. "Not many of us can say we've solved the Davinci code, you know."

You hoped this would crack a laugh out of him, but his grin is thinner than an eyebrow from the 2000s. Truthfully, you would compare this conversation to a death by a thousand papercuts, but somehow that feels preferable to the guillotine of discussing the terms and conditions of your rapidly impending marriage. You feel as though that would be violating some rule you aren't yet aware of, and you're unwilling to endure the patent leather consequences of another faux pas.

"I've heard of it," says Joshua after much thought. "My parents were shuttling me between meetings and private lessons, so, unlike some, I was quite busy during university."

You're not about to explain that you were equally as busy as him. Something tells you that he'd be too prideful to believe you anyway.

"How difficult. Surely you were able to have some fun," you say, your voice betraying your distaste. "Or were you too good for that?"

Too far.

"I did what my position allowed," is Joshua's terse reply, and you know you've crossed a line. Still, it dazes you that the man standing next to you may have never done anything for himself in his life. Even Jeonghan did, before your parents really tightened the reins.

The air buzzes with a silence sharp enough to make you bleed. You wish literally anyone else was standing next to you, but you realize there are no more horses or emergency cabs or Jihoons to rescue you from this one.

"How about I take you to our room? I hope you'll find it comfortable."

You glance to your right to catch a glimpse of Joshua. He smiles, a dutiful press of the lips, and you watch it ripple.

"Jihoon, it is so much worse than I thought."

You sit on the plush carpeting of your bedroom floor, amongst your small disaster of things. Jihoon examines you, one eyebrow raised, as he leans against the bedroom door.

"He's not around, right?"

Jihoon shakes his head.

"I don't get it," you sigh. "I go out. I get drunk. I have a little fun on the weekends. I don't see how any of this makes me a bad person."

"You know how traditional your families are." Jihoon bends down to pick up a hair bow that jumped ship from the vanity. "It's just how it is."

"He treats me like some high school delinquent. I tried, but he has no sense of humor. No joi de vivre. I think he would actually explode if he knew I went out two days ago."

"Give it time," Jihoon supplies unhelpfully. "I don't know French, but he can't be that bad. You just met him."

“Yeah. Usually that’s a good thing. I’ve fucked people i know less about.”

Jihoon shakes his head and laughs, one of those little cackly ones he reserves for your company.

"Well, you have been with worse," he tuts. "Definitely worse."

"Jihoon, be serious. This is the rest of my life we're talking about."

“I know." He draws his lips into a line, likely searching for the right thing to say. "This sucks. I wouldn't be good at this either."

"You're talking to me. I don't think there's a single royal thing I can do right."

He's out of words, so he bends down to awkwardly pat you on the head, which, in all your years of knowing him, is the most affection he can muster. This is why you prefer horses to Jihoon for therapy, although you appreciate the effort.

"I'd stay, but they want me to go to some meeting," he says, jerking his thumb towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

So he leaves you, desolate and linen-covered. Back to square one.

The room seems to echo with how empty it feels. The bare walls are painted champagne, a rich, indifferent color. They soar to an arched ceiling lined with baroque crown moulding. There's a large window facing the garden, framed by deep green velvet. Atop the vanity cradled to the wall, the ivy of the wrought mirror curls at the edges, as if escaping. The chandelier hangs low, fat and pear-shaped, and its crystals douse the room in gauzy lamplight.

At least the canopy bed looks comfortable. It's the one thing keeping you from calling this place a veritable jail cell, which still seems like an understatement. For once, you miss your own bedroom. Granted, it didn’t look much different on the surface. but despite all the paneling and the heavy velvet, you still like to think it had some personality. You still keep your pillow pet on your bed (a horse named Robert). The back wall is chipped from a Gossip Girl poster your mom made you take down.

Before you’re able to get too sentimental, the unwelcome sight of your future husband steals you from your thoughts.

"Evening," Joshua says, stepping into the room. He's so quiet, it takes you aback. "Still unpacking?"

"Sorry." You gesture around you. "I underestimated my ability to overpack."

"You should have told the staff," he says, surveying the damage. "Do you need help?"

"No," you insist. Somehow the prospect of him getting on the ground to sort out all of your things upsets you, even more than him touching all of your unmentionables. "No. Please. Just ignore me."

"Alright."

Joshua seems to take no issue with that, gratefully. He takes a seat on the chaise at the foot of the bed. He's got a copy of Anna Karenina under his arm, probably to weigh the pros and cons of cheating on you. You don't blame him—in fact, maybe it would make your doomed marriage exciting enough to be tolerable.

"PR event tomorrow," you start, folding up a nightdress. "Bet you're excited for that."

“As excited as one can be before announcing their arranged marriage," he replies dryly. "But surely you have enough experience with the press for the both of us."

So that’s how he wanted to play. Fine. You wouldn’t let him walk all over you a second time.

"Well, I'd hope all those classes you took would be good for something."

"That's rich, coming from the case study on bad media training."

"Oh, please," you snap. "At least I know how to have a good time."

"I was having a great time before I was informed this was happening."

"Forgive me. I had no idea you were so invested in my personal life." You huff as you heave an oversized armful of clothes to the closet. “Think TMZ has any job openings?”

"Very funny," he retorts. Joshua holds up a skimpy black dress that's fallen from your pile, one well acquainted with the midnight grease of one too many nightclubs. "You dropped this, by the way. I don't really think the nightlife here will be quite to your taste, though."

"Oh right, because this is where happiness goes to die, huh?" You snatch it back from him, feeling the knot of anger in your gut flare.

The room seems to pulse with an uncomfortable silence, red-hot with unsaid words. You recognize the all too familiar way Joshua sets his jaw back, and you're transported all the way to the study in the east wing, snoutless lion, terracotta steps, and all. He’s not any different from anyone else, so you’re not sure why you expected anything else.

You do the only thing you can do—bite your tongue.

"Look," you finally say, gathering the wherewithal to call for a truce. "I know that we didn't ask for this."

Joshua laughs. Actually, it's the first time you've heard it since you've met, and it would be an otherwise tolerable, even nice, sound if it wasn't directed right at you.

"Right, because who doesn't want to have to babysit someone for the rest of their life?"

You take a hard swallow. You've both done enough damage for tonight, although you'd love to see his expression when you call him the live-action version of Frollo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Maybe another time.

Instead you think of Jeonghan, stuck in his meetings and sunk into this new, starched form of himself that you find difficult to recognize. Still, he's your brother, and you'd hate to see him suffer for it.

"Stop. I'll be good," you say. "I promise. I know there's a lot at stake for the both of us."

You can hear Joshua's long, drawn exhale. The furrow dug between his brows flattens out, and he seems to be reminded of everything they taught you both in Conflict Resolution 101.

"I apologize. I got out of line," he says. You watch the cogs turn on that unfortunately pretty face of his. You hope he finally reveals that he has a much better, kinder personality that he was waiting to debut, but he doesn't. Instead he picks up yet another fallen item from your stash and hands it to you (this time, a much more presentable blouse).

"I know we don't like each other—" You hold up a hand to interrupt him from lying to you. “—but we can do our best for the cameras. Because that matters. Hate me all you want in private."

"Okay." He gives you a defeated look, which is all you suppose you'll get out of him today. "Deal."

That night, there are no more backhanded compliments, quips, or mean-spirited attempts at sarcasm.

You sink into your side of the bed, a damask-woven vat of quicksand, and watch the spears of light dance on the ceiling. If you had known your last outing was the one a few days ago, maybe you would have drank a little more, stayed out later. Maybe you wouldn't have even gone home.

Joshua has been reading on the other side of the bed, which seems like oceans apart. The metronomic turn of his pages would have put you to sleep if it wasn't for this new fear, a black, trembling one, that's now taken residence in your chest. It feels like you are further from yourself than you've ever been, and you don't know how to get back.

"Is it too bright for you?" Joshua's voice, now tempered by the stillness of the evening, pulls you out of your thoughts. "I can turn the lamp off."

"It's ok," you groan. "Can't really sleep. Don't worry about it."

He doesn't say anything. Instead you hear the oiled pull of the bedside nightstand before he places something on the bed beside you.

It's a book. Specifically, one of those trashy romances that they only sell at the airport because no one would be brave enough to read them anywhere else.

"It's no Dan Brown," he says. "Hopefully still to your liking."

You sit up against the headboard and flip through the pages. The prince of Acros owning a book with the words "juicy", "mewling", and "best friend's brother" in the first fifty pages are enough to tide you over for the night. Probably the next week, to be honest.

"Yes, indeed, your highness. Of the raunchy summer fling."

Joshua smiles, and this time, you think it's a real one.

You hate mornings.

You thought this one would be different, probably due to the fact that you would soon be standing in front of a few too many cameras to announce your tragic fate to the entire world. Unfortunately, it's like all your other mornings—rushed, nauseous, and now with all the added anxiety of a semi-non consensual public appearance.

"Five minutes!" you holler as best you can, a hair pin wiggling in the corner of your mouth. Rule number one of a hard launch: don't be caught looking complacent. Even if the other half of the launch would rather be with anyone other than you.

Joshua's in the attached bathroom doing his hair. Like everything else he does, it is painfully calculated. He might be the only person in the world who takes "pea-sized" seriously as a measurement tool.

But even as he so carefully measures his pomade, pump by pump, you don't miss the way his eyes skim over your figure as you lean over the vanity chair to apply your lipstick. Maybe it's because your ass is practically vacuum sealed into your sundress, or maybe he's just looking for another fight to pick. Either way, there's a small part of you that takes pride in this, even if just a little.

"Ready?" Joshua asks, switching off the bathroom light. You hate to admit it, but he looks good in a sports jacket. You remind yourself that you had to literally rock-paper-scissors this morning to use the vanity mirror because you fogged the bathroom up after your shower. "It's not a pageant."

"Shush. You are so rude. Never interrupt a girl when she's getting ready."

In the mirror, you watch Joshua huff behind you. Then he procures a little black box from his pocket, and a crazy sort of feeling washes over you before you remind yourself to be normal. Ten-year-old you would have cried and threatened arson if she knew this is how you would eventually be proposed to, but you have no choice.

You're sure Joshua feels the same. He was probably hoping for something classic with all the works, and instead he's got a pissed-off Jihoon and you, internationally renowned harlot. Funny how things turn out.

"Any minute now," bitches Jihoon from the other side of the door.

You close your compact and turn around to face Joshua, who's still fumbling with the box.

"I'm sure this is not what you anticipated," he says, finally cracking it open. “But—"

"No speech. Just put it on." You stick your left hand out, still glittery from last week’s manicure. "Not like it means much anyway."

"Yeah."

And just like that, it is done. You feel the shock of Joshua's huge hands over yours, then the unceremonious bite of the cold band. He doesn't linger.

You hold your newly engaged hand in front of you. The ring must have looked better in the box—on you, it seems out of place, gaudy, yet another thing you can't quite fit into. It squeezes your finger a bit, but it'll do.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Let's get this over with."

If romance wasn’t already dead, then it died here, today, in your prison cell bedroom.

You have no time to lament this, as Joshua’s already half out the door. Quickly, he seems to shed his foul, argumentative inside personality and slip into a second-skin, one that is more poised, gracious, and luminous.

Today's objective is supposed to be simple: friendly, premarital pictures to accompany a written statement to the public announcing your engagement. No paparazzi, no journalists. Still, you're starting to see why your parents decided it was a good idea to stick you with this guy.

In the foyer, your families await you. It's as if their gaze can slow time—at least four people approved your outfit, and still, the weight of their eyes on you, ever appraising, is crushing. Immediately, your mother starts rearranging the strands of hair on the top of your head and fiddling with the sleeves of your dress, like you're some sort of doll.

"Come, come," a member of the PR team urges. "Everything is set up. We'll be quick."

There's a frenetic, tense energy over the palace. It's clear that this marriage is a gambit no one is happy with, and today would make it very, very real.

Outside, there is a lone photographer. The sun, morning-ripe, reflects off his camera lens like a third eye. The lawn, freakishly green, sprawls out around you, and the blue spruce frames the scene, perfect by design.

"I just need you to stand next to each other and smile," he says. "That's all, right?" He directs this towards your PR team, about seven too many for a task like this. One of them whispers something in his ear. Your parents watch from the shaded doorstep like wax figures in a museum.

You and Joshua stand shoulder to shoulder, yearbook photo style.

"Bit closer," the photographer calls out, and you smush yourself against his arm, close enough that you can appreciate he's got some muscle on him. "Alright. Hold still."

Click. You've always hated the flash, but you root yourself obediently to the concrete. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. Click.

Your mother interrupts her conversation with a staff member—likely haggling over the minutia of the statement—and says, "Look happier," as if you're in some dystopian advertisement for a new car.

"She's talking to you," Joshua says through the grit of his fake, pink smile.

"Right, because you're such a peach."

You just want to go back inside and have breakfast.

You place a tentative hand on Joshua's bicep and turn to him, beaming like you would at a hot bartender when there are five other people waiting for a drink.

There's a glimmer of surprise in his expression before he matches you. You can see why people dote on him so much—his cheeks get round, and his eyes magically gain the sparkles that people pay for on Facetune. God really seems to have wasted a perfect face on him.

"Move your hand up so we can see the ring." You obey, feeling the firm cord of his arm underneath you, and you wonder where the gym is in the palace. Joshua was certainly gatekeeping it from you. "Perfect."

You stand there, living your America's Next Top Model nightmare, before the photographer hits you with, "A kiss for the camera, yeah?"

All the blood drains from your face. You think you actually say Huh? aloud. Joshua opts to turn to his parents to intervene, which would be funny in literally any other scenario except this one.

"You heard him," his father replies. "Act like you're actually engaged."

Honestly, it was a fair request. No one wanted to take any chances. Plausible rumors of an arranged marriage would backfire spectacularly. Jeonghan wouldn't see the front cover of anything ever again, and the entirety of Acros would wonder just how deep in the shitter they were that Joshua was forced to marry you.

Your parents were already so far into the conspiracy, you overheard them talking about using unpublished paparazzi pictures and rebranding them as times you snuck off to see your unfortunate lover. Point taken.

"Okay, okay," you laugh nervously. "Of course."

You face Joshua, steeling yourself, and lean in. The world seems to fall away, but not how you like—it feels as though you've been sucked out of your own body and dropped into a new one that doesn't know what a kiss is or how to do it.

He's just like anyone else, you tell yourself. You're at the club. They're playing Everytime We Touch by Cascada.

Soon all you know is the heat of your cheeks, the shaking flat of your palm over Joshua's shoulder, and the wet pressure of what feels like a pair of lips, soft but also very unwilling.

Click. Click. Then it's over. Everyone huddles around the camera, like animals to a watering hole. Shame, hot and heavy, seems to drape itself over you.

"Can we get one more?" the photographer asks.

Fuck. Your stomach drops. You can't even glare at Joshua.

"Sure thing," Joshua says easily, unaware he was the reason it went so badly in the first place.

You take a deep breath. You imagine a good Kylie Minogue song and a tall stranger with pecs that could fit into a bra, and your eyes flutter shut.

You decide to go for it this time. Unfortunately, you and your inept partner are on entirely opposite pages again, and you almost miss each other by a mile. When you do get it right, it's messy, two teenagers fumbling in a closet with the lights off.

Once everyone sees this massacre, it seems they resign themselves to the same conclusion you had long ago. Someone throws a thumbs up above their head, and everyone clears out so fast, it's like nothing ever happened.

Soon, it's just you, Joshua, and your mother with a red pen and the manuscript. Your heart is still buzzing in your chest, even though you and Joshua are now standing at a distance that makes you believe in the cheese touch again.

"Now that wasn’t so bad," she says, before escorting the two of you back inside. Perhaps lying cushions the blow of a bad decision, but you're already in too deep. The script, the cameras, even your mother's glossy words—your life is starting to feel like a permanent movie set, and you don't know how to clock out.

The first thing you do is take off the ring. It's starting to look more and more like costume jewelry on your untrained, bumbling hand. Even still, you can still feel its ghost on your finger, see the glare of the camera flash in the laser-cut facets.

Worse, you watch Joshua shrug off his sport jacket, likely wondering how exactly that went so wrong, and you can feel that same sensation, still warm, right over your lips.

"Save me, red wine, save me."

Home, sweet home. You're back in Cotria for the rest of the week. This morning's stint was the only thing you had on the schedule, and you told Joshua you had some business to attend to at home.

Said business was a Niçoise salad and half a bottle of wine, but no one had to know that part. Your struggle meals were your own business, and you think you will actually disintegrate on the spot if you have to sit through another conversation about World War II with Joshua's dad. The one you had at dinner last night was plenty.

The restaurant you’re at is a familiar haunt, but not too familiar. The ass-kissers and the groupies have gotten good at keeping their heads on a swivel, and you’re not exactly planning on another encounter with a camera. But here, the crowd is quiet enough, the food good enough, the service fast enough. It’s enough, which you’ve come to prefer.

That's the other thing about Cotria—there’s an overabundance of everything. Department stores, parlors, dog cafes, polished bars with overpriced cocktails. It’s almost a rarity to find a place like this, quiet enough to actually talk.

"You must be in the fucking trenches," Somi says, shaking her head. "When's the press release getting published?"

"Next week," you groan. "The good news is that they want us to go to the derby afterward."

"Okay, miss horse girl," Somi says, clinking her wine glass against yours. "You betting this year?"

"No, I shouldn't." You shovel another forkful of leaves into your mouth. "But I really hope I get to watch it instead of pretending to like a guy the whole time."

"I didn't see you pretending in uni," Somi says, cocking an eyebrow up at you. "And those guys are ugly. This guy isn't."

"Okay, wait," you protest. "Ugly cute. Don't get it twisted. And they don't act like sentient wet paint. This guy sucks."

You're reminded of the moment before you left the palace this morning. Joshua saw that same black dress that he used against you make its way into your bag, and he gave you the dirtiest stink eye you'd ever seen.

I'm not above tattling. They were the first words he'd said to you after The Incident.

Good thing you won't have to, you replied. He didn't even see you out because no one was standing around to clap him on the back for being a good fake fiancé.

"Whatever." Somi picks a tomato off your plate in exchange for some of her fries. "I wouldn't mind it, is what I'm saying."

"You slept with the bouncer to get into Annabel’s."

"Fuck off. He was actually really good. Club entry was just a bonus," she laughs. "That reminds me—you're coming to my birthday, right? Or do you have wifely duties now?"

"Of course I'm coming!" you insist, feeling the word duty hit like an actual bullet to your chest. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Just making sure! You know I gotta have my people around."

You had known Somi since you were in diapers. She's the cousin twice removed of a baron, or a count, or maybe even a viscount–you never were good at keeping track of those kinds of things. Even though you had seen her at countless brunches, coronations, and garden parties, you don't think you actually became friends until you ran into her at a college party in Mykonos. She sidled up to you, smelling like strawberries and the bleachy sting of hair dye, and handed you a cucumber margarita.

The beer here sucks, she had whisper-shouted to you, right over the shell of your ear. Wanna dance? You were inseparable ever since.

"It's going to be huge. There are, like, 200 people on the guest list right now. Soonyoung rented a villa, There's gonna be a champagne tower, and the music won't suck. Guaranteed."

"That sounds perfect," you sigh. "Please tell me there's gonna be a pool. I need to show off my new swimsuit."

"Duh." Somi rolls her eyes, glittery under her extensions. "The perfect opportunity to show the world that their hottest bachelorette is a bachelorette no longer. Also, we invited Pitbull.”

“Shut the fuck up. Wait, is he actually coming?”

”Dunno. Wouldn’t be very Mr. Worldwide of him to flake, though.”

Pitbull or not, you think of the heat of the strobe lights, the electric trill of the too-loud speakers. You're dancing in a dress that looks like a chunk of the moon, with the little neon ties of your bikini top peeking out the sides. There's a peach highball in your hands and no one is telling you what to do, how to do it, or that you're doing it wrong.

Then you think of Joshua. Maybe he'd loosen up after a few drinks. Maybe he'd dance with you, put those hands to use on your hips and kiss you like he should have earlier today. Maybe he'd even be good at it. The thought makes your cheeks sting.

“Should I invite Joshua?” Somi says, wrinkling her nose at how you immediately grimace. “What if he’s actually a blast?”

"No! No. Absolutely not."

“What if he’s—” Then she drops her singsong voice to a whisper. “Hung? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen those pictures of him in the Galapagos.”

Unfortunately, you have. A lurid, glassy image of your soon-to-be-husband in a sleazy pair of swim trunks comes into vision. You push past the smile, the unfair pecs, and remind yourself of that horrible, self-righteous twist of the lips that he always has.

Yes, that’s right. That’s the Joshua you know.

You grab the wine from her and drink it right from the bottle.

–

Of course it had to be the one time you’re not late to an event that you forget you had swapped everything in all your purses around. You double check your bag—empty.

You’re already down by half of your worldly possessions (still at home, your real home), and you probably left the other half on Joshua’s bathroom counter. Yesterday, you got derailed mid-task by Joshua lighting the grossest candle ever. You never thought you’d ever fight over candles of all things, but you couldn’t let him walk away from that conversation thinking wet dirt was a normal, socially acceptable, scent for a bedroom. (—It said moss on the label! —So, dirt. —Moss is not dirt. Maybe you need to go back to school.)

You fling open the bathroom door, still checking the pockets of your handbag, before you collide into a big, sopping wet wall.

“What the—?” You look up. The wall is not a wall. No, in fact, it is your fiancé, bare fucking naked.

Your heart jumps up to your throat. It feels like you walked right into a porno, and you can hear Somi’s self-satisfied, witch cackle right in your ear. His dark hair seems to fall into his eyes just right, a nice change from how he normally gels it up, and you watch the beads of water from the shower, torturously glittery, run down his jaw, the hollow of his neck, right onto his chest.

Men should not be allowed to have bigger boobs than you, at least, not dowdy Joshua Hong, who normally has the sex appeal of an eraser. And God forbid your eyes travel downward and confirm Somi’s sick and twisted hypothesis, past the washboard abs, the v-line, the trail down his—

“Sorry, did you need something?” You blink again and Joshua suddenly has a towel wrapped around his waist. And he’s eyeing you like you ate a million cloves of garlic and then proceeded to spit on him. “Or are you just going to stand here and ogle me?”

“I wasn't—no!” You start snatching things off the counter, anything really, and throwing them into your bag. “I just needed to grab stuff for my… my thing. You’re in the way.”

“Right, because you need four q-tips and my razor to read a children’s book,” Joshua replies, plucking the offending items out of your purse. “It's almost 12:30, by the way.”

“Shit. Fuck,” you stammer. You can’t glare at him anymore because you know where your eyes will end up and it is not on his face. “Stop distracting me. Whatever.”

“Have fun,” is the last thing Joshua tells you before you close the bathroom door, that portal to hell, right back up.

What you can’t do is return the image of what you saw back to where it came from, the wicked, glistening form of Joshua and his B cup tits. He looked so good, it makes you angry.

Later, on the walk to the library, you reach for your lip gloss. Instead, you pull out q-tip number five and get mad all over again.

–

The car ride to the derby feels like your own personal Saw trap, if Jigsaw wore a ridiculous hat and was actually your mother.

Your engagement was announced to the public just a few days ago. It came with no fanfare, no warning. You were sitting on your bed, making your way through the smut Joshua called a novel, when the news app on your phone kindly notified you that you were now a taken woman.

To some degree, the media uproar fascinated you. The idea that people with actual journalism degrees were writing headcanons about your honeymoon when you hadn’t even seen Joshua since The Bathroom Incident was surely entertaining, to say the least. But, like everything, the unsaid pressure of being a perfect princess, now part of an even more perfect couple, hangs heavy over you.

You remind yourself this is supposed to be fun. A real couple would be pawing at each other in the backseat, perhaps pregaming with champagne or fan-casting their pick for Spirit the horse. Instead, you’re stuck rehearsing your pitch to the reporters when they inevitably ask you about how the hell this happened. You wish you could tell them you’re not quite sure either.

Silently, you look at Joshua. Joshua looks out the window. The world rumbles under you.

[10:15 am, race 1]

The air seizes, swirls with clay-colored dust in the morning sun. The clubhouse is already heady with the low buzz of conversation—you watch the freckled sunhats and oily toupees bob up and down in the swell of the crowd, deep in the morning’s small talk. You wonder how many of them are talking about you, given how recently the news hit. You’re used to people ignoring your media appearances, not celebrating them.

Someone, tipping their head down to greet you, hands you a program. Joshua elects to tuck his in his back pocket. People don’t come to the derby to watch the races. Instead, it’s an excuse to gossip, day drink, and gamble, which would ordinarily be a good time for you if you weren’t overly invested in the racing circuit.

All the way from the entrance to your seats, you were met with a tidal wave of camera flashes, all hungry for a glimpse of your first public appearance as a couple. Alongside this, a decidedly worse flurry of congratulations paired with an overly familiar touch to the shoulder or a limp handshake. Joshua is quick to respond with either a smile or some trite platitude. Your least favorite: We couldn’t be happier. Now he’s just lying for sport.

“We should find the reporters doing interviews,” Joshua says the second his ass touches the chair, unfazed by the onslaught of perhaps a million different people. “The Sun probably wants to talk to us.”

You’re not listening—you can’t let on that this whole ordeal is mildly terrifying for you. He has enough reasons to dislike you, and stage fright wouldn’t exactly be a good addition to the list.

The racehorses have lined up at the track, their manes catching the daylight like holy fire. You like the one on the end. He looks like Peanut, Jeonghan’s stubborn palomino.

Joshua says your name insistently, curdled with the annoyance that you’ve now become acquainted with, and you catch a stray camera flash from the stands. You have an audience, and the audience demands a show, even if they’re second-rate journalists like the scum from The Sun.

“Darling,” you reply flatly. “Relax. Let's enjoy the races.”

The horses stretch their long legs, anxious for the thunderclap of the starter’s pistol. Joshua raises a tired eyebrow before the same realization dawns on him.

“Absolutely.” He clears his throat. “Darling.”

You wrap a hand around his arm—somehow he makes hand-holding seem like third base—and watch his shoulders sink with a sigh, like you just popped him.

Likewise, your highness. Likewise.

A shot crackles through the air, and you’re off to the races.

[12:43 pm, race 2.]

"I just have to know—how did you guys meet?"

You know the duchess of Pemarlia to be beautiful and unashamedly nosy, and she has yet to prove you wrong on either account.

The last time you saw her was on the beach at Lake Como last year, where she spent the entirety of your conversation asking if Jeonghan was single (and peeking into your bag to see what brand of lipstick you were wearing). Like everyone, she always seems to have a look of appraisal on her face. What makes her different is that she never really bothers to hide it; instead, she wears it like an en-vogue accessory.

She eyes you with an intensity, sizing up your dress, your tawdry sunhat, your ring. You wonder if she’d agree that marriage didn’t look good on you, but any shorter of a dress, your mother would call you a stripper. And God forbid you leave the house hat-less.

Now she’s no minotaur. This shouldn’t be much of a problem, save for one very small issue: you actually hadn’t planned your answer to this. You had quibbled over it briefly in the car, but you were too focused on your interview pitch to worry about minor gossip.

"Well," Joshua starts. Through his smile, you can hear the warning edge of his voice. “It was quite ordinary.”

"Actually," you cut him off. Not only would his version of this story be boring, it would also be horribly out-of-character for you. You did not come this far for your cover to be blown by Joshua’s lack of imagination. "Josh's parents hosted a—"

"Brunch," Joshua finishes. Whether his teeth are gritted because he's grinning or frustrated is none of your business. “It was Easter brunch, wasn’t it, sweet pea? Four years ago?”

The pet name makes you want to puke. Now he’s just trying to piss you off, but you know this is his attempt to play along. He's annoying, not dumb.

"Yes, we sat across from each other.” You playfully dig your elbow into Joshua’s rock-hard side. “He was giving me the eyes the whole time.”

You watch your hapless victim giggle, her spidery lashes wide with intrigue. Joshua is a little less pleased.

“If you could call it that,” he replies. “I think you had chocolate on your nose.”

“Which you so kindly wiped off for me, dear.” You try to peek around the flaxen billows of the duchess’s blowout to watch the horses behind her, but to no avail. “After a morning of staring, we had to do an Easter egg hunt, planned by Joshie himself. I had no idea he loved silly little games like that.”

“It's because people like the princess get so competitive,” Joshua says, with his laser beam grin boring into your eye sockets. “I believe I found you rummaging through the trash for eggs, like some kind of animal.”

“Oh my goodness,” the duchess laughs. “How...charming.”

You feel your eyebrow twitch. Only you’re allowed to ruin your own reputation, but you suppose that’s just another thing your horrible fake fiance gets to take from you.

“Not as embarrassing as seeing Joshua leer at me from behind the corner,” you retort. “He was so enamored that when I invited him to join me, he got right down on his knees to look through the trash together.”

“Well, did you find anything?”

“Yes—”

“No—”

“Well—”

Fuck. Luckily, the duchess is either stupid or wildly entertained by the clown show playing out before her. Maybe both.

“Cute,” she coos. “You must have been too smitten to notice.”

“Absolutely,” Joshua says, as if there is a gun held to his pretty head. “Among all the garbage and the girl next to me, I suppose nothing else really mattered.”

“If that isn’t love, what is?” she asks blithely.

If only she knew.

[3:45 pm, race 3]

The sun descends on the stadium, swollen and yellow with the afternoon.

Last year, you and your friends had a betting ring set up during the racing circuit. Obviously, you had won—not too hard when your competition included Soonyoung, who only bet on horses named after food (sadly, it was not Tater Tot’s year). Somi was no better, and your brother thought every horse deserved a participation award.

This time around, things aren’t so simple. But you’d hate to say that you spent a whole day at the track and didn’t bet on a single race. Life could afford you at least one win for today.

Again, the horses take their positions at the starting line, wound up like a line of rubber bands. The air heaves with bated breath.

“Joshua,” you say, folding your hands in your lap as you find your target. “I'd like to propose a bet.”

“You must be a glutton for punishment.”

You bite back a laugh as you watch your favorite horse, the palomino, ripple in place. Fans would call her a charity case, but you know better.

“Pick a horse. Mine is number Three, in the blue.”

“And if mine wins? What’s in it for me?” he asks. Still, he leans forward, corded forearms on his thighs. You watch him squint as he surveys the field with renewed interest.

“You pick,” you reply. “Choose wisely. I personally cannot wait to call in a favor from you.”

“The chestnut one. Number Nine.” So he is competitive. “And likewise. Perhaps I'll hold it over your head until the wedding.”

Before you can reply, you hear the starting pistol rip clean into the air. The racehorses surge forward, as if a silken ribbon through air.

“Nine makes sense for you,” you say, eyes fixed before you. “He's flashy, the crowd favorite. Spotless pedigree.”

“I'm picking your punishment already.”

“I didn't say he would win.” You feel the lilt of your voice rocking upward, the tremulous beat of your heart against your ribs. “You see, Three’s had a rough season. There she is, passing Four right now.”

“Nine is still first, though.”

“It’s not about that,” you reply. “She does this, she starts all the way out back and then flies up. No one suspects anything—it’s like she likes proving people wrong. The first couple races of the season, she was just stretching her legs; they were small, small fry. It’s this one that matters.”

The saddles are just blurs on the track now. To the march of the hoofbeats, Three lunges past Five, Six. The crowd roars.

“This will be her first win. I'm counting on it. She’s come really close before.”

Joshua doesn’t reply. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his gaze has shifted. You feel it land somewhere near you, but you’re too engrossed in the race to investigate further. Perhaps he’s admitted defeat preemptively, wisely so.

“You know your stuff,” he murmurs, the clamor of the audience almost burying him.

“How can I not?” Three coasts past One and Ten like she’s flying, until it’s just her and unlucky number Nine. “Oh my god. Go, go, go!”

You and Joshua rise to your feet, as if drawn by a string, now wholly invested in the race.

“Still beating you, you know.”

“Not for long! Come on!”

You watch your darling number Three, against all odds, pull past Joshua’s number Nine, burning a trail past the inevitable finish line.

From somewhere inside you emerges a joy that you hadn’t felt since this whole ordeal started. You turn to Joshua and clasp his hands between yours, somehow less wooden now, and so, so human. The crowd cheers; they come alive.

[4:50 pm, races 4 and 5. mainly, the reporter from the sun.]

The smaller races take place shortly after the headliner, for better or for worse. This forces you to finally face the music—the music being a dull-eyed, greasy journalist ready to sink his teeth into the public’s new favorite topic.

Joshua is a good sport about it, or at least, he’s good at pretending to be one.

“It was great,” is his answer to a question you didn’t hear. You’re busy going over the parts of the script that you remember. Your media team spent the better part of the morning repeating it back to you, which was helpful until it wasn’t. You weren’t sure how to tell them you’ve actually never been good at speaking to the press, since you had spent the better half of your life doing the exact opposite.

“And what did the princess think? It’s not often we catch you for an interview, you know.”

The eye of the camera seems to pierce through you. You can see your shellacked figure, long and distorted, in the reflection.

“I—um,” you swallow hard. God. Pull it together. You can already hear the lecture you’re going to get on the way home today. “Yeah, big day today.”

“She’s had to really rein in her excitement, you know,” Joshua adds, chuckling.

Briefly, you feel his hand brush against yours. Ordinarily, you’d pass it off as a fluke, but you feel the steady, insistent warmth of his palm again, first, to the inside of your wrist, then lower still. Before you’re able to really process what’s happening, he then takes your hand in his all at once, as if to say, I’ve got this. I’ve got you.

You figure he’s cashing in his favor early–he’d much rather leave you out to dry, let you flounder a bit so you learn to read the PR memorandums the night before. I told you so, he’d say. That’s what everyone else would say, anyway.

“The races are sure exciting, but I'm sure you’re even more excited about your upcoming wedding.” The reporter grins at you, as if he smells your fear. His hair looks like it’s glued to the top of his shiny head. “If I'm going to be honest, you were one of the last people we’d expect to tie the knot this year. We are all dying to hear more.”

What? You force yourself to breathe, feel the air fill your lungs, to avoid making an expression you’ll regret.

“Well, yeah, I'm sure it looks like it all happened quickly,” you answer, feeling your tongue trip over the words. Mostly because it did, in fact, happen quickly, but you can’t let them know that. “But Josh and I feel strongly about, uh, this whole thing, and—”

“Please, don’t spare us the details.”

Telepathically, Joshua squeezes your hand. This, you understand. He’s telling you to lean on him, and you trust that.

“Hold your horses,” he cuts in, almost too quickly, which makes the corners of your mouth twitch upward. He was definitely looking for an opening, but you, bizarrely, don’t mind at all. He turns to you and smiles. “What's the fun without a little mystery? It's been a wild ride, but I'm loving every second of it.”

It’s this one, the lamest and most embarrassing dad joke of them all, that gets you.

You laugh: a real one, big, loud, and unafraid. It's here, caught in the glare of the camera flash, where you find yourself hoping, even just a little, that this wasn’t just a favor, that this was a sign you could actually survive this arrangement.

You’re not asking for love—just a little bit of like. and, right now, you think you like Joshua Hong.

—

In the evening, you find yourself in the oaken parlor nestled away in the back halls of the Acrosian palace.

There's a piano there, gathering dust. It's a Steinway, spindly and chestnut, almost identical to the one you have at the palace in Cotria.

You and Jihoon had been unpacking your hodgepodge of things (unsorted, since the act of sorting would have forced you to stomach the fact that you were actually moving), when he had found your old lesson books.

You should break in that piano, he had said. Either that, or wait for your fiance to find you. He seemed ok at the derby today.

I guess.

What Jihoon hadn’t seen was all the photographs you had to take after your interview with The Sun, where Joshua decided to remind you that you were supposed to hate him. By that, you mean that he managed to make every single one unbearable. (A tap of the foot: Stand up straight. A careful brush of the elbow: Let’s link arms. A discerning, tactful glance at your chest: Pull up your dress. That, or he was no better than the average man.)

You and he hadn’t talked much after that. Hopefully, he’s fled to your cold, dark dungeon of a room to read, so he can finally leave you alone.

“Remember when your parents invited all their friends over and asked you to play?” Jihoon says, perched on the loveseat while he sorts through an old jewelry box.

“Yeah, and I literally forgot everything?” you laugh. “Freaking Jeonghan had to check on me because I locked myself in my room for 24 hours straight. And then he had the nerve to laugh at me.”

You thumb through the fattest book of the pile. The binding is soft; the pages now yellow and fuzzed over by time.

On page 5, Chopin's Waltz in A-flat major. three four time or whatever, you had scrawled in defiant red ink. Page 37, a thick black line through Debussy's name on Arabesque No. 1. This is because you would always laugh at it during lessons, and you wanted to save yourself the trouble.

“Do you want to keep this?” Jihoon holds up a choker that resembles a jock strap. “When did you even wear this? It looks like a cat toy.”

You ignore him and start to play. You were never excellent—competent would be a better word. Still, it was enough for you. Soonyoung would ask you to play during drunk karaoke, and you could still keep up with Jeonghan when he played one of his overcomplicated duets.

Your hands remember the velvet thud of the keys, the glide of the pedal. When you turn the page, there’s a scrawled in BITCH! next to a heavily circled allegro. Piano was one of the only things that your parents forced you to do that you actually liked. The kicker was that it didn’t even do you any good. You weren’t as talented as your parents would like you to be, meaning that, to them, you weren’t talented at all.

It’s then that your fingers slip, and you miss a chord. In your defense, you have a fresh manicure. Always blame the nails. Your mom hated when you kept them long, even more than your hardass tutor.

“The prince is helping with the theater production this year, right?” Jihoon holds a single earring up to the light. You think you lost the other one in Ibiza last year. “You gonna help out again?”

“Maybe.” Another wrong note. You’re losing steam trying to read all the ledger lines and your smeared, illegible writing next to them. “I don't know. He probably won’t even want me to. I'm choosing a different piece, by the way. Bored of this one.”

The truth about your 21st birthday was that you did actually intend to spend it at the youth theater. It was your idea before it was Jeonghan’s idea, but, at the time, you both still were a package deal.

You were on piano; Jeonghan was on whatever else he pleased. He'd always been indecisive like that. At the bench, you’d hoist the little ones on your knee and regale them with the classical version of the opening song from Paw Patrol. Jeonghan stole prop masks from the back, mostly to hide behind the curtains and scare people, you included. You’d both stay up late, paint spackled on your palms, trying to Michelangelo a backdrop with the combined artistic talent of a TI-84.

The production became your thing, just you and him, no cameras, no press releases, no parents. But like everything else, neither you, Jeonghan, nor anyone else was able to keep those inevitable truths apart. The set pieces were repainted in Italy, the finger-painted fields turned luminescent with varnish; the pins and needles in the costumes swapped with mother-of-pearl; and, finally, you, replaced by a classically trained pianist from Juilliard. At least he was hot.

Everyone knows the rest of the story—the red carpet, the empty seats, and the puffy pink balloons outside the mansion in Saint Tropez.

“Oh please,” Jihoon wheedles. “You and I both know he wanted you there.”

“Then maybe he should have fought harder.” You flip to a random page, this one marked up in pink gel pen. You remember it bled through all the pages behind it, making it a pain to read but awfully funny during lessons. “It doesn't matter. There’s probably wedding stuff I gotta deal with.”

Jihoon lets you play this next piece uninterrupted. It’s not that it’s a sensitive subject for you—there were plenty of other things that filled the wedge between you and your brother—but it certainly didn’t help.

You let your fingers wander over the stubborn keys. It feels good to play, even if you’re almost unforgivably rusty. You reach for the page, when you hear Jihoon again: “You know, you’re allowed to come in, your highness.”

Immediately, your hands freeze. Like a scolded child, you become aware of how your fingers teeter over the keys, the stumbling, awkward clacking of your nails, the one or two missed quarter notes from the last measure.

You turn to face the door, where Joshua stands, leaning against the frame like a sleazy model from an Abercrombie catalog. He probably came from the gym. Seeing him dressed down is still very weird, mostly because you can’t decide if it’s because he looks good or if it’s because it reminds of seeing your teacher at the grocery store.

“Anyone teach you manners?” you ask, unsure if your hackles should be raised.

“No, I was raised in a barn, just like those horses you like so much,” he laughs. “I didn’t want to interrupt. You’re not bad, you know.”

“Thanks.” You eye him skeptically. “Thought you were gonna comment on the nails.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Preferably not, but it’s not like you‘d listen to me anyway.” You look for Jihoon’s reaction, but he seems to have conveniently disappeared. “Let’s play a duet. I’m cashing in my favor.”

“Sure,” Joshua replies. “I'm no good, though. Might be more of a punishment for you.”

You slide over on the bench, and he sidles up next to you. He smells like Le Labo and sweat, the sting citrusy and bright, close enough to linger.

“No good?” You pick up another fat book from the stack atop the lid: The Joy of Duets. “Me neither.”

“You have no idea,” he chuckles. “And trust me, I tried.”

“I’ll do top?” you announce.

Joshua snickers, and you kick him under the bench (really, just a tap of your foot).

You spend the next two minutes tripping over a Schubert piece. Terribly, this is endearing to you. You make somewhat of a couple—you, with your horrible form, and Joshua, now squinting at the key signature like it’ll make it easier to read.

“Buddy,” you exclaim. “Left hand goes here.” Laughing, you reposition his hand mid-chord to an octave below. You feel it tense beneath you before yielding to proper technique.

“Aw, what?” he whines. “See, I told you I was no good. Give me a second.”

You watch him puzzle over the next few lines, pretty brow furrowed. You conclude that Pajama Joshua is decidedly better than Prince Joshua. He’s funnier, kinder, warmer. Even his hands feel softer.

“Also, about earlier today,” you start. The words are starting to dry up on your tongue, but you figure Pajama Joshua is an easier target than usual. “I didn't know they trained you in stand-up comedy.”

“We laugh in this country too, you know.” When Joshua says this, he grins, bumping into your shoulder like you’d been friends for a long time. For once, it feels easy, natural.

“Well, thanks anyway.”

“I couldn't leave my fiancée out to dry.” The word must sound ridiculous even to him, because he laughs just the same as he did when he unloaded his ridiculous puns onto the unassuming world. “No really. We’re in this together, unfortunately. It’s my duty.”

Duty, both the knife and the wound. You can’t say you’re surprised he’s only nice to you out of obligation. So is everyone else, and you don’t know why you thought it’d be any different, especially coming from him. It’s not like you’re wearing your ring now either; you suppose you’re just as guilty.

“You cross over here,” you tell him, changing the topic. You slide your hand over his, and it bends to you. “Thumb under. Sorry, I couldn't help but notice.”

“It's ok,” Joshua replies. “I only learned piano because I had to. When I stopped going to lessons, I forgot everything. Now I feel like I put this piano to shame.”

“Really? Not to stroke your ego, but you strike me as the type to be good at everything.”

“No,” he chuckles. “Only when I have to be. I actually wanted to learn how to play guitar.”

“No way.”

“Yes way. I wanted to have one of those woven guitar straps, get a little pick collection going, be able to play any song from the Beatles discography. All the cliche stuff.”

“Well, why can’t you?” you ask. “Minus the Beatles thing. Pick better music.”

“Back then, it never occurred to me. We all learn piano.”

“That's silly,” you blurt out. “Who cares?”

“That's a little rich coming from you.”

You frown, feeling all the usual unpleasantries bubble up through your skin.

“That's not really fair.” You absentmindedly play a few keys, all disjointed. “Taking guitar lessons doesn’t make you a problem child.”

“It's not about that, though,” Joshua says. He's avoiding your eyes. “It's everything, together. I couldn't just pick up a guitar and be someone else.”

“Someone else? You mean you? The real you?”

“Yes,” Joshua presses. “That's the point. I can't just do whatever I want. Sometimes the real you is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Someone’s dramatic. If you do everything the same, nothing will change. Maybe getting into a little trouble isn’t such a bad thing.”

“Forgive me,” he says, mid-chuckle. “You wouldn’t call this trouble?”

He’s got you there. Childishly, all your pride hardens to a lump in your throat, one you’ve never learned to swallow.

“Your family needed our help too, remember?”

“Yeah, and you think I don’t think about that every day? How, maybe, if I had done something different, then we wouldn’t be here?”

You feel stung. You don’t know how to tell him that you’ve been trying to figure out the same thing your whole life. If you were a better daughter, you’d have spared everyone the trouble. Unfortunately, you’d gotten it wrong so many times, you stopped trying.

What's worse is that he doesn’t even sound mad—you watch his fingertips ghost over the keys of a C-scale, rhythmically, methodically. Piano scales, this marriage, everything: just things to do on his never-ending list.

A hesitant knock at the door interrupts any possibility of you coming up with anywhere close to the right thing to say.

“Prince Joshua, the king and queen need to speak to you.” It’s an aide, probably sweating bullets deciding when and how they should intrude on this wonderful conversation of yours.

“Right,” says Joshua, and when he gets up from the bench, he doesn’t look back.

—

“You ready to get stuffed?”

Good fucking morning to you—Somi’s voice, fluorescent through your phone speakers, seems to be enough of an alarm clock for you. Joshua, in the doorway dual wielding a coffee cup and the morning paper, raises a tired eyebrow.

After the events of last night, you’d wondered if he would somehow disappear at nighttime in an effort to avoid his eventual fate (you). Instead, you found him on his usual side of the bed, drinking his usual mug of chamomile tea, in his usual silence.

You've heard that couples shouldn’t go to bed angry, but no one said anything about indifferent. Then again, you and Joshua are hardly a couple.

“Ew,” you laugh. “No. Maybe? Should I be scared?”

“Absolutely. You’re eating your weight in food today because I need your opinion on catering.”

Smushing your phone between your cheek and your shoulder, you watch the mirror as your wavering reflection puts on a layer of mascara.

“For your party?”

“Yeah, although on second thought, maybe it’s a bad idea to bring the girl who’s gonna puke everything up anyway.”

“My IBS is none of your business. Besides, the real food critic is Jihoon,” you reply. “Sometimes I feel like that’s the only reason he still works here.”

“You’re coming in an hour, right?”

You check the clock. No, you are not. You’re only halfway through a full beat and if you don’t get any caffeine inside you within the hour, you will commit a crime.

“Nope.” You pop open your compact. “I have to change, and I desperately need to locate a coffee. I will suck a fucking bean off if i need to.”

“I'm hanging up on you,” Somi whines. “It's too early for you to be gross and late.”

“As if you weren’t talking about getting stuffed.”

“Whatever.” Click.

At this point, you feel like Somi’s party is both the proverbial and literal light at the end of the tunnel. No expectations, no rules, and no semi-arguments between you and your doomed fiance.

Then you notice that Joshua’s disappeared from the room—he probably couldn’t stand listening to your end of the conversation. Briefly, you wonder where he is. Off running an errand for his dear parents, perhaps, or maybe at the gym you still haven’t discovered yet. Even from the hefty distance he keeps you at, you can still appreciate a man who looks like he’s touched a dumbbell.

It's only when you’re halfway out the door, almost an hour later, juggling your purse and your phone and the distinct absence of a caffeinated beverage, that you find him.

“Come to ruin my day?” you ask, maybe three-fourths joking.

“Don’t give me any ideas,” he replies. Under the bluebird sky of late morning, lips upturned and eyes bright, Joshua may be a sight you could get used to. Someday. “Brought you a coffee. I can’t have you sucking off a bean—the reporters would go crazy.”

Jihoon, hovering by the car, chokes on his water.

“Oh!” The surprise knocks the sound out of you. “Thank you. Really.”

“Gladly,” he says, and he sounds like he means it.

He holds all your stuff as you clamber into the car, before handing it back to close the door for you. You’ll admit it’s nice, but as Jihoon starts to drive, you feel a familiar twist in your chest.

“Interesting,” he remarks. “Didn’t know you were on a coffee order basis.”

“We’re not,” you answer. You pop the lid open. It's a cappuccino, made the classic way, milk foam bubbling out the top. Not your favorite, but it’ll do.

More than that, it’s an olive branch. Yesterday did get weird, but you’re getting the impression that it’ll always get weird. Undoubtedly, there is someone out there who’ll get Joshua. His schedules, his straight-backed obligation, the polished photo ops and the cappuccinos made to a perfect one to one to one ratio. You know this because this is the world you came from, one that should be home to you.

Instead, you circle each other in an unsure, clumsy dance. You can’t quite get it right. It's all the same now. The bite of a horse saddle not made for your body, the glow of your heirloom ring, now cheapened by your graceless hand, Joshua’s lonely, reaching palm as he disappears in the rearview mirror.

—

On your arrival home in the evening, you return with two things: a few extra kilos and an absolutely horrendous copy of the Daily Mail, courtesy of Somi, who saw it at the grocery.

"Great showing from the couple of the year," you say, shucking your copy at Joshua. "It looks like we're in Shark Tale."

Even from a distance, the cheap ink-spackled cover shows more than enough. LIP LOCK FLOP!, it reads, although you wouldn’t really call it a lip lock.

It was at the derby—Quick, they’re looking at us, you had said. Then what you would call a nun’s version of a kiss: you, already halfway out the door, and him, lips hesitant and pursed, as if he was asked to smooch his withering, dusty great-grandmother.

"I'm not even going to ask what you mean by that," Joshua answers, voice level. "It's not that bad."

He puts his book down to pick the magazine up, holding it at a distance like the image will jump out of the page and bite him. You see his expression flicker, and that's all you need to confirm your suspicions.

"Ok, it's a little bad." He places it on the nightstand next to him face-down. "It'll be alright. It's not like the wedding will be called off over one bad picture."

"You know that's not the issue." You sit on your side of the bed, about a full meter away from him. You kind of want to look again just to see how bad it is, but you're sure it'll be inescapable by the morning.

"Since when did you care what the press thought of you?"

"Since it mattered." You stare at your lap, eyes fixed on the too-new, wiggly hem of your pajamas instead of him. You can tell he's still looking at you, though–you think those big, watery eyes have some sort of flashlights in them, and you don't like it. "It seems wrong if our mistakes take up space."

You hear him make a small noise of agreement. Joshua still won't admit that you're right, but you suppose you like that a little. At least he'll be stubborn about something, even if it's about clearly not liking you.

"What do you suggest?" he asks, putting his book down. “We didn't choose each other, so I'm not surprised there's no attraction."

"Ouch." He's right, but you'd rather be the one saying it. "I'm a good kisser. You aren't."

"I'm just not good at kissing you," he retorts.

"Evidently." You shimmy towards his side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler under your thighs, the pillows still neatly arranged on the headboard. "What I'm saying is that we should at least try to look more realistic. Like–"

"Are you saying we should practice?" Joshua looks at you over the frames of his glasses, incredulous.

"Yeah," you say, now too far in it to back out. "Like exposure therapy. For unwilling couples."

The room gets quiet, as if it wasn't unbearably so before. You watch Joshua pick up his book again. He puts the bookmark in, two-thirds from the spine of the book so as to not ruin the binding, and places it over the doomed tabloid.

"Okay." To your surprise, he turns to face you. The lamplight catches the lens of his glasses and makes his eyes look warmer than they truly are. "How should we do this?"

The way Joshua's gaze settles on you makes you feel like you're being evaluated. An exam in Kissing 101, except the test would rather not have anything to do with you at all. For the first time in your life, you let your eyes wander to his lips, rosy and full, and you feel the pit of anxiety in your belly grow wider. Somehow he's managed to take all the fun out of one of your favorite activities, but you'll be damned if he walks away from this thinking it's you who's the problem.

"Just...let me lead," you say quietly, now leaning closer to him. You have to ease yourself into it. You let your body respond, feel the skip of your heart, a heady flush wash over your cheeks. He smells like spearmint and clover.

You've kissed a lot of people. None of this should feel new to you. His eyelashes skim against your cheek, and you can hear the breath he takes, quivering, gentle.

Despite all this, the first kiss is no better than any of the other ones. his lips meet yours, hesitant before they start moving. He's shy, and it would almost endear him to you if he wasn't so annoying. But then the charade is over. His nose clocks yours and it startles you both enough to draw away, ever so slightly.

"Not my fault," you murmur. You're so close, you can see your reflection in his pupils, glassy and dark.

"Thought this was practice," responds Joshua, unfazed.

So you lean in again, giving it another go. Two is better—sweet and succinct. a first date type of kiss. You can taste the berry of your lip balm on him.

Then again, except this time it's him who goes in, chases your lips.

The scary thing is that you thought this would be much harder. You had stood in the bathroom, looked yourself in the mirror, and psyched yourself up to do the impossible.

But the moment you meet him, now so close there's no room to breathe, you feel an impenetrable, unshakable desire crawling up your bones. Your palm finds the flat of his chest. Even under the silk of his ridiculous pajama top, you feel the heat of his skin, the restless quick of his heartbeat, and your stomach flips.

Four, five. You're losing count. Joshua's hand trails up your arm to cup your cheek, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel your breath catch in your chest.

He's warm, so warm. When your other hand finds the back of his neck, he makes a small sound in his throat and you like it.

It's at this point you realize there is no point in pretending. Maybe you don't want to kiss Joshua at any other moment during any other day, but you do now. You really do.

When your tongue meets the seam of his lips, it feels all too natural. At first, predictably, he buffers a bit. For a split second, you envision him pulling away and saying you've gotten more than a lifetime's worth of practice in.

But he doesn't. Instead, an arm winds around your waist and that's all it takes for your body to stop listening to you altogether. Lips still connected, you lift yourself to straddle his lap, right over the folded up covers, and his hands, devastatingly strong, find your hips to keep you rooted there.

You're starting to think he isn't such a bad kisser after all—maybe he really was holding out on you, but there's something weirdly rewarding about him waiting until he liked you just a little more. Whatever that means.

You learn that his hair is soft, really soft, at the base of his neck. You learn that he likes when you bite his lips and you learn that his spearmint mouthwash does, in fact, taste as good as it smells.

You also learn that you, paradoxically, might not know how to love Joshua Hong, but you sure do know how to kiss him.

--end of part 1--

[part 2 -> ]

#mine #joshua x reader #joshua x you #joshua imagines #joshua scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios #joshua #joshua hong #seventeen smut #joshua smut

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last-words-ofashootingstar · 16 days ago

Text

Curse Your Name

𖤐❝Apricity❞𖤐

❥Vampire Ateez x fem reader

❝What is destined cannot be avoided.❞

Masterlist + Visualizers, Index

✫彡wordcount: 12k

(✯◡✯)genre: yandere, fantasy, smut, angst

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: see general warnings in the masterlist: slightly dubcon blood drinking (reader is drunk but chill with it), non-sexual semi nudity, deep emotions from blood drinking, smidge of hongjoong's backstory and its :(((, reader fighting with herself (soul vs mind). smut warnings: corruption kink so bad like soooo bad, clit and nipple stimulation, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, biting + blood sucking, heavyyy praise, light dacryphilia, first orgasm

➯a/n: MATZ DRINKING SCENE I TOLD YOU I WOULNT LEAVE YALL IN THE DARK ALSO BUCKLE TF UP YOOOO

✫bleeding hearts✫@spenceatiny18 @gigglensnort @londonbridges01 @soobieboobiebaby @klllerwaifu @stayatinykatsy @onyxmango @purple-bell @peachyscenes @emilysecresy @ninjakitty15 @imeverycliche @princelingperfect @tunafishyfishylike

❝Drink from me and live... forever.❞

MDNI.

𖤐❝Be gentle with our girl.❞𖤐

"You smell so good," Seonghwa pants quietly as he yanks at the ribbon on the back of your dress.

He can hardly hold himself back from sinking his teeth into you. He has to remind himself to be gentle with you. "Like the sweetest fucking dessert. Oh, thank you. Sweet heavens, thank you."

"C-careful, My King," you stumble, placing your hands against the wall for stability.

The candles that Hongjoong light are the only source of illumination in your chambers. The sun is long gone.

"Come," Seonghwa pulls you to the center of the room, gathering up your skirt in his hands, "off with this already." He leaves a kiss to your jaw before he pulls the garment up and over your head; leaving you in your plain shift.

Before you have the chance to even feel embarrassed, Hongjoong's hands are on your waist. "You've made the King so eager," he chuckles as he eyes the way he's breathing heavily, scanning your body like he can see through the fabric.

Seonghwa's eyes are glowing red in the dim light. "You are more beautiful than I have ever dreamt of. The Goddess has outdone herself in your creation." He hums as he leans and presses his nose to your jugular. Your heart is beating so violently that he swears he can feel it.

Apparently, praise isn't affective in making you swoon only if it comes from the Lieutenant.

Your hands find his shoulders with a mind of their own, your breaths short as Hongjoong leads you both to the bed.

Your shift slides up your thighs as you land on the Kings lap, one leg on either side of him. "Be gentle with our girl," Hongjoong coos as he slips the thin sleeve off of your shoulder, exposing your flesh for him as he watches with ruby eyes.

"Grentizia," Seonghwa prays as he tilts his head back, his chest heaving.

"Drink from her neck," he tilts your head to the side gently, "it's her favorite. Isn't it, little one?"

You hum affirmatively, leaning into the way he grips your hair carefully. You don't know what's come over you. A few days ago, you were hesitant to even let the trio that you first met drink from you — now you find yourself thinking that if any of the royals asked you nicely, you'd expose your veins without a single trace of hesitation.

You think it must be the wine — but in reality, being so close to them is already affecting your soul.

Your souls are mingling even if your mind is lagging behind.

And your soul is desperate to please.

You gasp sharply as his teeth sink into your neck without warning. You grab onto his pink strands, grounding yourself as he feasts.

Hongjoong watches with something... fond, as Seonghwa runs through all of the emotions that he also felt the first time he tasted you; holding your head to the side and kissing your temple softly as you chase your breath.

Praise The Goddess, Seonghwa thinks. And then, another thought to follow. One that does not go away —

Praise you, his delicate soulmate. The last missing piece of his life's puzzle that he has waited centuries for. Praise you.

Seonghwa growls into your neck as he sucks more and more, his hands finding your waist and holding onto you like you'll slip away if his grip falters for even a split second.

This is more than just feeding to him. This feels akin to making love. The warmth of your blood settles in his stomach and blooms out to his entire body. His skin is so warm and tingling. It's taking much more willpower than he would like to admit to hold himself from bucking his hips into you.

It just feels so ethereal.

He can't help but slurp up every bit of crimson liquid you offer to him, even as you waiver on top of him dizzily and brace yourself with his hair. He can't be bothered to feel the sting.

Your heated body slumps against him, your blood sweltering against his tongue; taking root in his body like an ancient tree. You make him feel like... when he was human.

When he was not used to always being cold — when he would stand under the sun in the dead of winter and bask in it.

He closes his eyes, slowly withdrawing his teeth in a way that makes you shiver; makes you press closer to him. He wraps his arms around your torso tightly, cradling you as he lets you wash over him. Like the sunshine in the bitter cold.

He places his forehead against your chest, his fingers wrapping around Hongjoong's as the man holds his hand.

The King would never admit it out loud to anyone other than his soulmates — even then, he was hesitant. But he is a sentimental man. In life, and in afterlife.

After so many years of being the leader of an entire realm, it's beaten into him not to show weakness. Not to show affection.

Yet as he looks up at you, his eyes are filled with nothing but softness and warmth in the dimming red color of his irises. "Di enar, Elarin." {Thank you, the sun.}

You blink dazedly, you've never heard that language before; but the way he speaks so purposefully as he holds you makes your lips twitch with a smile.

Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong is behind you with the biggest grin ever on his face. He's about to start bouncing off the walls at Seonghwa's sweet words.

He had called you something akin to 'Sunshine', and he threw it in with the deepest level of thanks that one could speak in the dead language.

"Do you feel okay?" Seonghwa traces his hand up your back, "did I hurt you?" He's afraid he might have — he was so lost in his own emotions. He's never had to hold himself back when it comes to his soulmates.

You shake your head slowly, "no, My King-"

"Seonghwa." He speaks softly, fixing up the strap of your shift, "call me Seonghwa. I would prefer it that way." He looks to Hongjoong as he slips your other sleeve down, exposing your untainted skin.

He's on you in a millisecond, kissing and licking all over your shoulder and making you gasp. "May I?"

With a shuddering 'yes', you tilt your head on your own; giving him a prime location to sink his teeth in.

He kisses your cheek before doing just that.

Seonghwa chuckles as the younger man pushes you both flat to the bed, climbing behind you and all but purring as he drinks your life force.

Good Goddess, he thinks, you're still as sweet as the first time. You have his entire body feeling like it's floating.

Seonghwa watches, just as Hongjoong did, as the other Vampire goes through the motions. He's looks so blissful. Like he doesn't have a care in the realm.

"You are so divine," the King whispers as his eyes find their way back to watch your expression; the way your eyebrows twitch and your lips stay parted in attempt to catch your breath.

When you let out the smallest moan from your trembling lips — Hongjoong can no longer pride himself in his self discipline.

He promised himself just a sip, just a small bite. You were already dizzy and panting from the amount of blood your other soulmate had helped himself to.

But he can't help himself when you make such cute sounds.

His mind is wandering further from the pure euphoria that he feels and into his darker desires. Finding himself wondering what kind of noises you might make if he put his mouth to use elsewhere. What you might sound like as —

Hongjoong forces himself to stop, growling quietly from behind you as he closes his eyes, trying to shake the image from his head.

"Thank you for allowing us," Seonghwa whispers just over Hongjoong's heavy breaths, "you truly have no idea how... satisfying it is. You are like nothing else I've ever encountered in all of my years."

You lean into the way he strokes your head, dizzy and sweaty between them as your heart tries to crack out from behind your ribs. "Th...thank you, Seonghwa."

He closes his eyes quickly, in the same way Hongjoong does — taking deep, steadying breaths.

The way you speak his name feels like he's being cursed with the most beautiful hex. His heart jumps into his throat, thud-thud-thudding while trying to match yours as it slows to a calmer rhythm.

He tightens one of his arms around you, holding you to his chest while the other searches for the younger vampire. He yanks him down, effortlessly sandwiching you between them.

"Please..." You rasp, closing your eyes slowly, "stay with me until the morning comes."

"You would have to force us to do otherwise," Hongjoong smiles as he rests his head on your back, listening to your heartbeat and committing it to his memory.

A pleased hum trails off into nothing as you fall asleep between them, spent with blood loss but still pleasantly warm between the two cold-blooded men.

𖤐❝Answer me something honestly?❞𖤐

You had moved, or rather — you had been moved, during the night to lay on your side.

Still between the royals, still deep asleep.

Neither of them had slept a wink. They sat in the comfortable silence until the beginnings of sunlight shone through the window.

"Hongjoong." The elder whispers, his eyes still closed as he holds your head to his chest. "Answer me something honestly?"

"Of course," he hums from behind you, his chest pressed to your back under the cover they had pulled up to keep you warm.

"How did you feel when you drink from her? Not- not how does she taste," he peeks his eyes open slowly, blinking in the face of the rising sun. "How does it make you feel?"

The younger thinks for a long moment, recalling every time that he's fed from you. He feels... so much. It's hard to put a single description to it. But there is one reoccurring thing — "I feel... like I am back in the moment I won my freedom in a dual." He gulps, pressing closer to your sleeping form. He hadn't said it out loud yet. He hadn't even fully realized it.

Seonghwa reaches over and rubs his shoulder comfortingly. It's a sensitive subject for the man. "Then, why do you enjoy it so much?"

"It's not the dual. It's not what led to it," he shakes his head. "It is when I ran for the first time without being hunted. When I had no owner, no shackles for the first time in my life. She... she is the comfort of the wind around me as I ran away, the comfort of knowing I could do whatever I wanted."

He can tell the brunet is tearing up, and it makes his throat tighten unpleasantly. He hates seeing people cry, but especially his soulmates. "Don't cry, Joong," he whispers, rubbing his head softly, "please..."

He sniffs, burying his head deeper into your back. "Why do you ask? What did you feel?"

Seonghwa hesitates. It's a similar situation to Hongjoong's, a bittersweet comfort. "I-"

"Good morrow, My Lady, h-" Ymanya pauses in the doorway with her hand still on the wooden handle. She takes in the scene for a brief moment before she suddenly folds herself over at the waist, bending more than ninety degrees. "Forgive me, M-"

"Ymanya, let me ask you something."

"...Yes, My King?"

Seonghwa sits up slowly, still in his day clothes — and she doesn't know why that gives her a bit of relief. "Has there been anything that the Lady has asked for?"

"Asked for?" She hums for a second as she thinks. "Oh, she did want to learn about Halazia traditions," she recalls from the other night. "Might that be what you mean?"

He looks to you with a bit of a smile. "That's all?"

"So far, King," she nods, still hovering in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

"Gather her some books," he says as he stands, leaning and kissing Hongjoong's head from where he hides his emotional face in your back. "Perhaps some of Mingi's writings. Whatever you think she will be curious about. Your morning duties are dismissed. Do that instead, please."

"Right away, My King. Shall I send Gele to ready h-"

"No," Hongjoong groans mumbled, pulling you closer as you shift in your sleep, "leave us, Ymanya. We will help Our Lady dress when she awakens. She needs to rest."

"Of course, My Lord." She bows again, hiding her smile as she closes the door behind her. She's glad that the royals are caring for you, even going as far to ask her what you might want. She can't say she's surprised. They have waited over 300 years.

Of course they'd be fussing over you so much.

She can't help but be happy. You have been here a mere three days and already she sees changes happening. For one, the royals have been smiling almost every time she's seen them.

She was right. It will be nice to have someone like you in the castle.

𖤐❝You'll let me learn?❞𖤐

"Drink up," Wooyoung smiles as he slides you a cup.

You're all at the table again, bathed in the early morning sunlight rather than the candles of last night.

"What's this, Lord Jung?" You ask as you sniff the steaming liquid. You're sat between Yeosang and Jongho, and there was clearly a small fight over who got the title of being next to you —

As you were walking in with the two eldest, they all were pushing and shoving to get to the chairs next to the one what was 'yours' in the middle of the long table. All Seonghwa had to do was sigh drastically and they all fell into their respective positions.

"Moondew berry and bloodvine tea," he reaches over the table and pats your head before sitting.

"Ah..." You nod as you look down at the drink.

"You have no idea what those are, do you?" San asks with a grin as he sees your thoughtful pout.

"Absolutely not, My Lord." You sigh, cracking a small smile at the sound of their laughter, "what are they?"

"Moondew berries help with headaches, and bloodvine is the stem of a flower which helps with heart health. It will help you get your blood back faster," Wooyoung explains for you, gesturing to the cup, "at least have half. If you don't enjoy it I can find something else to aid you."

You take the cup carefully and give it another inspection. After you take a sip, you nod to him; taking another.

"Good?" He beams, over the moon at the fact that he managed to make the herbal remedy taste good enough for you.

"Yes, thank you, My L-" Your voice is muffled as he jumps up and leans over the table again, cupping your cheeks and giving you a kiss.

He pulls back with a cheshire grin, absolutely buzzing with delight.

You freeze for a moment, dazed, still not even close to being used to their affection when it's pointed at you.

The conversation carries on without you as you come back to your senses, sipping the drink as you listen in.

"-thinking about sending Amfrid in my place. I don't want to leave so soon." Jongho leans his chin on his hand, looking at you in the corner of his eye.

"Understandable," Seonghwa definitely wouldn't want to leave so soon after you've joined them either, "brief him today and send him on his way- Hongjoong," he snaps as he thinks, "who is that new recruit? With the blonde hair?"

"Torin. He's got potential." Hongjoong answers quickly, sliding his fruit off his plate and onto yours.

"Tell him take Talin," the King nods, distracted as he sees Ymanya approaching with an armful of books.

"Torin," Yeosang's little grumble of correction earns him a chuckle from you as you push the food around on your plate.

"What have you got, Ymanya?" He stands, taking the heavy weight from her hold quickly and allowing her arms to sag to her side.

"Origins of Halazia traditions starting within your reign, My King." Her words get you interested in the conversation, leaning to look past Jongho. He leans back as he notices you, letting you look.

The stack of books is almost as big as your head. That's just the history of the traditions? How big is the stack of regular history?

He flips through the pages of one of the books, nodding approvingly. "Thank you, Ymanya, these will do nicely."

She gives you a bow and a smile as she leaves, "enjoy, My Lady."

Your eyebrows raise, and you look to Seonghwa as he continues to scan the books. Please be for you. Please let the books be for you.

"What are those for," Mingi speaks as he sees your patience wavering.

"Ymanya said Our Lady is curious about our traditions," Hongjoong grabs one of the books, reading the label. 'Human sacrif-' He tosses it quickly, "not that one."

"You'll let me learn?" You finally speak up with wide, hopeful eyes.

"Of course," Seonghwa hums as he closes the book, "you live here now. You should have some education on our way of th-"

How you managed to sneak up on the Vampire is a mystery. It's impossible to catch him off guard. But here you are, with your arms wrapped around his waist and his body completely frozen with shock. "Oh, thank you!"

You jump as you let go just as quickly as you embraced him, immediately turning to the books as the others laugh at the man's surprised expression.

You were a painfully curious person by nature. It probably didn't help that your father had neglected to teach you about anything other than religion.

You wanted to learn everything you could, and you did. The books in Caethnor were limited to the ones in the small library in the church, but you read every single one a thousand times over. Not only did you love to read, it would do you good to know more about the place that you now reside. You wanted to know everything about the world around you. About the people. About the flora and fauna.

The bell outside tolls shortly, signaling the end of the hour. Begrudgingly, Hongjoong sets down the book in his hand back into the pile. "We must get busy," he slides his hand across your waist as he joins your side, "might I have a kiss before I leave?"

You look up from the books with the biggest smile he's yet to see on your face, "thank you, Lord Kim." You say before you quickly peck his cheek.

"You're welcome, little one." He'll take it, he won't push you for a kiss on the lips. He's already held you for the entire night. He gives a final squeeze to your hip as he passes behind you, "come on, Yeosang."

The man stands up and pauses, "(Y/n)?"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Be sure to eat," he points to your nearly full plate as he gathers his coat from the back of his chair.

"Oh, of course," you bow to him, and he has a deep itching urge to also ask for a kiss. He wants to feel your skin on his in any manner at all, really. He wants to feel the sparks. But you still seem very reserved with him. So he settles on —

"See you at supper."

You give him a soft smile, squeaking when San appears at your side and bends over to hug you tightly. "Have a good day," he hums with his cheek against yours.

"Y-you too, My Lord?" You stutter out, startled by his sudden actions.

"What is on your schedule today, Yunho?" Seonghwa asks as he tears his eyes from the sight which makes his heart tender and warm.

"I have a test planned for the apprentice mages later in the day, other than that," he shrugs, reaching for a glass of water. He knows it won't quench his thirst, but he must try. He has to have restraint when it comes to you, especially now that you're also bleeding for the others. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you.

Perhaps he should just keep his distance for a few days —

"You should help (Y/n) with her reading," Seonghwa says it like a suggestion, but he knows it's more of a command. "You know a lot about regional traditions." He takes San's place next to you and cups your jaw as he kisses your cheek. He can't help the grin that he has when he pulls back, your heart is pumping so fast and your skin is so warm. "Be a good student, yeah?"

𖤐❝I can't wait to teach you all kinds of things.❞𖤐

You are a good student. Yunho had never seen anyone so eager to learn about where traditions and ceremonies came from. The next day, San had never seen someone so determined to learn how to sew. After that, Mingi couldn't wait to spend the day teaching you about his visions and hearing all about your villages small variations from the realms religion.

Today marked seven days of being in the castle. You went outside for the first time, much to Seonghwa's dismay. Yeosang eased his worries about their defenses not being strong enough by reminding him that you wouldn't be leaving his side, and Gele would also be accompanying you.

You didn't have to ask why they needed defenses, you aren't clueless. Some people hate the fact that the undead are ruling. Some people hate the undead, period.

You used to be one of them.

But over the days, you've come to see a whole new side of Vampiric life. They were still human, deep down. Sometimes you forgot they were hundreds of years old and equipped with supernatural abilities.

"You must have to be strong to use a bow with such precision," you say from the sidelines, seated on the grass atop of Gele's apron after she insisted a Lady should not touch the ground. You were still hesitant, but she reassured you that it was okay. You still felt bad, though. Perhaps you could get San to help you make her one as a thanks. "Is the string very difficult to pull back?"

Yeosang pouts in thought as he readies another arrow. It doesn't matter that he's been an archer for 346 years, he still practices every day. That's why he's the best. "I suppose so, I think I am used to it." He barely has to aim before he lets the arrow whiz through the air and hit the hay bale dead center.

The expansive field is just off of the back of the hill that the castle is situated upon. The brick stairs made the journey up and down less steep, and it was clear the path was cared for just as well as the inside of the estate. Bushes and flowers were all carefully arranged and trimmed and taken care of as they were strewn about strategically.

You're learning the layout fairly quickly, with an admittedly large amount of help.

The King's office window overlooks the entire area from the top floor. The chapel where Mingi works and prays is on the bottom floor, the first door you find after you enter through the double doors that lead out. San's workshop is next to it.

Closest to the castle was the greenhouse, which acted as Wooyoung's office, and was quite literally green except for the large windows around the entire building. You wonder if he did that on purpose or if he might be the origin of the word. He had poked his head out when he saw you coming down the stairs and called you over for a kiss, pouting over how you hadn't spent time with him even though you just sat next to him at breakfast.

A little further back was the stables, where you ran into Jongho as he readied his own horse; getting ready to head into the city. You gave him a kiss to the cheek and told him to return safely — which earned you a bit of light natured teasing from Gele as you walked to the open part of the field.

It was large enough to accommodate all the different divisions of the guard as they trained. You could hear Hongjoong directing the fighters if you strained your ears. You looked over a bit ago and saw him fighting, and it was quite the frightening sight to see him throw punch after punch while dodging and not even breaking a sweat. You looked back to the archers pretty quickly.

"It has to be sturdy enough so that it will not break when you pull it back. It can be difficult for a beginner," Yeosang goes to notch another arrow before he stops and looks at you.

The sun must be hitting him directly, because he feels warm all of the sudden as you smile at him.

"It's impressive! You haven't missed a single shot," you tilt your head, "I do suppose you've had a great deal of practice, My Lord?"

"Enough practice for multiple lifetimes," he laughs softly, looking down at his longbow. San crafted it nearly fifty years ago. He's had to replace the string countless times from his nonstop use of the weapon. He never let anyone touch it, not even the weapons master. San to make repairs, or the one or two times he's tossed it to Wooyoung on the battle field. But that is the extent of who handles his precious bow. "Would you like to try?"

"I doubt I will be any good."

"I, too, was once a beginner," he approaches with a grin and holds his hand out to you. "I did say I would teach you, didn't I? What better time to start than now?"

You look over your shoulder to Gele, who's leaning against another hay bale. "Don't look to me, Lady (Y/n)," she giggles, "I have never shot a bow. I preferred a sword in my day."

"I want to see that." You point at her before turning back to Yeosang. "Don't judge me too harshly, Lord Kang." You take his hand and almost jump at the sparks that bloom on your skin. You must have forgotten briefly. Your brain still hasn't caught up to the fact that you, indeed, have not just one — but multiple soulmates.

"I will never," he hides his giddy smile by looking down at the vibrant grass. It's the first time you've touched one another, and he couldn't be more happy to have finally grazed each part of his soul that wanders outside of his body.

"Watch me closely." He grips the bottom of the bow and looks over to you, pleased to see that you're watching him intently. He runs through all of the steps right up to pulling the string back and then he stops. "Again?"

"I think I have got it." Based on what they're learning about you; he doesn't doubt that, actually. You're a very quick learner. He likes that about you. He likes a lot about you, when he thinks about it.

You're a very driven person. You only learned how to sew from San the day before last and he saw you working on a quilt with scrap fabrics to practice this morning before breakfast.

He hands his bow to you without a second thought, watching you closely as you follow his steps. Right up to notching the arrow and pinching the end of it. "You seem a natural."

"Our Lady will be catching up to you in no time, Lord Kang," Gele jokes as she takes a seat on the apron, watching you repeat the preparation of the bow.

"We will have to see about that," he gives her a small chuckle before he steps next to you. "Try to pull it back, see how far you can bring it."

"Are you sure? My arms are pretty weak..." You hesitate, re-settling the arrow one more time.

"Just to see," he shrugs, "you needn't be perfect. I don't expect you to be."

Joining his family after so long makes you perfect enough in his eyes.

"Do not laugh at me," you take a breath before pulling it back in the way you had watched him do. It only moves a fraction of an inch. "Good Goddess, I have more respect for archers now." You sigh as you lower the bow, jumping a bit when he lifts it back up — suddenly standing behind you.

"I will help you," he can't help but smirk as he hears your heart skip a beat. "I will help you hold it steady and pull back, you do the aiming."

"A-alright." You force yourself to ignore the tingles on your hand as he places one over yours, the other above yours on the wood of the bow.

"When you pull the string back, take a breath in," he says as he helps you, doing most of the heavy lifting. But he can tell you're still giving it all of your strength by the way your arm trembles, you don't let him do all of the work.

You do so, filling your lungs with the fresh fall air.

"Focus only on where you want the arrow to hit. Forget everything else as you aim."

As long as you hit the hay bale, you'll be satisfied with yourself. Just hit the hay. It's a fairly big target. You don't have to hit it smack dab in the middle where all of his arrows lie. Anywhere in the circle, and you will be pleased.

He lets you move the bow to aim, still holding it with you.

"When you are ready to fire, let go of your breath and the arrow at the same time."

Your arms are beginning to shake just a little more, and you grimace in frustration for being so weak.

Forget everything else.

Just the hay. You can do that.

He lets go with you when he hears you let out your breath, smiling widely as the arrow flies through the air and hits the outer corner of the circle.

"Woah!" Gele claps from your previous spot, "you kick ass, My Lady!"

"Oh, Goddess!" You jump excitedly, turning to face him, "I hit it!"

"I saw," he chuckles as he takes the bow carefully. "You have good aim for a beginner. Perhaps you are a natural."

"Thank you," you bow a bit, smiling as you turn to look at the arrow now lodged into the hay. "If you say so."

"I do," he nods, looking down at you, "you're a quick learner. I can't wait to teach you all kinds of things."

𖤐❝Kiss me like you mean it.❞𖤐

The next day, you and Yunho finished an entire book together in only two hours, even with all of your questions and your admittedly low knowledge of how to read the language.

"Yunho mi," you call from your seat among the books. He commented about how you need a bookcase as he saw them all on the cushioned bench at the end of the bed.

"You have another question?" He hums from his place leaned back on the pillows, looking down to you.

"Yes, actually, but..."

He tilts his head curiously, "what is it?" He sits up, lowering the book he holds into his lap.

"I was wondering... what the ceremony is called when a human loses their virginity to a Vampire so that I can read about it and know what to expect." You ramble out quickly, keeping your back turned to him as he processes your words.

"Oh," he nods, "of course, (Y/n) mi!" He jumps up quickly, kneeling in front of you and the pile of books in a millisecond. "I can't believe nobody has told you about this yet. Ah, it should be in here."

He offers you one of the hardbacks titled 'Human and Vampiric Relations', smiling softly as you take it. "It is called The Soul Embrace. Do you want me to go over it with you?"

"It would be much appreciated," you say with a slight tremor in your voice.

He turns to the chapter you're looking for, taking a seat next to you.

The veil between a Vampire's soul and the mortal world is thinner than that of a human's. The soul of a virgin is more potent. Because of these facts, the soul of a Vampire will briefly enter the soul of a human if they are to take their virginity. When a virgin is penetrated by a Vampire, or when a virgin penetrates a Vampire — their souls will intermingle.

This is a very intimate affair, and as such it should be treated with the utmost care and respect. Like many of our other ceremonies, it is to be blessed by The Goddess. To receive her blessing, the human and Vampire must kneel and bow with their foreheads on the Earth. This is the beginning of the ceremony —

Yunho can hear your heart beating violently in your chest, and he watches as you scan past the small list of preparations; your throat bobbing as you gulp.

— lay the virgin down with a kiss before penetr—

You shove the book into his lap, breathing deeply. "That is so intimate! I had never even kissed anyone before I met you all." You bite your lip, looking down.

That gives Yunho pause. "You hadn't?"

"No... I fear I am much too inexperienced to ever be ready for," you point to the book with a grimace, "that."

"I was your first kiss?" He raises his eyebrows, heart thrumming to life in his cold chest. "If- if I had known, I wouldn't have-"

"It's okay. I'm glad it was you... your lips felt nice." You whisper, tracing the embroidery on your skirt. "Can I ask you another question?"

"Of course," he nods, looking at you intently, "I will answer it to the best of my abilities." He has to ignore the way you said his lips felt nice lest he kiss you breathless.

"What is... hand stuff?" You sigh embarrassedly, recalling the others words. "I assume it is when people touch each other without... penetration? But how does that work? Is not the whole point of it to... touch each other lower?"

His ears are red fucking hot.

They knew you were a virgin. Yes. They knew you were sheltered. Sure. But they didn't know the extent.

"Uhm..." He swallows thickly, looking down to the book, "it's like masturbation, but with another person. Sex can be a lot of things."

Your next words make his hands itch with the deep urge to grab at you and ruin all of your innocence. "What is masturbation?"

He tilts his head back to face the ceiling, praying silently for strength. "It's," he takes a moment, "it's when you touch yourself to reach an orgasm." Please don't ask. Please don't ask.

"An orgasm?"

"Sweet Grentizia," he groans, cupping his face in his hands. Seonghwa wasn't kidding when he said it was a challenge to hold back. They all had their own... pleasures. But one thing they all had in common was that they loved to absolutely ruin each other. And you are pure. Perfect. Made to break and place back together with gentle kisses and then repeat. Made to take —

"Will you teach me?"

He grips the book again tightly, staring at the words to ground himself. "...What?"

"I want you to teach me." You whisper as you look up to him. His eyes are still on the pages, but he isn't registering a single word — and you know it. "Please, My Lord. You said that you would teach me anything I wanted to know."

His nails are digging into the hard cover of the book, leaving crescent indentations. "And that-" He gulps, "that is something you want to learn?"

"Yes." You lean forward, tilting your head, "I trust you to teach me well."

Oh, you probably shouldn't. He's only one bat of your eyelashes away from ripping your dress off and saying 'fuck the ceremony.'

"Please, Yunho mi? I want to start experiencing... sexual things- ah!" The second the word 'sex' passed your lips, he was ready to devour you whole. He yanks you up by your dresses collar and bends you over the edge of the bed, making you kneel on the bench all in one swift movement.

"I will teach you," his voice is near a growl as he undoes the bow on your back, quickly tugging the ribbon. "I will have your first kiss and your first orgasm."

Good Goddess, what have you gotten yourself into?

You couldn't help yourself. After reading about the ceremony, how intense and intimate it will be, you realized you wanted to at least have something under your belt in the sexual experience category.

You knew that none of them would disrespect Seonghwa and take you before he did, even if you preferred them to over him. You were learning quickly that age meant respect in the Vampiric world, and he was the oldest of your soulmates. They would wait decades until you were ready to lose your virginity to Seonghwa — if that's what it took.

But virginity doesn't mean you had to be a complete stranger to such things. You had never even touched yourself. It just wasn't something you thought about... or knew how to do.

You trust Yunho to teach you. You trust him to make you feel good. You want to make him feel good.

If it were anyone else, you'd probably be chickening out. Wooyoung might lose control; despite all of his good natured teasing over the past few days — he was still as eager as all of them and he has zero control when it comes to you. You caught him staring at your behind quite often, and he didn't even pretend to be embarrassed. Hongjoong was still a bit intimidating, especially after you had seen him fighting yesterday. Mingi, you might have trusted as well; arguably, you knew him best. But you still weren't used to his voice being attached to his body, you were used to him being a 'ghost'. The others, you were only just now getting close enough to to be comfortable giving them kisses to the cheek.

But Yunho? His forehead kisses make you smile and he's so... attentive.

You will admit that The Goddess made all of your soulmates undeniably gorgeous. And something about the way Yunho looks at you has been making you hot for a few days.

Because he's looking at you like he looks at the rest of your soulmates. His gaze is all consuming and dominating over whoever he sets it on.

"Come here," he pulls you up, keeping you kneeled on the bench as he bundles up your skirts in his hands. He pauses, leaning closer to your ear, "are you sure?"

"Yes," you have no hesitation. You want Yunho to be the first one to show you how pleasurable the heat between your legs can be.

Your dress is gone in a flash, and you're being pushed to the bed on your back, looking down at him dizzily as he pulls off your shoes as well. "Will you," you pant as he crawls over you, "show me how to kiss like you do?"

He cups your cheeks, straddling your waist as he leans down. The tip of his nose against yours fills your skin with sparks. "Move slowly," he tilts his head to show you, his lips hovering just over your own. "Take your time," he whispers, "we have so much of it to spend together, don't rush. Close your eyes and feel me against you. Kiss me like you mean it."

Your hands mirror his, cupping his heated cheeks as you pull him the final inch to meet your lips.

You follow his instructions, moving slowly and purposefully against his lips. Your eyes closed as you try to memorize the feeling of him against you.

You kiss him like you mean it.

Because you do.

And it drives him wild, holding himself back from taking charge so that you can learn with him acting as a puppet for your knowledge. He cradles your face softly and limits himself to small movements to meet your own.

He has a dopey smile as you lean back, your eyes still closed. "Very good," he hums while tracing his fingertips down your neck, "you're a quick learner."

"I have a good teacher," you smirk lightly, peeking your eyes open.

His eyes have gone red with want, but his gaze is soft as he looks down at you. He pushes the straps of your underdress down your shoulders; matching your smirk ten-fold as your heartbeat kicks up.

"Can-" You lick your lips, "can you take your clothes off, too?" He sits up wordlessly and unbuttons his shirt in a hurry, making you giggle as you slide yourself up to lean on your elbows. The sight of your shift sliding down your chest a bit makes him move faster. Who is he to deny you?

"I promise," he leans and pecks your lips as he tosses off his shirt, "I will make you see stars."

"I look forward to it-" You yelp as he pulls you up to your feet. You'll never get used to moving so fast.

"Let me see you," he leans his head against yours, fingers yanking at his belt impatiently.

You take a deep breath, watching him step out of his pants. When he rid himself of his shoes, who knows but — now you're on the same level as he stands in front of you with nothing but his undergarments on.

The tent in the fabric catches your eyes as you scan him. "Will you teach me how to please you, as well?"

His breath catches in his throat. He wants to agree with breakneck speed, but he also doesn't want to spook you. "If you want me to."

For a virgin, you sure are a huge tease. You let your shift fall to the ground. "I do. I want you to show me."

He takes a long moment to admire you, his eyes shimmering. He has to swallow all of the saliva that's accumulating so he doesn't literally drool at the mere sight of your naked body.

"I want to make you feel good, too-"

Everything is a blur as he wraps his arms around you and moves you both onto the bed.

You grab onto his arms tightly as he holds you from behind, sucking in a shaking breath as you take in your new position.

He's got you sitting on the middle of the bed, holding your legs apart with his own as he all but crushes your back to his chest. "Don't say things like that, or I will not stop until you're begging for me to just fuck you already."

You're heating up just the same as when they drink from you, creeping up your neck and pooling in your stomach. "Would you?" You gasp as his hands cup your chest.

"When the time comes, I will have you until the only word you know is my name. Believe this, My Lady, I will ruin you."

"Oh," you moan out quietly as you feel your core dripping, "oh, Yunho..."

"Are we there already~?" He smirks against your shoulder as he fondles you, sucking at your skin and buzzing with excitement as you let out another shy sound.

He's kissing and licking all over your neck and shoulders now, paying extra attention to the areas that make your heart flutter.

You grab onto his thighs as he rolls your nipples in his fingertips, your jaw dropping. You didnt know that their sensitivity could feel so... enthralling. "I l-like that," you whine quietly, digging your fingers into him.

"Mmm?" He releases your skin from his mouth with a pop. He does it again, his fingers just a bit tighter together, "this?"

"Yes," you nod quickly, "more. More, pleaseeee," you groan as you arch into his touch. He's already got you feeling hotter than you ever have.

"Since you asked so nicely, gorgeous."

His words and the way he pinches your nipples just enough for it to toe the line between pleasure and pain makes you yell out, "good Goddess!"

You slap your hand over your mouth, panting heavily as he continues to tease the now sore pebbled flesh between his nimble fingers.

"Move your hand," he commands you, halting his movements until you slowly do so. "I want to hear every noise you make. I want to know how good it feels."

You whine as he slides his hands down slowly, "don't stop..."

"Who said anything about stopping?" He chuckles, "I said I would make you see stars, and I am not stopping until I fulfill my promise."

You lean your head against his chest, watching with wide eyes as he rubs your hips; venturing ever closer to your epicenter. He rests his chin atop your head, eyes never once blinking as he takes in every twitch and fidget you give him.

He's teasing you on purpose. He can't help himself. He wants you to beg. It's his guilty pleasure— well, it's one of his guilty pleasures.

"Touch me," your whisper just above the sound of your heartbeat reaches his ears, "please. I want you to touch me already."

"Isn't that what I've been doing?" He has a grin like a jackal as he hears you whine impatiently. You're melting in his hands, falling right where he wants you.

"Touch me e-elsewhere," you say in a breath, spreading your legs further despite the way it makes your face and neck burn with bashfulness.

"Have you ever touched your cunt?" His raspy question makes you groan, a pout forming as you feel your heartbeat... down there. "Or am I the very first?"

"You- you are the first," your hips jolt, yearning for his soft touch to land where you most want it. "I can't take anymore teasing, please, Yunho-" Your pleads trail off into a long sigh, your eyes fluttering shut as he cups your heat in his large hand, the other holding your hip.

He leans his head against your shoulder, breathing deep and slow to calm himself. "Fucking hell," he sighs quietly, "you're so warm... So wet, already..."

The simple fact that he's holding you like this is enough to make his member twitch. Enough to flood his brain with dopamine. Your soft, panting breaths when he's barely touched you are driving him mad.

He starts moving his hand slowly, almost like he's worshipping your heat or trying to map it out so he'll never forget. He massages up and down a few times before two of his fingers slide between your lips and start exploring your wet slit.

"Ah, that feel-feels nice," you draw out softly. Your fingers slowly releasing their death grip on his thighs as you relax into his touch.

"Yeah?" He hums, running his free hand up your waist, "then this will feel amazing~" You barely have time to register his words before one of his fingertips is on your clit, circling it slowly and bringing it to life — bringing you to tears.

You can't form any words. All you can do is take the new, heavenly sensation at the delicate pace he gives it to you. The only noise you can manage is a strangled and broken moan.

"Feels good, gorgeous?" He chuckles as he leans and gets a peek at your expression; you're already tearing up and your eyebrows are pinched together, your jaw slack as you meet his eyes and nod quickly.

"Fuck, you're so cute," he growls as he uses his free hand to grab your neck and pull you into a kiss, another finger added to his gentle assault on your clit.

With your mouth open, he slips his tongue right in. This kiss couldn't be more different than the one you shared just minutes ago.

He's taken control, and he's gotten rough. The contrast between how he handles your cunt and how he handles your mouth makes you dizzy; so you're thankful he keeps his dominating kiss relatively short.

You tilt your head back, panting for air as he picks up his fingers speed. "Drink from me," you stutter out before you can second guess yourself. You want him to.

He doesn't have to be told twice. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder and moans loudly, his fingers pressing against you just a bit harder to show his gratitude.

It takes every ounce of his self restraint not to bury his cock inside of you when you let out your first real moan.

It's of his name, you sound it out somewhere between a praise and a curse word; "oh, Yunho!"

He's going to lose his mind. He truly is, he thinks. He was your first kiss. He's the first one to touch your heat. He's drinking from you as he drives you ever closer to your first orgasm.

He's getting just as much satisfaction as you are, really. Not only is he over the moon to be able to please you, he's doing so while sucking up the blood that you offered to him. The blood that makes him all sorts of warm.

"Don't- don't stop! Please!" You plead even though he shows no signs of doing so.

He hums with his teeth still buried into your skin, making you shiver as the sound vibrates through your entire being. His arm snakes its way across your torso, pulling you closer to his chest roughly as you begin to tremble.

You definitely like hand stuff, is the conclusion you come to as the pool of heat in your stomach begins boiling.

"Fuck, lirae!" You grab his arm tightly, holding it to you. You're starting to get lightheaded from the combination of his feasting and calculated touches. {Fuck, yes!}

It's the first time he's ever heard you curse. It makes him twitch. You sound so needy. You sound so filthy. And it'll all for him.

He withdraws his teeth, moaning and licking his lips as the pinpricks in your skin start to drip; your heavy heartbeat pushing your blood to rush. "Ah, lirae? You like it when I touch you like this?" He smirks, licking up the blood slowly.

"Uh-huh!" You yelp as his free hand suddenly tilts your head to face him as he hovers over your shoulder.

"Your heartbeat is so loud, it's like a fucking drum. Music to my ears," he grins, holding your burning hot cheek as he presses his forehead to yours. "You must be close, you're shaking, poor thing~"

You bite your lip, swallowing thickly as the tension in your body pulses. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, in your cunt, in your stomach. You feel like you're on fire in the most beautiful and delicious way possible. A tear finally slips past your waterline.

"Oh, don't cry," he says softly; but he has a wicked smile. This is just as satisfying as sex for him. Making his pretty little soulmate shake and cry for a release that she doesn't know how to get. He can tell it's just within reach. He can see it in your begging eyes. You don't know what's about to hit you. All you know is something huge is building up inside of you. And you need him to guide you.

"Yunho mi, wh-at do I do?"

"You're about to cum," he says with a nod, "you're going to have an orgasm for me." His crimson eyes are trained like a predator to watch every single twitch of your brow, every tremble of your lips. "You don't have to do anything but enjoy it, let me take care of you."

"Ah, swai losa," you groan, squeezing your eyes closed. The pleasure is swimming through your entire body but you need more. You need something to happen, somewhere for it to go. {Ah, it's so hot}

"Relax ba," he hums before landing a peck to your lips, "just let it wash over you. Let it all go, gorgeous." He starts swirling his fingers in the opposite direction, making your back arch briefly before he wraps his arm back around you and holds you to his chest. You're moaning with every breath. Your clit is throbbing under his blissful torture. You have nowhere to run as he holds you in place and bombards you with pleasure. "Let go."

Let go of everything and let him make you see stars.

"You can do that for me, can't you, mali'a sev?" Your eyes fly open, one hand finding its way to his hair and the other to his thigh. When the fuck did he learn that? {You can do that for me, can't you, my heart?}

You meet his gaze and —

The burning pleasure finally slams into its peak, washing over you like a tidal wave and dunking you into a pulsing ocean of euphoria. Spreading through your veins in a split second like an aphrodisiac infused lava.

You wail with pleasure loud enough that anyone in your vicinity has undoubtedly heard it. Your thighs snap together, making you jolt as you accidentally press his still circling fingers into your buzzing clit harder. "Oh~!" You yelp, cursing like a sailor in your native tongue so fast and jumbled that he wouldn't even be able to keep up if he were fluent.

He catches a few words he's picked up as he watches you convulse with a dark, satisfied smile. Namely he hears: good, heaven, Yunho, and yes — but he knows there's a good set of curse words in the mix.

"There you go," he coos while he slows his fingers to a slow and steady stroking up and down your messy slit. "There you go, I got you." He chuckles as you jolt with each of his movements, your head titled back against his shoulder and your eyes coming back from where they'd rolled back. You look dazed and throughly fucked out — and it makes him throb that he's managed to wreck you without even showing you what it feels like to be fingered internally. Goddess help you when he decides to teach you what a g-spot is.

"My... fucking fuck," you hiccup breathlessly, your death grip on his hair slowly letting go so your arm can join the other in being slumped, your fingers twitching atop his thighs.

"You see those stars I was talking about?" He rubs your side, listening to your heavy breaths with a smirk.

"Mmmhm," you can only moan, complete lax against him and feeling like your body is light — like he is the only thing grounding you to Earth. "Bou lamara sev."

He tilts his head, leaning against yours gently, "hm?"

"N-nothing," you twist in his arm. He loosens his grip just enough for you to shakily turn, and he lays back as you place yourself on top of him.

He hears the skip in your heartbeat that tells him you're lying, not wanting him to know.

Your pupils are still dilated way out of proportion, your gaze soft and unfocused.

He'll figure it out later, but for now —

"Can you show me how to please you now?"

𖤐❝Your soul looks different...❞𖤐

"Good evening, My Lords," you greet them confidently with an uncharacteristically bright smile as you join the table that night.

"Someone's in a good mood," Jongho smiles as you sit next to Yeosang, throwing a glance to Yunho as he enters just while you take your seat. "You're extra smiley today, too. Good study session?"

Your face heats up. "Indeed," Yunho takes the other seat next to you before the others can start filing in and fight over it. "Our best one yet, don't you think?" He's looking at you like that again; his gaze all enveloping and his smile bordering on a smug smirk.

"Oh, yes," you clear your throat, a smile finding its way to your lips which you hide by taking a sip from your cup.

A few of them are missing. Seonghwa, Wooyoung, and Mingi aren't in their seats, so the rest of wait.

"Hmmm," Hongjoong hums suspiciously, leaning his head onto his hand as he looks between you. "You two are hiding something, I can feel it."

"Feel it? Hongjoong, you're just tired and paranoid like always," Yunho rolls his eyes, throwing the Lieutenant a playful smile.

"Mh," he narrows his eyes for a second. "Probably!" He giggles, reaching over to serve you as he sees you reach for the food.

That's one thing that the servants don't do. You had asked Mingi about it, and apparently it was a tradition between the soulmates that had originated when Seonghwa and Yunho had found Wooyoung. The newest addition was similarly from a common background and he didn't like other people touching his food, so they served one another.

And it carried on even after Wooyoung got more accustom to royal life, even when Hongjoong joined them. And then, still, when the Choi brothers and Yeosang did as well. By the time Mingi came around, they didn't even think about it even more; it's something that just is.

"Thank you, Lord Kim," you peek at him as you take the plate. He looks nothing like he does when he's fighting. Maybe you shouldn't linger on that image of him.

"How is your quilt going, (Y/n)?" San asks curiously, his eyes shining as he looks at you.

"Slow but steady," you reply with a shrug, "I have started on the second row! Thank you, again, for all of the fabric."

"Evening!" Woooyung yells as he enters with Mingi, immediately heading straight to you and tilting your head to get a kiss like he's done for the past few days after you initiated a cheek kiss. "You smell extra sweet today," he observes before connecting your lips.

He's shocked when you start kissing him back — weaving your lips together softly.

You're feeling... braver after you and Yunho's afternoon together.

Mingi is still in the doorway, his eyebrows pushing together as he looks at you like he's trying to figure something out.

"Did you have a good day, Lord Jung?" You ask as you pull back. He's still leaning, in disbelief of how well you just kissed him.

"Uhhhh," he blanks as he stands up. As he sits, he tilts his head, "did you just kiss me? Like a real kiss?"

"I do believe what it's called. Yes, My Lord."

Yeosang chuckles from beside you at your barely contained sarcasm. He's glad you're cracking out of your shell and showing a more playful side.

"Mingi, why are you just standing there?" Seonghwa's voice calls all of your eyes to the only soulmates who aren't at the table.

Mingi is biting his cuticle, still staring at you in puzzlement. "Your soul looks different..." He whispers, making heads back turn to you.

"Huh?" You raise a brow, "how s- oh!" You yell as your seat is pulled away from the table, holding onto the armrests tightly.

The seer has yanked you back enough to stand in front of you and bend forward, face to face with you.

"It's brighter?" He states, but it sounds like a question because of his confusion.

"You're scaring me a bit," you pout as you meet his eyes. He's staring right past you and into your soul. You can feel him picking through it, trying to find the source. "S-stop that!"

Seonghwa is there in a split second as you voice your displeasure, pulling you back even further from the table to put himself between you and Mingi. "Were you soul-searching her?"

"Hwa, it's different!" He defends himself, looking over the Kings shoulder and locking eyes with you again. "It wasn't this bright even when she was a child."

The others are watching on anxiously, Yunho most of all. He thinks he might know why your soul is suddenly brighter. And as your eyes widen, he knows you're placing the same pieces together.

Your eyes flick to him for a half of a millisecond, but Mingi catches it.

Now he's in front of him, looking down intently. "You too... you're both glowing." That faint glow of Yunho's soul looks very familiar to Mingi.

Glowing like it does after a fulfilling night.

Mingi looks between you and Yunho repeatedly, and the others follow suit; trying to catch up to what he's putting together because they can't see what he can. "You-" He stutters, "no..."

"What? What is it, Mingi?" Hongjoong is getting impatient. If something is different, then different could mean wrong. Something could be wrong. With his precious soulmates. He's freaking out —

"Afterglow." Mingi chuckles in disbelief, and Yunho gulps. He knows that there is an unbelievable amount of teasing and questioning about to bombard the two of you. You, on the other hand, are unaware.

"Afterglow?" You ask quietly, looking to each and every one of their frozen faces.

"We did not have sex, toooo be clear!" Yunho yells before they can freak out, "she is still a virgin."

"Yunho!" You groan as you reach and slap his arm.

Everyone is stood up and crowding the two of you, a million words per second flying out of their mouths.

Even after so many years of pleasing each other, they still get giddy when talking about it — and you are certainly no exception. They've waited for you the longest, and they want to know everything about you. They want to do everything with you, sexual or platonic; it doesn't matter.

But since you're usually so reserved when talking about sex, and they are anything but; they get over eager when the topic comes up. Even Yeosang and Jongho, who arguably give you the most space.

Seonghwa is the only silent one, standing beside you with a smile trying to fight its way to his lips. If you're experimenting with things like that, it means you're at least a bit comfortable. "Enough," he voices, "let them have some space. Everyone sit down, this is ridiculous."

He's the last to leave, standing by your side until they've all taken their seats. His presence is welcomed, as he keeps them all from firing questions you can't even keep up with. "Thank you, Seonghwa..." Your whisper is like a ray of sunshine as it reaches him. He thinks he'll never get used to the way you say his name.

Yunho reaches and holds your hand softly, "I'm sorry, (Y/n). I forgot Mingi could see that... it's truly my mistake. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Don't be uncomfortable!" San shakes his head quickly, "you don't have any reason to be shy with us, we're your soulmates!"

"Yeah," Wooyoung joins in, "we're just curious is all. I know your village was more conservative about this stuff but, we aren't. We talk about it openly!"

"We're sorry," Yeosang speaks from his seat beside you, talking for them as a unit. "We just have so many questions, you could see that. Our sex life together is very... abundant. So, we're just- uhm, eager to hear."

You look up from your lap, glancing around the room. While their eyes are certainly still filled with curiosity, they've toned it down significantly for the sake of not making you feel more embarrassed. "That's... okay. I'm just not used to talking about anything like this. I w-" you bite your tongue.

"You can speak freely, Elarin," Seonghwa reaches and fixes the lace on your collar, catching a glimpse of the hickeys on your shoulder that are just barely hidden. Yunho does like to mark his partners.

"I would just appreciate if you didn't all ask your questions all at once, My Lords..."

Yunho is about to start jumping off the walls. He's cracked the first layer of your walls down and made a path for the rest of them to follow.

"But," Hongjoong leans forward eagerly, "we can ask questions?"

You take a moment. After learning, after experiencing just a little bit; you're less scared of the topic at hand. "One at a time."

𖤐❝Come lie with me?❞𖤐

You couldn't sleep. Well, you couldn't stay asleep, that is.

It turns out the Vampires weren't lying when they said they were curious and eager. It seemed like each of them had a hundred questions. You did your best to answer them, to let your guard down a little bit; because they were beyond delighted to get any information. And something about that made you feel gratified, that you could make them excited.

The Lords all kept true to asking one question at a time, partly because the King sent a glare their way when they started talking over one another. He wanted to hear as much as they did, and he wanted to make sure you didn't feel overwhelmed again.

The questions had a wide range, and you were still thinking about a lot of them. That's one reason you found yourself tossing and turning.

Ones that lingered were like, 'what else are you curious about?' and 'what kind of fantasies do you have?'

You didn't dare to tell them that you had imagined Wooyoung and Yunho kissing, and you certainly didn't speak of how you had a dream twice now — of Wooyoung holding you down while he has his way with you.

They could all hear your heart thudding, and Wooyoung noted how you refused to look at him for a few minutes. Oh, he's definitely going to start teasing you more. He put the pieces together in a second flat. You've been fantasizing about him.

After you had the dream for a third time, you decided that it was useless trying to sleep and got up.

The halls are much different at night.

Usually they are bustling with activity, people to and from and here and there; the sunlight lighting them through the vast windows.

In the middle of the night, you could really focus on the grand beautiful of it all — no Lords or staffs or business that comes with being the capital of the entire realm.

It really is marvelous. You hadn't gotten the time to take it in. You were too busy trying to adapt and process all of the information you'd gotten over the past days.

You didn't mind the fact that you had so many soulmates. It wasn't exceedingly rare. It wasn't rare for a Vampire and a human to be fated, either — after all, Vampires were once humans.

You had asked Ymanya about her soulmate, a few days ago. And she had a sad look in her eyes before she just shook her head. You dropped the subject pretty quickly.

Gele said she was still on the search for her soulmate, and she talked about it with a passion that you wish you had when talking about yours.

You should be overjoyed to finally have found the missing pieces of yourself. You are happy, to an extent. You feel... satisfied. That hole inside of you is finally acknowledged and filled.

But you can't find it in yourself to be excited. To be elated, like your soulmates.

Your brain is simply too used to what it knows, what you've been told your whole life. 'You have no soulmate.'

You're wandering aimlessly now, your boots against the tile echoing in the empty halls.

After your afternoon with Yunho, you could deny it no longer.

This is where you belong. These men are your fate.

Because he didn't just satisfy you physically. The way he held you and praised you and looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment —

It made you say 'bou lamara sev.'

A whole other level of 'I love you.'

And you don't really know how to feel about that.

There is no guidebook or help center for 'I have been told my entire human life that I have no soulmate but turns out I have eight and they are Vampires.' You are completely and utterly stranded. In the middle of the ocean with only a raft that's barely keeping you afloat. No paddle, no charge of your own destiny.

You always had been.

You wish you had gotten a little more time with your father before they dragged you away from the only home you've ever known. You have so many questions. Namely; 'why did you do this to me? Why did you lie?'

The whole point of soulmates is that you are meant to be. Was what Tihilda saw truly so terrible that she would break her oath to The Goddess? It couldn't have been.

They were all gentle with you. They were all caring, perhaps even overbearing at times.

"(Y/n)?"

You freeze in your spot.

"What are you doing? It's the middle of the night," Seonghwa's voice is groggy and slow, like he's just woken up.

You turn slowly on your heel and face him. He's leaning on a doorway, eyes trained on you despite the obvious tiredness in them. Dressed nothing like he usually is, all prim and proper. He looks almost human, almost like a commoner with his large sweater and loose cotton bottoms. "I was just... I couldn't sleep."

"I can see that," he chuckles softly, tilting his head, "did I frighten you?" Your heart has a steady, brutal pulse that reaches his ears easily in the quiet of the night.

"Oh, I was away in my thoughts," you offer a ghost of a smile, but he doesn't buy it.

"Thoughts of what?"

"Just... stuff. Things."

"You are troubled." He pouts. Honest to Goddess pouts. You're taken aback, you didn't think you'd ever see the High King pout. "Pray tell, what's on your mind?"

You wrap your arms around yourself, your shift no longer keeping you warm under his gaze. "I would prefer not to speak of it."

"And I would prefer my soulmates well rested." He hums, turning into the room he's in front of with a simple, "come."

"Mh?" You hesitate, feet refusing to move. From the small look you can get into the room, it seems to be a chamber similar to your own.

"Come here."

And you're moving quickly at the slight edge in his voice, finding yourself in the room in a second flat. It is a bedroom, only slightly larger than your own. Blacks and blues color the room, shapes hard to distinguish in the light of the singular candle lit.

It's immediately clear that this is his chambers.

"Close the door." You turn away from his gaze at once and do so, slowly closing the wooden door as quietly as you can manage. "Tell me what's on your mind, Elarin."

"Might I ask... why do you call me that?"

"Here," you jump as he comes beside you, a sweater similar to his own in his hands, "I know it gets cold, apologies."

"I shouldn't-"

"I insist." He leaves no room for argument as he all but shoves the clothing into your hands. "You must keep warm."

"Thank you, Seonghwa." You whisper as you take it, quickly pulling it over your head. You were, as he had noted, getting rather cold. You were keeping warm while walking around, but as the night grew later; the temperature got lower. You were about to head back to your own chambers when he appeared.

"It has no direct translation," he shrugs before he looks you up and down — "Come lie with me?"

He can't stop the words as they practically claw their way out of his throat. You look so warm and comfortable. He wants to hold you through the night, and this time he wants to slumber with you.

"Uhm... okay." Your voice acts without your permission. Something deep within you wants to sleep in the same bed as him. Perhaps it was the blood loss, or the copious amount of wine, but you found that the night you slept between Hongjoong and Seonghwa was some of the best sleep you had ever gotten.

His arms immediately find their way around you after you rid yourself of your boots and climb under the thick blanket. Although you have no complaints, his cold arms oddly comforting to your racing mind; he asks, "is this okay?"

"Mhm." You slowly inch your way closer until your chest presses against his, your head resting in the crook of his shoulder. "If there is no direct translation, how can you describe it?"

"It is," he trails off while he melts into the feeling of your body warmth, "something like sunshine. Well- it's something like the feeling of sunshine warming you."

"That's strangely romantic," you feel your face warming, you didn't know what you had expected but it wasn't something like that. "Could I... ask why?"

He holds you a bit tighter all of the sudden, pressing his nose to your hair. "Because that is what you feel like. The sun shining down in the winter. The ultimate comfort."

𖤐❝APRICITY❞𖤐

𖤐❝NEXT TIME❞𖤐

"What's the matter with you, Ymanya?" He hums, tilting his head. "You didn't lose Our Lady, did you?" He jokes. But she does not move. She stares at the man with wide eyes. "You lost Our Lady!" He yells, quickly standing up, "how!? How, how, how?"

His chair clatters to the floor in his haste, his footsteps heavy as he passes her.

"I'm sorry, My Lord! She was not in her bed, I made sure she was during the night but now-"

He grabs the nearest guard who's passing by as he runs down the halls, Ymanya hot on his tail as she tries to explain herself. "Have you seen the Lady of the castle?"

"No, Lord Jung, is every-"

He's already running again, calling back briefly before bolting full speed, "lock the doors!"

𖤐❝CURSE YOUR NAME❞𖤐

#ateez #yandere ateez #ateez fantasy au #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #yandere ateez x reader #ateez x reader #smut fic #yandere fic #angsts fic

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 10 months ago

Text

Tenacity

Pairing: Boston Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Joel Miller will never allow himself to take what he wants and you know that. How can a broken shower make him realize it's too late and he's already fallen for you? (Or Joel fucks you on his beat up couch in the QZ.) Warnings: Smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, riding, apocalypse birth control, old furniture doing old furniture things, a grown man dealing with feelings, apologies for the Tess erasure. Words: 2,300

A/N: @ohheypedrito mentioned couch Joel and I couldn't help myself, I am forever in her debt. Thank you to @jennaispunk for beta'ing

Masterlist

____

He knows he shouldn’t have let you in, he should’ve stayed silent and let you think he wasn’t home, but he can never say no to you, a fact you’re well aware of. Your shower has been broken for months, sure you can ask another neighbor, but Joel’s place is your first choice, never bringing a towel, always choosing to wrap yourself in his scent.

You smirk that devilish look and without a word saunter into his bathroom. He settles on the couch, large body dipping in the underfilled cushions, his back aches after a long day of work. The last thing he needs to deal with is his budding erection pressing against the metal zipper but he just can’t stop thinking about your body dripping wet in that damn dirty shower of his.

He’s exhausted, his head thuds against the floral wallpaper turning yellow with age and decay, he can only assume this miniscule apartment once belonged to a nice old woman who liked soft pretty things. Joel too likes soft pretty things, the one he likes the most just happens to be you, currently happily humming behind the bathroom door you refuse to fully close. His eyes focus up on the dingy ceiling above praying for a reprieve from the emotions that bloom within him whenever he thinks of you.

The tap turns off, he steels himself, straightening his sore body. God damnit, he thinks throwing an arm to stretch across the back of the couch. The hand resting against his upper thigh nervously taps against his jeans. Funny that you’re the only thing in this world to make him anxious and yet your presence always leaves him tranquil. He already knows where this will lead, he must be some sort of masochist, never feeling like he deserves your attention but still accepting anything you’ll gift him.

The sound of your post shower routine floats across the small room. Curtain opens, curtain shuts, pitter patters of your feet to the towel rack, a woosh of the heavy fibers settling against your body, your contented hum that prickles against the back of Joel’s neck. You’re the only bright spot in this hellhole, a shining ray that blinds his mind and heart whenever he wonders how someone like you can exist in a world like this.

The dim living room floods with a beam of light from the bathroom, steam billows out of the doorway, your form wrapped only in his towel steps out of the fog, he swears this might be what heaven looks like. There’s enough space for you to change into your clothes in the bathroom, but you never do.

That smirk shows up again, heaven and hell existing in one crooked grin stretched across your mouth. Joel’s never been a religious man, sure he’s prayed during hopeless times in his life, but tonight, he prays to whatever being that will listen to give him the strength so he may provide you everything he has without falling even harder.

Temptress… your foot rests atop the coffee table, delicate hands running along your outstretched leg rubbing sweet smelling oil across your skin. Joel knows his body is marred and battered, rough and calloused, he questions why in the hell you’d ever want your silken curves anywhere near him. You switch legs, if only the room was brighter he could turn his head just a bit and look up the towel.

No need for that, a telepathic wave treads through his brain as he watches you unwrap the towel and toss it aside. Naked and standing only a few feet away from him, he knows it’s not voyeurism when you’re so eagerly inviting him to look but he still feels an inkling of shame. Sweet, sweet girl. Your oil coated palms leave a trail of sheen across the skin he can’t wait to taste. Silently, you saunter over, small bottle of oil in hand, he knows how your skin tingles from the peppermint after applying, he can almost feel it warming his lips. He leans forward, palm instinctively outstretched for you to deposit a few drops of oil into his awaiting hand.

You turn around and kneel on the floor, his hands start at your shoulders lightly rubbing across your skin, tracing the path of your spine. He’s hesitant to put too much pressure, always afraid to deface the gorgeous individual you are, neglecting the fact that this always leads to you heedlessly asking him for more. The oil smooths his movements, your head bobs back and forth melting into his touch. There’s no type of divinity he’d ever worship in the apocalypse, but he surely finds devotion with you and the symphony of quiet moans that leave your lips.

“Feels good,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

He takes a deep breath letting his lungs deflate a long exhale, your gratitude unlocking another long buried sense of ease. Manners are lost in this world, you’re such a rarity.

He doesn’t count himself as a lucky man, but when you turn around and nuzzle your clean face against his soot and dirt covered jeans he just might feel like he’s won the lottery. You plant a kiss against his bulge before pulling yourself up to straddle his lap. Joel’s hands subconsciously station themselves against your back, fingers lightly digging into your damp skin. Suddenly his back no longer ails him.

“When’s the last time you bathed Joel?” You’re still warm from your shower, you cover him like a velvet blanket.

“This morning,” he croaks out, overwhelmed by the sensation of you.

“Mm. Did you think of me while in it? I know you have a habit of doing that.”

He nods, your eyes pooling with desire at the confession.

His denim shirt feels constrictive, your bare skin is too tantalizing, he fidgets underneath, restless from the sensation of his heavy clothes.

No need for that, rattles through his lust-addled brain. Your hands begin deftly unbuttoning his shirt. He loves the way your mouth drops and your head shakes incredulously whenever you get the first glimpse of his bronze skin. He loves that he’s been with you enough to know exactly how you’ll react to him.

His shirt lands atop the towel.

“Perfect aim,” you smile.

Joel chuckles. You’re the only being on this earth that can make him laugh.

You lean forward, placing your ear against his heart, he takes the longest, deepest breath getting lost in the moment, forgetting how much he likes to think he can fight this feeling. He can smell your yarrow shampoo mixed with the peppermint, this world literally stinks, and yet here you are fragrant and pleasing.

Your hand brushes back and forth against a patch of chest hair, the other dragging up and down his arm. He loves when you pet him, nothing calms him more. He still can’t come up with an exact reason why he refuses to let himself have you when you’re the only thing he longs for. You’re torturing him right now, he wishes you were clueless about the power you hold over him.

He places a kiss on your hair, breathing in your scent, he just can’t help himself.

“Wish I had wallpaper this pretty in my apartment,” you muse.

“No need for the wallpaper, you’re pretty enough,” it escapes his lips before he can stop it.

“Oh really?” Pulling back and sitting tall atop his lap, your eyebrow arches. “You think I’m prettier than faded old lady wallpaper?”

God damnit, your mouth is too goddamn smart.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. You’re pretty too.”

He wants to kiss that godforsaken smug smile off your lips.

No need for that, crowds his mind, much like your lips do now against his. His mouth opens to accept your tongue. He groans against your mouth when you yank his hair, pulling his head back so you can lick into his mouth. He chases your mouth, sucking your lower lip between his plush lips. Your cunt finds the tent in his jeans and begins rocking against it. Your kiss turns sloppier, tongues rolling against each other, hot breaths intermingling. Your lips move down to nibble his chin, licking your way down to his neck. He growls your name when you clamp down and suck the tanned skin into your mouth.

He needs to feel you against all of his skin.

He’s never hated his belt more than right now as he clumsily unbuckles it between your writhing hips.

“Christ,” he barks, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, you give him a temporary reprieve from your grinding as he raises his hips and yanks his pants down.

He gathers you into his arms and leans forward, swiping the old books and magazines off the coffee table top laying you across it.

He kicks out of his jeans, his knees protest as he sinks to his knees in front of you splayed across the oak.

His eyes roll into the back of his head and flutter shut at the first taste of you. Tangy, sweet, all woman, all his, for as long as he thinks he deserves.

Sweet, sweet girl.

Your coos and purrs dance through his ears twisting their way into his heart. He licks a stripe up your pussy, swirling his tongue around your clit and flattening against it. Your hands climb all over his hair, grasping and pulling, he loves when you take what you want from him. Forcing him to hand himself over to you, body, mind, soul, heart. Whether that be a shower or his tongue against your pussy.

He could stay here forever, the rest of his body still as a statue, just his mouth allowed to move against your sweet cunt, fucking you with his tongue, massaging your clit with his lips.

Your hips thrash against his face, legs wrapping around his head, pushing him even farther into your searing pussy.

He can feel you begin to dissolve into him, your thighs trembling against his ears, the pressure of your legs wrapped around him increasing. He’s encircled by all of your beauty, your slick pours into his mouth as your orgasm explodes into him. He drinks down everything you give him, never able to be greedy outside of his time spent with you writhing and naked under his touch. You unlock your legs, your body still quaking from your climax.

She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

His cock stands weeping between his legs, he gathers the precum and spreads it across his tip before pumping himself watching your eyes hungrily focus on him.

You spread your legs farther open with an unspoken invitation for him to take your pussy for his keeping. He accepts it, his wide cock slowly engulfing in your wet heat.

You gasp and smile at the sensation, he feels his walls crumble.

God damnit, there’s that damn smile again.

He loves how you take him, drawing your hips against his, the two of you tangled in hedonistic harmony here in this hellhole of a quarantine zone. You’re the only reason he stays.

He’ll never allow himself to say it, he fights like hell to not feel it, yet another battle he’s going to lose.

He bends forward, your head pinned between his forearms, he sucks at your lips, you can taste yourself all over his mustache. His cock slides in and out, pace turning more punishing the louder you cry out. Neighbors be damned, you’re the only one he likes, at least they’ll know you’re his.

His weight presses against you and the rickety coffee table, both shaking as he pummels into your pussy. A crack emits from the leg he’s been meaning to fix, the decrepit coffee table disintegrates underneath all of his power. He’d laugh at his luck if he wasn’t so fucking turned on by you. Joel gathers you in his arms, throwing himself back against the couch, his cock never leaving the heat of your entrance. You sink fully down on him, his cock hitting the gooey spot inside of you that makes you liquefy.

Sweat drips down his face, he’s so fucking tired already knowing his body will protest everything he’s put it through, but you’re worth it, the strangled noises you’re panting out will soothe his sore muscles come tomorrow.

He nips at your jaw, licking the sheen of sweat on your skin and tasting the prickling peppermint. His nails rake against your back, you’re so fucking smooth, the harder you ride him, the deeper his nails press into your skin.

Your body grows tense above him, his lips crush against yours wanting to gulp down all of your screams. You’re shattered by him again, his cock feels like the only thing tethering you down to this earth. He’s close, so fucking close. His orgasm has been waiting for you to pulse around his cock, your softness squeezing his last bit of resolve.

Joel pulls out, immediately bemoaning the cruelty of not being able to cum inside you. One, two, three, pumps and he’s cumming against your stomach, your head angling down, wide eyes watching as the white ropes drip down your skin.

Your ear finds his heart again, Joel knows it’s racing and you can hear it. He kisses your hair, humming a satisfied groan. Little does he know this is your favorite part of your shower visits, knowing that for just a short period of time you’ve made him happy.

“I guess you’re going to need a new table.”

“I’ll be able to fix it, used to be a contractor.”

He surprises himself at the divulgence, reminding him to keep you at arms length, you’re too good for him.

No need for that.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #Boston Joel #pedro pascal fic #QZ Joel #TLOU fanfic #tlou fic #the last of us fic #the last of us

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deusfoundry · 4 months ago

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there will be a part 2 to this trust 🙏

cedric lays his eyes on you for the first time at the night of his sorting, and even then, at the cusp of turning twelve, he knows you're beautiful.

not pretty, no, despite it being the first thought that crosses his mind. it's too small of a word to describe you, barely able to encompass just how stunningly bright your eyes are as you peer up the enchanted ceiling of the great hall, let alone the rest of you.

no, you're beautiful. in every sense of the word and so, so much more than his prepubescent mind can begin to think of.

which is why when he spots you on the morning of his first transfiguration class, cedric clamors and rushes to the empty seat next to you.

he breathes in, then out, trying to steady his breathing and psyching himself up to introduce himself at the same time. only for you to beat him to it.

"hi!" cedric turns at the sound of your voice. he looks back at the moment now and admits that as cheesy as it sounds, time quite literally stopped when he looked at you.

if you were beautiful last night, with quite a number of feet between you two, then you're something entirely indescribable now.

hair pulled back into neat twin braids. cheeks dusted the lightest shade of pink. tiny speckles of light dancing on your eyes like stars.

and helga that smile. cedric swears he could drop dead right now and he'd thank the heavens that your smile was the last thing he gazed upon.

he's yanked away from his daze when you wave your arm across his face, the very same eyes he adored drowning in confusion. he realizes then that he's been staring at you.

you must think he's a creep right now.

"sorry, i didn't quite catch that." cedric hopes the sheepish smile he flashes you is good enough, prays that the gaps between his teeth are free from any trace of the filling breakfast he had earlier. "could you tell me your name again?"

you tell him your name once more, and cedric echoes it himself. repeating it twice for— oh, he doesn't even know why he says it again, but he likes it. the way your name rolls off his tongue with so much ease, like he's meant to utter your name over and over and over again like a mantra, a prayer.

he wants to say it again but the fear of you thinking of him as an idiot strikes in waves, so he opts to introduce himself instead.

"i'm cedric." he holds his hand out for you to shake, struggling to steady the muscle when his palm comes into contact with smooth skin. he smiles through the slight tremble of his body. "i hope we can be friends."

just a little something before i waste the rest of my night looking for more, indeed, cedric fics. this man has truly consumed me whole i need to be put down.

#cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory fluff #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter fluff

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coffee-blvck · 9 months ago

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Soap pops an unexpected question 💍

Originally posted on my AO3 - coffeeblvck

“Marry me.” Nearly drowned out by gunfire, it takes a few moments for the words to settle in your ears. Half pleading, half a grunt, as Soap throws his back against the concrete barrier. Bullets rain above your heads.

When your thoughts finally catch up with one another, you're left staring at your partner. You must look like a deer in headlights, blinking as if trying to convince yourself you had actually heard him. “What??”

“Marry me. Right here, right now.” He breathes, twisting up and firing twice. You continue to stare dumbly. This had to be a joke. You're in the middle of battle right now, fighting for your lives. But his tongue is dripping with fierce honesty and you can't come up with any other reason. “Serious, Major. Marry me.”

Your body reacts before you can form a response, gripping fiercely at his collar and pulling him to you. Gunfire still peppers the air around you as you kiss him. It's hasty and you both jerk a little, pulsing with adrenaline and flinching against the onslaught of gunfire.

It's your turn to twist about, firing down a few loose ends breaking from their lines of defense, and as you turn back Soap is mirroring your elated grin. Checking your magazine, you shrug. “Okay.”

Neither of you bring it up again. When you're the last to make it back to the safe house, Ghost is the first to grill you and Soap on your recklessness, and for not responding to the comms after the fact. Price was at the ready, with Gaz at his side to lead a squadron to track you down. When Soap merely ducks his head and takes the scolding without argument, the team starts to question what really happened out on the field. Your sheepish grin doesn't help the matter as you depart to clean yourself up.

That night, draped together and still high with adrenaline, it comes up. “I was serious ya know,” He whispers against your neck, peppering the soft skin with his lips and hoping, praying, you were as serious as he was. He takes your fingers curling through his as a good sign.

You're so pretty, Soap thinks, bathed in the moonlight and wrapped against him. He wants to die this way. He could die a happy man even if this was his last memory.

“I was too.”

A beat of silence. Soap hoists himself onto an elbow, gazing down at you to be able to see your full face. To memorize the way your eyes glittered in the pale light, the smile that forced the dimples and lines into your cheeks. It was a little crooked, your smile, but he could swear he’d never seen any art as perfect.

“Say it again.”

“I'm serious, Johnny. I’ll marry you.” You kiss him, soft and quick and he can't help but pout as you pull away, falling back into the mattress.

“I love you.” He breathes. This was heaven, and he was the luckiest man on earth at this moment.

“You're dumb.” You laugh, pulling gently at his neck for another kiss. “I love you too, pretty boy.”

Price is the first to notice the pretty little gem on your finger and how his usually level headed medic can’t stop staring at it during that morning's debriefings. It had been a few weeks since the operation and the question, a long overdue moment of quiet for the entire Task Force. No one had really paid any mind to the way Soap kept his chest puffed when you were in the same room together.

“Is that what happened, Major?”

“Is what what happened?” You ask dumbly, attention pulled away from the little gem.

“That,” Price gestures with his cigar. “It's new.”

“I'm married.” You blurt out, a shy grin creeping across your features. You couldn't hide your excitement anymore. It hadn't been a secret, but neither you nor Soap had gone out of your way to spill the news either. Now with the ring around your finger, Soap had given it to you one early morning over coffee before training, you found your new reality hammering inside your chest, begging to be flaunted to someone, anyone who would listen.

“Come again?” Price was sure he had heard you correctly, but couldn't help but ask for you to repeat yourself. The task force was his family, and his heart swelled with pride that a piece of his family had found their happiness.

The grin on you only grows. “I'm married, Captain.”

“When…?”

“Johnny asked while we were clearing loose ends, before we made it back to the safe house. It was so fucking stupid. How could I say no?”

#cod #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #cod modern warfare #john price #captain price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #fluff #reader insert

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blood-teeth · 9 months ago

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"...and, at the end of it all, this is the truth of you. The truth of your ruinous, shaky hands. The truth of you whole, de-fleshed, flayed. Your bones are harbingers, your fingers methods of decay. You are the mouthpiece for death. You remember the Bhagavad Gita and I am become death, destroyer of worlds. Look at me, you say, I am Time itself, and I must one day destroy your world as I have always done.

In the light of a long dead star, the last astronaut wakes up. After six decades, the worst has come to pass. The earth is dead, the sun has gone, and the mission to find a new, viable home has failed. There are no more horizons for humanity.

This Grave Calls You Home is a sci-fi thriller set in space after humanity is forced to leave Earth's ravaged surface following nuclear devastation and an environmental collapse. You play as an ER nurse aboard the NEW HORIZON, an immense space station courtesy of THE COALITION OF THE LAST FRONTIER. This colossal facility, a self-contained city in orbit, houses the remnants of humanity. And it is here that your days pass in monotony, caring for the irradiated people born from Earth and the critically ill, trying your best to survive the relentless demands of the Emergency Room and your own deteriorating mental health. When a patrol flagship discovers the ARCADIA-II - a long-forgotten relic from humanity's past - and finds within slumbers an astronaut who had failed at delivering humanity from destruction, the routine of your life is throughly interrupted. As the mystery of the ARCADIA-II and PROJECT ODYSSEY unfold, you learn that your part in this could mean humanity's salvation.

Or you could be its extinction.

YOU WILL LIKE THIS IF YOU LIKE: - INTERSTELLAR - THE LOCKED TOMB SERIES - BLADERUNNER - HEAVEN WILL BE MINE - TIME TRAVEL AND TIME LOOPS - GHOST STATION - ALIEN

THE LAST ASTRONAUT(M/F 25)- ALEX STERN "...my love, i no longer know what it is to be warm." The lone ranger, the last star. The failure of deliverance. Feel their breath against yours, cup their ribcage into your hands to feel the long, dead beat of their heart. You know them, you know them. You swear you do.

THE SCIENTIST (F 23) - OPHELIA VALDEZ "...in the wake of dawn," she says, "it has only ever been you." The General's daughter and the brightest mind the world has ever seen. You brush your fingers along the bone of her brow and marvel at her atoms meeting yours. maybe science is religion, you think. maybe you will bend and lick and worship her taste on your mouth.

THE ENGINEER (THEY/THEM 24) - PUCK GOODFELLOW "is that your real name?" "no," they smile. "nothing has ever been mine own. i belong to you. give me a new name. give me a new life. i am yours." The scent of engine oil and gritted teeth. Place your mouth against their neck and taste the blood of a covenant past. They hold you in their palms; you feel the promise of something greater, something before.

THE BOTANIST (M/F 25) - CAIA / CAIUS CAIN "i am no good at words. i'm good in the dirt and the roots and the trees. darling, you've been in everything i touch." the cool touch of water, liberation at their smile. Take the bite and know what it means to become. Dig your hands deep, deep in the earth and feel what it means to love.

THE MAJOR (TRANS M 27) - JONATHAN STERN "i have given my life to duty, to sacrifice, to obligation. i wish to give it to you, now, instead. it has been an honor serving you." A past marked by violence made by hands meant to touch. To soothe. He holds you tight against his chest and if you close your eyes you can still smell the smoke. He holds you like an apology. Like a prayer.

DEMO- PLAYLIST - FAQ

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clairewritesfanfics · 12 days ago

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Villain Creation System Chapter 1

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

Synopsis:

You died. Literally. The process itself was nothing special. The interesting part is what happened after. Instead of the abyss or paradise, a mysterious voice strikes up a deal with you in front of your fresh corpse.

[I am the Villain Creation System, if you want a second chance at life, then you must corrupt the souls of various Mark Graysons across the multiverse.] “Do I have a choice?” [Of course! Agree to our terms, or spend the rest of eternity alone and conscious of your own nonexistence, unable to move on to the next life and barred from what your ilk calls Heaven.] [ ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ] “...okay, sold.” [Yay!]

You successfully destroyed the lives of different versions of Mark Grayson, but when it's time to claim your prize, something goes wrong and you are stuck in this godforsaken timeline. What's worse was that they have found you.

"Come with me and we will rule the universe together." "Be my wife and bear my children. No harm will ever come to you." "After you died, no one could compare to you, not even your own corpse."

You: (•_•)

General Trigger Warnings: you are literally dead, death in general, dark humor (e.g. necrophilia jokes), innuendos, mild swearing, mentions of violence and bodily harm, toxic relationships, the Marks are their own warning

The problem began when you died.

You didn’t save a kid from a speeding truck or get murdered, no, you died just as you lived: in a remarkably boring, somewhat embarrassing fashion. You fell down the stairs.

In your defence, you just finished a brutal exam and your Red Bull:Coffee cocktail could only do so much for a brain running on 2 hours of sleep. Your eyelids were barely holding on. You didn’t see the “wet floor” sign, slipped and cracked your head on the bottom steps of the stairs.

On the bright side, you didn’t have to study anymore. On the other hand, you were young, barely half a century old, you had a bucket list that reached the triple digits but you only got to cross out five things. You didn’t get your dream job. You didn’t even purchase your own house yet, never painted and decorated it the way you wanted. You haven’t said your goodbyes. You haven’t experienced love, real, actual, can’t-live-without love.

It wasn’t fair. You always knew that life was unfair, but it was only when you died did it really hit you. You wanted so much more.

You stared at your corpse, with its elbows and knees twisting into awkward positions, growing colder and stiffer by the second.

Life wasn’t fair, you knew this. But it wasn’t until you saw yourself at the bottom of the stairs did you realize that life was a bitch.

Now, there was only one question left. Where do I go from here?

You weren’t an exceptionally good person, but you really hoped you weren't going to end up in Hell.

Before you could fear for your eternal soul, a disembodied voice, as robotic as it was sweet, greeted you with all the cheer of a kindergarten teacher: [Congratulations on your death! You are the first person to be chosen by the Villain Creation System!]

“...”

[I can tell from that dumbfounded expression that you are confused. Please, let this system explain. Open up your ear holes because I will not repeat myself!]

The thing cleared its throat and a light screen hovered over your dead body, displaying a series of stick figure illustrations.

[As your ancestors have found out, most souls are moved to limbo after death, where they are judged.]

The stick figure in this ridiculous powerpoint presentation died, had its soul enter what seemed to be a judicial court, and was presented with two doors.

[Depending on the verdict, the soul may reincarnate as another human or a different species, or if they’ve fulfilled all the requirements, they can enter Paradise.]

A third door appeared between the existing two.

[In special cases, one soul out of 300 trillion is chosen to bind with systems such as I. You already know, but let me reintroduce myself, I am Villain Creation System No. 00001. You see, many fictional worlds are very much real and alive in their own pocket universes. It is a system’s job to ensure a safe and steady existence, preventing the collapse of each dimension.]

The third door moved towards you and you found yourself floating in what resembled the vacuum of space, surrounded by infinite light projections of the Milky Way.

[Unlike your reality, these special worlds live closely to the void, because its creators–its writers tend to be finite creatures, mere mortals cosplaying as gods.]

One by one, each galaxy turned to dust and you were back at the bottom of the stairs, standing right next to your dead body.

“I think I’ve read about this before…” When you used to have a lot of free time, you would binge read Chinese web novels about protagonists who jumped from world to world, completing tasks and granting wishes, whether it be getting back at cheating husbands or avenging dead relatives.

“I have several questions.”

[It would be odd if you didn’t.]

This thing sure could talk. “Why me?”

[You mortals truly do love that question.] The thing sighed, as though it was shaking its head at you that very moment. [There’s nothing special about you, if that’s what you’re thinking. We rolled a hypothetical die and got you.]

“ Okay.” Ow. It wasn’t like you believed in life having inherent meaning, but to be outright told by a supernatural creature that you weren’t special still stung.

You pushed the feelings of hurt aside and asked, “Why do you exist? What’s the point?”

[What a boring question. If I told you that “it is fate,” will that be enough? If I say that it is “merely for a petty god’s entertainment,” will you be satisfied? Please don’t bother yourself with such questions, you will only end up hurting your own head.]

“I feel like I’m being insulted.”

[Surely, you’re imagining it.]

You inhaled, more out of habit than anything else because your lungs were decorative now. You calmed yourself. You’d rather not piss off a mysterious entity that seemed happy with your death and had souls dancing at the palm of its nonexistent hands. “All right. What do I have to do?”

[It’s just as my name suggests, you will be sent to different so-called fictional worlds to help create the villains, after all, what’s a story without a great villain? That is a rhetorical question, by the way.]

“You make it sound so simple.” Creating villains, huh. You have watched enough cartoons, read enough books to know that there would be a lot of pain involved.

[Ding. Allow me to add: your efforts will not go unrewarded; should you complete your tasks, the Almighty One will grant you a redo in your life. If you do everything perfectly, THEY might even give you special privileges.]

“Such as?”

[In addition to your rebirth, you could freely modify your appearance to your liking, or you may ask for knowledge unparalleled in your generation.]

You glanced down at your feet. The blood from your broken skull pooled around you as you weighed your options.

“Do I have a choice?”

[Of course! Agree to our terms, or spend the rest of eternity alone and conscious of your own nonexistence, unable to move on to the next life and barred from what your ilk calls Heaven.]

[ ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ]

“...okay, sold.”

[Yay!]

A second chance at life.

Divine boons, to boot.

It sounded way too good to be true. If anything, rather than speaking with an agent of God (or God’s equivalent) you felt like you were about to shake hands with the Devil.

You totally should have known better.

The whole thing was fishy from beginning to end, but what else was there to do? Pray?

***

[Mark Grayson of Alternative Universe No. 444 has achieved 100% Darkening. A villain is born.]

[Congratulations on another successful corruption, Host!]

This version of Mark pulled you into his arms. Those who hurt you have become meat paste on the ground around him.

He touched your cheek, begged you to stay with tears falling like rain on your lashes. It was too late. Often, he was too late.

“Please,” he cried, holding your face. “Please come back to me.”

You couldn’t even if you wanted to. The system pulled on your soul like the tide returning to the sea.

[Initiating extraction … ]

[Prepare for a meeting with the Main System. We will calculate your grade and remaining reward points then.]

Finally… You could go back home. You already knew what you were going to ask first, a memory wipe before your second chance. You used your reward points early on and bought a “system cheat” to help alleviate the guilt of everything you’ve done, along with something to diminish the weight of certain emotions, but these cheat codes couldn’t be transferred to your world, the real world.

[ERROR. ERROR.]

Pain shot through every nerve and cut through every vein of your soul. This has never happened before. You writhed in the void until–

Your eyes shot open.

You gasped and sat up. Your heart hammered in your chest and you struggled to regulate your breathing.

You looked around you. A bedroom. Your bedroom. One of its many variations.

“What’s going on?!” You demanded from your system.

You were done. You had just finished your last mission, the final Mark Grayson had been converted, and the system promised that it would send you to speak with its boss and its boss’ boss. You were finally going to get your second chance, free yourself from this damned multiverse.

However, when you opened your eyes after the extraction process, you could instantly tell that something was wrong.

For one thing, you have awoken in this same bedroom in at least three other parallel dimensions. The posters and pictures on the walls might’ve changed and the bed was next to the window instead of the door, but you knew that this was your room in the many worlds of Invincible.

You yelled at the air and in your mind, “Zero-One? Zero-One, where the hell are you? Hey!”

No answer.

You fell forward and screamed into your mattress.

You should have prayed.

CHAPTER 2

Author's note: As someone who still hasn't finished two other works about world-hopping, I feel a bit ashamed (it's been over three years T.T) but YOU CANNOT STOP ME. Anyway, I shouldn't be doing this, but the hyperfixation gods have their claws deep in my shoulders and I can't study without publishing at least the first chapter. For those who have read my Origin series for the Mark Variants, you may or may not think of this as its direct sequel. I got a crappy memory so continuation would be hard to keep up with. But if you have any questions, feel free to message me. For those who read by my Obey Me fanfic, yeah, this system and the Secondary Character Grievance Delivery System are basically co-workers, lol.

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theonevoice · 2 years ago

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Have a gold star...

I swear, I started this as a wholesome innocent comment on how when Crowley has to think of a prize, after 6000+ years, his sweet head still goes to stars as the ultimate symbol of something beautiful and cherished.

But then I was struck by something: sarcasm.

Both times, when he tells someone to "have a gold star," he doesn't say it with a tone of affectionate irony, like the cool-but-sweet uncle with a rough personality but a soft heart. He says it with a tone of bitter sarcasm, of painful disenchantment.

Because it's not a prize that he is offering; it's a sop, a cruel joke-gift, something that will get you excited at first just because you have a stupid, naive, innocent soul, and you will later realize that it means nothing to the one who assigned it to you, and that they are ready to take it away whenever they want, while the rest of the world laughs at your ridiculous gullibility.

Because this is what stars were for him.

They were his beloved, exciting creation. The star-factory nebula was his cherished task, assigned to him by God, and he believed that it was meant to be a thing of beauty and splendor, and hold value in the grand scheme of the universe... only to discover, immediately after he created it, that it was never intended to have any value at all. It meant nothing to God. It wasn't even planned to last enough to fullfill its purpose. It was a joke, a cruel prank.

The stars were God's bad pun of giving angel!Crowley something to do, and love, and have hope and expectations for, and then taking it away. Revealing that it was just a shiny piece of gold cardstock that only a simpleton could consider valuable. Of course he can only say "have a gold star" as a dry snarky sarcastic comment on someone who thinks they have achieved something meaningful when it's actually nothing. Be it the Them defeating the Four Horsemen. Be it Muriel being noticed by the Metatron.

Great, sure, have a gold star, be all excited and squealing with happiness, it will turn into ashes before you even know it.

I am not sure that Crowley's snake eyes were ever intended to signal that he cannot see the stars because snakes have bad vision (even ignoring the zoological fact that they are sensitive to UV light though, so they should still see astronomical objects, in the book it says that demons must be able to see at night, and that's why Crowley doesn't need to turn on the lights on the Bentley), but for sure the Fall and Heaven's cruelty has ruined the stars for him, in a way.

Now, in his mind, they are the ultimate symbol of delusion, of naivety, of foolishly investing your love and passion and hopes in something, of stupidly ignoring that the things you cherish will be ruined or taken away from you or leave you on their own accord.

That's also why Aziraphale's "nothing lasts forever" cuts him so deep. That's why his "no... no, I dont' suppose it does" sounds so much like a truth that he is remembering instead of one that he has jsut discovered.

Here you go, you did it again, you thought you had something significant and instead it was just like your stars, you should have known that whenever you find something beautiful it's just a matter of time before you lose it, you shouldn't get too attached.

In s1e6 he says it to the Them, in s2e6 he says it to Muriel. I do hope that in s3e6 he will get the chance to say it again, but this time it will be honest and out of joy, because whatever is going to happen will make him able again to believe that you can be happy, and can hold onto the good things that you love. You can have all the gold stars, for real. They don't always have to disappear and leave you in pain. They can stay with you.

#he's still the starmaker deep down #have a gold star #good omens #good omens 2 #go2 #crowley #aziraphale #good omens thoughts #go2 spoilers #go 2 speculation #good omens 2 spoilers

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gible-love-nibles-archive · 2 years ago

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Sorry to bother you! Sorry to bother you! / Spend all time with me, please!

Doodle of them… easy song pick I know, but this was just supposed to be a warm up. Wanted to do something with this song for so long

(Please reblog! I like reading tags :])

#🐉🎮.txt #clare's art #oc: hum #i swear it must be heaven's light 😇⚔️#the cringe ass angel and the bot he picked up by being atheist #edit: added my banner. it's been a long day smh

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witch1nghour · 2 months ago

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𝜗𝜚 ⠀𝗕𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗨𝗠𝗕 ﹔ various sentence starters ( platonic/romantic/antagonistic/etc ) from JEKYLL AND HYDE: THE MUSICAL ( 1990 ) . please , like or reblog if you plan on using . don’t claim as your own . content warning : tw murder, violence, religion .

in each of us there are two natures.

he's beyond help.

he stil has a soul - as pure and good as yours or mine.

madness is the cruelest of all prisons.

there must be a way to help him.

my theories convince me there is a better solution.

use your gifts wisely.

once there was morning, now endless night.

if I could reach you I'd guide you and teach you to walk from the darkness back into the light.

please try to hear me.

I'll never desert you - I promise you this till the day that I die.

I need to know the nature of the demons that possess man's soul

why does he revel in murder and madness?

I need to find a way to get inside.

I need to try to separate the good and evil - if I can.

give me courage to go where no angel will go.

there's a face that he hide till the nighttime appears.

man's a master of deceit.

what is his sinister secret?

if we could extract all of the evil from each of us think of the world we could create!

what makes you think you have the right to play god?

my fate is yours to choose.

I did try to warn you.

you should exercise greater caution.

you have come this far, remember what you have at stake.

comments on style, madam, should never be made by those who have none.

you'll get what you want in the end, you always do.

the only thing to fear is the unknown.

we knew there'd be a price to pay.

look in my eyes - who do you see there?

love is the only danger.

we'll make our one dream come true.

you know who I am...take me as I am.

give me you hand - give me your heart.

swear to me we'll never part!

goodnight, my angel.

goodnight, my devil.

if we want our love to grow, we musn't be afraid of letting go.

you are playing a very dangerous game.

a little touch of sin - why wait another minute?

why should tonight be different?

here's to the night!

if you only knew the games we could play.

you're not up to the chase.

you have got a lot to lose ... think of the consequences.

for all these years, I've faced the world alone.

I have started this alone ... and I must finish it alone.

I have a thirst that I cannot deprive.

tonight I'll take from all mankind, conquer all the gods.

I see the pain in your eyes.

have I become my work and nothing more?

what kind of monster would do such a thing?

I am in love with the things that I see.

if someone like you found someone like me then suddenly, nothing would ever be the same.

I'd feel so alive if someone like you loved me.

it warms my heart to know that romance still blossoms.

how dare you speak to me like that?

you don't seem like yourself.

I've been better, name ... I've been better.

I did everything I could to save the others.

I am dangerous. more dangerous than any wild animal stalking its prey ...

my love, what's happened to you?

I must be left alone to finish what I've started.

yu never promised me the journey would be easy - only that we would take it together.

you were heaven-sent to me, was it never meant to be?

don't abandon me now, name.

if you need me you know where I'll be.

did you really think that I would ever let you go?

do you think I'd ever set you free?

you will never get away from me!

this is not a dream, my friend, and it will never end!

no matter what you may pretend.

I'll rejoice as you breathe your final breath.

there's a beast at the door, and he's wild and free.

#rp memes #gothic horror rp memes #jekyll and hyde #rp prompts #inbox prompts

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ameidala · 4 months ago

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Monster Among Men

You pray for salvation—only to awaken something far darker. Now, as his love turns to obsession and the shadows whisper your name, you must ask yourself, which fate is worse?

tags: smutty, rated 18+ extreme non-consensual themes, dark!thomas hutter, manipulation, breeding kink, possessive thomas, nosferatu (2024)

word count: 7,700+

this was self indulgent. i love this man so much and there was an extreme drought in fics about him! i might consider writing one or a few more fics if u guys are up for sending dark thomas requests! :)

Fate had a strange way of revealing itself—not in grand gestures, but in the quiet offer of a warm hand on a rain-swept night. It was not the storm that chilled you then, but the thought of how easily a single moment could change the course of a life. He was, in every sense, the love of your life, and you could swear that love had taken root the very moment your eyes first met. It had been a night of relentless storm, the heavens split open with rain, and you, shivering beneath the narrow shelter of an alley’s eaves, had all but resigned yourself to the cold.

Then came him. A man of uncommon kindness, he had not hesitated—upon seeing your drenched and trembling form—to offer you refuge. With a voice steady yet gentle, he beckoned you inside, the flickering lantern in his hand casting golden light against the darkness. His was a heart unburdened by hesitation, unclouded by selfishness. And in that moment, as the thunder roared beyond the walls that now sheltered you both, you knew your fate had been sealed… or so you thought.

He had not only offered shelter and a warm bed, but also a drink that thawed the chill of your bones and a change of clothes to rid you of the soaked, clinging fabric. His kindness extended beyond what you’d expected from a stranger. His voice, like a balm, whispered, “You seem to have lost your way in the rain, Madam. Might I offer my assistance to see you safely home come morning?”

From that moment on, you found yourself drawn to the man in ways that you couldn’t really describe why. It wasn’t just his kindness or the warmth of his voice. There was a connection between it that felt like it was reaching deeper, as though his presence had quietly begun to fill the spaces you hadn’t realized were empty.

Yet, as the first light of dawn crept through the window, the reality of the morning settled upon you. The storm had passed, and with it, the fleeting shelter of the night. It was time to return home.

But before you could gather your things, Thomas greeted you once more with a soft, warm smile. His voice was gentle, almost a whisper, as he spoke, "Would you care for something to eat before you head out?"

You glanced down at the modest table a few meters from you, where there prepared some simple provisions from the man. It included bread, fresh fruit, and a pot of warm tea—nothing extravagant, but enough to make you grateful. "I’m sorry it’s nothing grand," he continued, his eyes meeting yours with a glint of sincerity, "but I couldn’t bear the thought of a beautiful woman leaving without something to sustain her."

His words, though simple, sent a flush to your cheeks, his compliment lingering in the quiet space between you.

"I...I also failed to introduce myself properly," he added with a slight chuckle, as if embarrassed by his own forgetfulness. "Where are my manners? My name is Thomas…"

Thomas seemed to choke on his words at first, as if hesitant to let them pass his lips. But after a brief pause, he finally gathered his courage and, in a voice soft yet sincere, murmured, “Pray, allow me the courtesy of knowing your name?”

You gave a smile, appreciating the quiet efforts the young man had made throughout the night and up until this present moment. His kindness, gentle yet unwavering, spoke volumes—he surely knew how to treat a woman, or perhaps it was simply the way he treated every guest. You didn't want to assume anything more, as perhaps his mother had merely raised a kind gentleman who extended his hospitality to all. Still, his attentiveness lingered with you, and you couldn't help but feel a certain warmth in your chest as you spoke your name and offered your thanks.

The day wore on, and soon he helped you return home. He didn't offer to walk you the entire way, yet there was a certain gravity to his steps, as if he could sense the uncertainty in your heart. “I’ll accompany you to the edge of the town,”he’d said softly, his words almost as if he were offering more than a simple escort—he was providing the comfort of knowing someone cared. His pace was measured, slow, as though mindful of the rough cobblestones beneath your feet and the distance between the world you both occupied. When you reached the edge of town, the mist from the river lingering in the air, he nodded politely, his eyes briefly meeting yours with something that resembled understanding.

"Take care of yourself, Madam," he had said, his voice quiet yet sure, before retreating back into the shadows of the city.

But that would not be the last you would see of his presence.

From that moment on, you found yourself wandering the old, dim-lit streets more frequently, seeking out the winding alleys, the familiar corners where you might catch another glimpse of him. Perhaps it was the pull of hope, or maybe the loneliness that clung to you like the mist, but you found yourself more drawn to the quiet places of the city. You didn’t have much else—only the promise of those stolen moments with him.

It wasn’t a conscious decision to look for him, but more of an instinct, a silent hope that fate would nudge you together once more.

As the days passed, the rhythm of your life returned to its usual pace—slow, almost mechanical. The streets were familiar, yet they seemed to close in on you more each day, as if the world itself had grown narrower with time. There was a quiet repetition to your life now, but the emptiness lingered like the shadows in the alleys you walked. It was in these moments, when the bustling sounds of the town became distant, that your thoughts returned to the past—back to the orphanage, to those early years when you were sheltered from the harshness of the world.

No one ever had to tell you what to do there. You had learned to survive on your own, to blend into ordinary life, to anticipate needs and stay out of the way. You often felt as though you were one step behind, always catching up with the others who seemed so sure of themselves, their places in the world. There was a hint of envy in you towards those people.

The orphanage had been a place of warmth in its own way, but it was a transient warmth—flickering, never stable. It was home only because it had to be. Yet now, as you stand and are trying to face the reality of adulthood, the world outside has revealed itself to be much larger, and far less forgiving. The nonexistent structure became worse as no guiding hand to tell you where to go or what to do, it felt like your world came crashing down. You were left with only your own instincts, and sometimes, that felt like too little.

You had walked these streets aimlessly more than once, feeling the weight of uncertainty on your shoulders. It wasn’t a loneliness that could be fixed by simple companionship, but a deeper sense of being untethered. The world seemed vast, stretching endlessly, and yet you had no anchor.

But in the back of your mind, there was one place you kept returning to—the memory of that night with Thomas. His kindness had been a rare warmth, and in a world where you had learned to keep your distance from others or know that everything might be temporary, it had stirred something in you. Something you couldn’t quite explain.

You had never been one to believe in fate or signs, but there was something about him—his demure courteousness, his gentle ways of speaking—that made you wonder if perhaps, for the first time, someone truly saw you. Not as a stranger, visitor, or even as someone passing through, but as someone of their time worth knowing.

And so, each time you walked through the streets now, you found yourself hoping, almost unconsciously, for another encounter with him. Obviously this feeling was something new and so you didn’t know what it meant yet or how to navigate through these emotions, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that this, whatever it was, was somehow different. And you were liking that feeling for whatever reason it why.

Quick visits to the market or running simple errands were no longer tiresome tasks that you didn’t care of. They had become opportunities—small, fleeting chances for fate to intervene, for your paths to cross again. You found yourself wandering the aisles with a quiet hope, praying, almost, that the universe might favor you today, that you might once again find yourself near him, the man with the striking blue eyes.

There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled at your heart whenever you thought of him. The brief exchange that night in the storm had been just that—a fleeting moment. Yet, it had sparked something deeper within you, something that hadn’t been satisfied by the mundane interactions of your daily life. You wanted to know more about him, beyond the kindness he had shown you that rainy night. What did he do with his days? What brought him joy? What dreams did he hold, if any?

Days may pass yet you found yourself, once again, between the swarming townspeople who didn’t pay attention to anything but their own business. Meanwhile for you, it involved pretending to be focused on your task while your mind wandered, imagining the sound of his voice, wondering if you would ever have the chance to speak with him again.

It was a prayer whispered into the busy world, a wish that echoed through the crowds.

And, perhaps, the heavens had finally listened.

A few meters away, you spotted him—Thomas, unmistakable in his simple attire, standing in conversation with a man you did not recognize. The stranger was dressed far more opulently than Thomas—his clothes rich, his appearance polished with a wealth that was immediately apparent. He had a mustache, and his curly hazel locks framed his face with a certain confidence that only money seemed to afford.

You stood there, heart thudding in your chest, waiting, hoping that Thomas would look your way. You didn’t want to be too forward, but a part of you yearned for him to notice you, to recognize you, to remember that night in the rain. You lingered longer than you should have, pretending to be absorbed in your shopping as your eyes never left him.

The minutes stretched on, time slowing as you stood in that sea of people. Your breath caught in your throat each time he turned his head in your direction, only to look past you. He seemed distracted by the conversation, the man beside him far more commanding of his attention. You felt an odd sensation of longing mixed with a pinch of frustration, as if your presence wasn’t enough to pull him away from the company of this wealthy stranger.

It was only when your patience had nearly run out that you saw his eyes finally catch yours. For a moment, he seemed baffled upon seeing the figure in front of him, as though he couldn’t quite place your identity but seemed familiar with it. His eyebrows furrowed.

It was as if he were trying to decide if you were someone he knew—or if, perhaps, you were simply another figure in the crowd. A small thrill of anticipation ran through you as his gaze lingered a moment longer, and then, almost imperceptibly, his lips parted, as though he were about to speak your name but only molded into a small smile.

As Thomas’s eyes met yours, a strange current seemed to pass between you. The moment stretched longer than it should have, the crowded market around you fading into the background. He remained, his expression thoughtful, but there was no mistaking the spark of recognition that flickered in his eyes.

The rich man beside him continued speaking, but his words seemed distant now, drowned out by the unspoken tension between you and Thomas. The stranger, sensing something in the air, took a step back, as if he had no place in this growing connection. It was as though the space around you and Thomas had become an intimate world of its own.

You didn’t move. You stood your ground, but a strange anticipation coiled inside you, as if you were waiting for something to unfold. And then, as if he could no longer stay apart from you, Thomas took deliberate steps forward, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“You know,” he said, his voice low, almost private, “I must admit, I did not expect to see you again so soon. But I find myself quite pleased by the coincidence.”

Your lips curved slightly, a smile playing at the edges of your mouth as you responded, “Strange how the world seems to align when least expected.”

Thomas’s smile grew, but it was more than just polite. You felt his expressions were genuine as though he might also have been thinking of you. “Indeed. And I must confess,” he said, his voice growing quieter, “I’ve found it difficult to focus on anything else since that night. It’s not every day that one meets someone with such... presence.”

Your breath caught at his words, and a warm flush spread through you. His words were straightforward and was unlike what you were accustomed to. But you couldn’t deny that you were even the least bit enjoying it as if the weight of his words matched the gravity of the connection you both started to share.

For a moment, there was a pause between you two as your eyes simply looked at each other. His eyes tracing your face as if committing every detail to memory. His hands awkward at his sides as though he were gathering the courage to say something more.

“I’m not one for... grand gestures,” he continued, his tone still warm but now with a hint of earnestness, “but I would be honored, if you would allow me, to take you to a place where the noise of the world does not drown out the simplicity of two people’s conversation.”

The invitation hung in the air between you, his words heavy with meaning. He was no longer just offering you a dinner; he was offering you an escape—an invitation into a quieter, more intimate world, one where only the two of you existed for a while.

“You needn’t say yes right away,” he added softly, almost as an afterthought, as though he didn’t want to pressure you.

His sincerity was undeniable and charming. You could see it in the way he held himself, how his posture seemed to lean toward you, as though everything in him was drawn to you without hesitation.

You were no longer just an image to him—he was seeing you in this moment, this very real moment, and the warmth between you was undeniable.

And so, the days passed in a delicate dance of stolen moments and whispered words, the connection between you deepening with each encounter. It seemed as though fate had woven a perfect tapestry for the two of you—one of shared glances, tender conversations, and the slow, inevitable pull toward each other. The world outside felt distant, irrelevant, as you found comfort in his presence.

You could almost believe that the rest was history—that the love you had found was destined, unshakeable, eternal. But reality has a way of revealing itself when least expected. Just as the two of you neared the edge of something more—a promise of forever—the world outside your little bubble began to break through, and the weight of the unspoken truths could no longer be ignored.

It was then that you understood—love, no matter how deeply it had taken root, was never quite as simple as it seemed.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆｡ﾟ☆: ♱*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The candlelight swayed as though it, too, felt the weight of the silence. The air in the room was thick with unspoken thoughts, the walls seeming to feel like they are closing or locking you in with every passing second. It was a silence that made your body quiver while your heart had thumped faster in your chest. The silence between you two that signaled something far darker than mere disagreement.

The evening in the town always seemed long, but tonight it felt dragged-out as with it, the shadows had deepened into dark pools at the corners of the room. The once tender warmth between you and Thomas had begun to feel like something colder, more dangerous. There was no longer the soft caress of his presence—no longer the calm of his hand reaching out to yours. The man standing before you now was a stranger, a creature of need, of desire, his once-gentle tone now edged with impatience.

“You speak of time,” Thomas said, his voice low, measured—almost like a growl. “You think that choice is a luxury, don’t you? As if we can buy or have all the time in the world. But time… time is fleeting. And you squander it, as if it will wait for us.” His gaze narrowed, his lips curling in a way that sent a chill down your spine.

You could feel the sting through his words that fell out of his mouth, all the while darkness from outside inching over more into the room like a fog. He took a step toward you, slow, deliberate, as though the very air was thick with the tension between you. The once warm, kind man was slipping away, replaced by something more urgent, something almost desperate.

“Why do you fear it so?” His words were almost a whisper now, though they hit you harder than any shout.

“Why do you fear the future we could have? The family we could build? Why do you fear something so... so natural?” He moved another step closer, his gaze locking with yours, unyielding, unblinking. “Is it the money that binds you? The lack of it, the chains of our circumstances? Or is it that you fear me? Fear what I could become? What we could become?”

You recoiled, not from him, but from the weight of his questions. You had known this moment would come. You had known it was inevitable—there could be no peace between two souls that might be different, so driven by separate desires.

“I fear nothing of you, Thomas,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I fear us. I fear the madness of rushing into things before the time is right. I fear bringing a child into a world we can’t even provide for. What would we offer them?” Your words trembled in the air, hanging between you like fragile glass. “What will we give them when we have so little?”

He moved again, his presence now engulfing you, suffocating the space between you. “We have everything,” he spat, his voice now sharper, more biting.

He adds, “We have the strength to build. The love to nurture. I have the strength to provide. To protect. And yet you look at me as though I were weak—as though my love, my intentions, are not enough for you. You will wait forever for the perfect moment. But there is no perfect moment. There is only now.”

He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, or that it was maybe the tension between the two of you that was obviously seen also in his posture with raw hunger in his eyes. “I will not wait,” he said, his words like a command. “I will not stand idle while time slips through my fingers. I will not be a man who regrets. You will be mine, and we will have a future. Even if I must drag you there.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, not from love but from a deep, creeping fear that now gripped you. You had not expected this side of him. Not like this.

“Thomas, this is madness,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of his presence. “We are not ready. Do you not see how foolish it is? How dangerous? I—”

“Dangerous?” His laugh was grating and dark. It was not a laugh based on amusement, but of something more terrible, something lowly foreshadowing like an omen. “You call love dangerous? You call life dangerous? I am offering you everything, and you call it madness? You wish to deny it all? You wish to deny me?”

He stepped closer again, until there was barely any space between you, his breath warm on your skin, the weight of his presence unbearable.

“You will have a child, and you will have it now or anytime soon… with me. I will not be refused,” he hissed, his tone low and chilling. “You will see, in time, how right I am. You will understand.”

A shudder ran all over and down to your body, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his words— more so threats— from the promise that lingered in the air between you. It was no longer a matter of love. It was a matter of control.

At first, rather the earliest of times that you were bonding with Thomas, seemed nothing wrong.

You convinced yourself that the house was warm, the bed was soft, and Thomas was well, you could say… attentive. Protective. Maybe too much so. But after everything, you tried to ease your thoughts and assure it by thinking it was just his way of caring. He provided for you, ensured you wanted for nothing.

You could say that it wasn’t really a prison if the doors were open, if the windows weren’t locked. It wasn’t control if he only wanted to keep you safe. Right?

But then, little by little things began to shift. The small, obvious details that eventually build up into something bigger than it was, or should be. Truthfully, time really has its way of revealing the truth.

The evident shift with his actions started with the way his grip lingered too long around your wrists. The fingers of his hand tightening just enough to remind you who had more of the strength between the two of you. Who had more power. The way his gaze, once filled with a captivating tone of longing, became something else—darker, heavier, like shackles you could not see but could feel tightening around your throat, wrists, and even ankles.

And don’t get started about the nights. The nights were the worst.

There were moments, just before sleep, when you felt his breath against your skin. But it was not with a hint of candied affection, rather it was like a reminder of possession. Moments when you awoke to find him watching you, unmoving. His eyes creepily gleaming under the dim candlelight of your shared room, his expression hard to decipher what might be filling in his thoughts.

And then came the threats amongst other nights. The first threat of the many more you didn’t know were coming.

Both of you were laying in bed. The quietness of the room contrasted to the endless thoughts that were spinning negatively around your mind. You tried to force yourself into complacency in the situation right now, acknowledging that making a scene wouldn’t help if you didn’t have any concrete plans. Yet as if Thomas had the power to read your thoughts, he simply interjects while you were close to zoning out,

"If you ever think about leaving this place… our place," he murmured. You could feel the mattress of the bed sink with his weight shifting, with him moving from laying on his back to the side facing where you slept. A finger of his trailed cooly and idly along your arm, "Just know… I would find you. No matter where you ran."

"Your existence belongs to me even if we may have not wed yet." The tone of his voice was soft past his lips but his words stung like venom. He says such phrases like he was cursing upon you,. "Where would you go? There is nothing for you beyond these walls—only cold, only hunger, only ruin."

"Why would you even say something like that, my love?" you asked, but in a tone that didn’t intend on fighting back. Your response leaned more towards trying to lighten up the atmosphere and tension. As if the very notion was absurd. As if your hands weren’t trembling nor as if you sucked in to bite down on the insides of your cheek to prevent your jaw from showing evident signs of agitation.

Thomas exhaled. The sound of it being like it was half amusement and half of whatever something else. But you assumed it was cold. His head tilted, eyes drinking you in with the slow indulgence of a predator toying with its prey.

"Do not insult me with such fragile deceptions, my dove,” he whispered. His fingers escalated past the skin of your arm and ghosted along your jaw, a caress at war with the iron beneath his touch. "I have seen the way your gaze lingers at the door, the windows. I know the weight of a mind that plots in secret. A bird does not glance at the sky unless it yearns to fly."

With the same hand toying around your skin, his thumb pressed down onto one side of your cheek while the other fingers on another side. It was just enough to remind you of his strength, that he could break you if he wished. Like a porcelain doll in the hands of something ancient and unmerciful.

"You think yourself devious, but your thoughts are glass to me. Every flicker of hesitation, every pause before you speak… I can see them all…"

It was honestly talented of him to have his words remain subtle, yet his intentions behind each word were far more sinister.. "And yet, you persist in this little charade."

"Tell me, dearest… do you truly believe you can outwit me?" Again, his voice, low and chilling that was filled with ridicule towards you.

You froze where you lay on your side of the bed. The weight of his words sank into your bones. Even with barely any hint of light in the dim room, his indistinct gaze bore into your skin, reading every flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. His fingers were lingering near your throat, playing with both your own body and thoughts almost as if he could feel your pulse rapidly increasing with each beat.

You could not tear your gaze away from his, though every part of you screamed to look away. This was a small yet defining moment where you almost and completely realized that he had you. And you knew it.

"No," you whispered, voice trembling, barely audible in the suffocating silence that stretched between you. The words felt foreign on your tongue, soaked with fear and submission. "I... I would never think or do such a thing like that."

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the chill of the air in the room seep past your body and straight into your very soul. There was no escape.

You tugged on the edge of the blankets tightly up and around your body as if to shield yourself from the fictitious dark energy that loomed in the room. Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it felt restless. Your dreams for that night were wildly taken over by some haunting nightmares. It was filled with wickedness and gloom that flashed within the corners of your mind waiting to terrify you like a figure creeping from behind.

Eventually the sun had to finally rise again and you woke up to the sound of the faint ticking of the clock, along with the light peeking through the small cracks in the curtains. You forced yourself from the bed, body feeling heavy alongside your very soul unwilling to rise. You went through the motions. You prepared food. You cleaned. You tried to speak to Thomas as if nothing had changed, as if his cruel words hadn’t dug into your mind and left their mark there, invisible to anyone but you.

You were still trapped within these walls. Wrapped around his grasp. And you wore a mask portraying an illusion of nonchalance, just to survive another day. But it honestly didn’t fool anyone other than yourself

By the time the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, a crushing weight settled upon your chest. Thomas was preparing to leave, his work for tonight had him assigned for the night shift. His presence began to fade from the house, but your heart ached with the hollowness of your own captivity.

Once he had gone, you found yourself retreating into the room that you shared with him, the one where you just had an argument from the night before. You closed the door behind to seal yourself away from the world. The emptiness echoed through the walls as the silence deafening, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness inside of you. It felt like your insides had twisted and left a bad feeling in your gut, a constant reminder that you were apparently being locked in a cage and could not escape.

Your body fell to your knees by the side of the bed. Your hands clutched the edge of the sheets, the fabric crumpled under your fist. Your breath hitched as you fought a sob clawing its way from your throat. You held it back for a moment, just long enough to whisper, as if there were anyone left to hear.

You intertwined both of your hands together, forming a prayer, “Please.”

Your voice started to tear down as it was filled with desperation. “Please, hear my plea. I can’t take this anymore. Save me… Please, save me…”

But it was impossible to expect something while knowing that your cries will be thrown into nothingness, into the void. Consequently, you weren’t entirely aware of the dangers that you were inviting, especially at these times of the night, with whatever wandering spirit there was. There was a faint whisper, like a cold breeze passing through. Something ancient and hungry seemed to respond to your plea, its presence barely noticeable at first, but growing.

Eventually you continued to weep harder, without a care that no one was there for you at your side to comfort you. They were for something else entirely—something that would come to claim you, whether you realized it or not. You had unwittingly opened a door that should have remained sealed.

But for now everything that centered around you was your utter desperation. You felt as if your chest was about to burst under the heavy weight of your own torment. It felt as though the world had sloped and you were falling into it, unable to grasp anything solid, not even your own faith. As you knelt there, hands trembling, your voice still calling out for help, the very walls around you seemed to pulse with something far darker—something that could never save you, only draw you further into the shadows.

You wouldn’t know it then, but this was the moment that would begin your unraveling. And as your tears fell.

The call had been answered. But not by the heavens you were so despairingly pleading to. Not by anything you could have ever imagined.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆｡ﾟ☆: ♱*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The darkness of the sky eventually became your only refuge

During the daylight, you tried to play the part of being the obedient wife. Merely drifting through the halls of the house that you didn’t feel you belong in anymore. Then you carried out the necessary duties as if there were no invisible shackles forcing you in.

But when nightfall came, you looked forward to your usual routine of salvation. When the house and the bedroom was filled with nothingness and your lover, Thomas, lay sleeping, you would slip from out and under the covers. Your feet fell flat and bare against the cold wooden floor first, and then you kneel before the window which was your only source of dim lighting. The moonlight shines through it. It became a ritual. A sacred act of defiance wrapped in the guise of prayer.

Your voice would waver, no more than something softer than a whisper. “Please…”

Between other nights, it was nothing more than that plea. It consisted of a single word that got lost within the beauty of the gloomy moonlight. But other nights, you weep to the heavens as if confident that someone, or something, might take pity on you. The more you prayed, the more fervent you became.

Of course to your foolishness, you never noticed the way the air in the room thickened. How the shadows crept deeper in the corners. You never noticed the way the walls enclosed further, as if it was breathing, as if something was listening. Something patient, something waiting.

And you never noticed the way a pair of blue eyes began to watch you. Thomas began to watch you.

At first, he said nothing. He would wake to find you on your knees, speaking softly to the heavens, and merely observe from the bed, his eyes unreadable in the dim candlelight. He was always watching, always waiting.

Then eventually one night, the bed was cold when you returned. The side of his bed was as empty as when you left yours.

A sharp chill ran down your spine. The room felt too wrong. Too silent, too still. Then a whisper, a shift in the atmosphere.

“You pray so sweetly, little one.”

Your breath caught. You turned, slowly, to find him standing in the doorway, barely visible in the darkness.

His gaze was unreadable, still dressed in the clothes he used for sleeping. There was something in the way he stood. Something rigid, something restrained and it all felt too terrible, leaving a wrench in your gut.

"Tell me,” he murmured, stepping closer, “who is it you call for so desperately?"

Your lips parted instinctively, but no words came out.

His fingers trailed along the edge of the table. Slow, deliberate, as he took another step forward. "Tell me, my dearest… What answer are you expecting? Who are you expecting?”

You swallowed hard. Your hands tremble at your sides as it falls on either side of your body. “I—”

"You do it every night.” His voice remained soft, yet there was an edge beneath it. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t hear?”

He was standing in front of you now near the edge of the bed. So close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He lifted one hand, brushing away a strand of hair from your face. It should have been a loving gesture. It was not.

"You kneel there by the window,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, "and you beg. You plead. For what? For mercy?" His fingers trailed down your jaw, pausing at your throat. "For deliverance?"

You shuddered beneath his touch, your breath shaky. "I—"

He lets out a low simulated chuckle. "You pray to something that does not answer you, and yet you ignore the only thing that holds you in its hands."

His grip tightened. But terrifyingly it was not enough to hurt, not yet, but enough to remind you. Enough to make your heart thump faster and pulse around that area pound beneath his touch.

"Enough of this, my love,” he spat. “You insult me. After all I have given you."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips softly grazing against the skin of your ear. "If you run, I will find you. I will drag you back by your pretty little throat and remind you why you should never have tried."

Slowly he pulls back a little with a cruel smile, one that did not reach his eyes. The tone of his voice remains the same, "You could throw yourself into the ocean, and I would still retrieve you from its depths. You could beg the wind to carry you far away, and I would tear it apart with my bare hands."

Your knees nearly quivered.

"I would burn this house to the ground before I let you walk away. You, and everything in it…” Again, his fingers found a way and tightened ever so slightly around your throat, not enough to choke, but enough to remind you of his strength, his control.

His eyes filled with darkness were unfathomable. He held you captive, drinking in the flickers of fear you could not hide. He tilted his head, studying you with a cruel, measured patience, as if savoring the weight of his next words before letting them fall like a death knell.

"...If I can’t have you, then no one will. Not even the earth to bury you in."

There was a pause that stretched between the two of you. The silence weaved with it had suffocated you aside from the weight of his hands. Then, Thomas sighed with a slow, measured breath. One that sent an unspoken warning through the stale air. His grip on you slackened, just slightly enough for you to breathe again. But you knew better than to think it was mercy.

“You still don’t understand it. Why don’t you?” His voice was quieter. The sharp edge of rage tempered into something even worse—certainty. “I don’t make threats, dove. I tell you what is.”

His hands were rough as they cupped your face. The calloused palms scraped against your skin and the way he held you was almost… gentle. Like a man admiring something fragile. Something he had no intention of breaking—not yet.

“You’re mine,” he said, as if the words alone could bind you in chains. “You always have been. And soon, there won’t be any question left of it.”

The pit in your stomach churned violently. The dread crawling up your throat like bile that you want to vomit out. You knew what was coming before he even spoke of it. He had already spoken about it before. But now… now it wasn’t just a suggestion.

His thumbs traced along your cheekbones, down to your lips, pressing there for a moment before he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin.

"You will carry my child," he murmured in between kisses. His voice as sure as the walls around you, as unyielding as the locked door you knew you had no key for. He pulls back with a breath, "And then, maybe… maybe you’ll finally stop pretending there’s a way out of this."

Your breath hitched as one of his hands drifted lower past your nightgown. It stops to settle over your stomach. The tips of his fingers pressed there, not cruelly, not harshly, but with intent. Possessive. As if there already was life he spoke of existing beneath his the area of where he touched.

"There will be no running," he continued, his voice still calm. Terrifying in its conviction. "No more foolish prayers to a god who’s long since stopped listening. No more pretending you have a choice."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, to imbibe in the terror you couldn’t hide. And then he smiled, a small, almost satisfied smile before leaning forward and securing to pin you down to the bed. “Shh,” he hushes against your soft skin.

Your arms at first try to push him away, palms pushing against his chest. However, your size was considerably in contrast with Thomas. His figure was huge and you were no match with his mass alone. And so you tried to stretch out your arms in hopes of reaching for anything, any object that you could use in defense.

The weight in the bed shifts as Thomas tries to position himself better above you. So that he could pin you down better to his advantage. With one hand, he flawlessly gets to put weight around both your wrists, successfully further trapping you underneath him as he continues to indulge between your kisses.

“Don’t be so obstinate, my love,” he says while using his other hand to scrunch up a segment of your nightgown under his fist so that he could steadily lift it up while still forcing you down. “You will be alright. I’ll take good care of you. I- I won’t hurt you.”

An impatient hand of his slips under your clothing that makes you pull your knees back and try to use your feet to kick against him. But you are further pushed down onto the bed in opposition to you trying to get away.

You feel one of his fingers tug against the fabric underneath, slipping past in order to access the skin of your cunt. He brazenly toys with each layer, indulging and acknowledging the growing wetness that made the cheeks of your face flush in embarrassment. Embarrassed that your body was reacting this way so which for sure Thomas would impose on.

Your lower back slightly arches at his cold touch. The tips of his finger finding its way inside, slowly and teasingly which as essentially a torture. But he doesn’t continue all the way, which you would rather prefer as it could just end already.

No. He makes sure to do it in a devious way. He plays with you so gently, making sure to soak the entire face of your cunt covered in your own wetness. Dragging along the fingers that he used to push inside and outside, he glazes over your clit as well which sends shivers across your body.

As he continues to be curious about exploring your lower body, you try to push your thighs together with the goal to cease his attempt on making events escalate into something more. But you were unsuccessful and this measure that you did had honestly provoked Thomas into advancing more.

He continues. Your strength was no match against him. You couldn’t prevent him from doing what he wants. He was so certain of what he wanted.

“T-Thomas,” you trembled underneath his touch. You look up directly to meet his eyes, “Please, no.”

It was no use and you weren’t sure if the man feeds onto everything in contradiction of what you’re crying out. As you were too distracted from all the worries that you were giving out to him, you had not realized how fast he had undone your clothes and that your flesh was left nothing but your thin gown.

Your skin was bare and completely naked underneath, and it didn’t help that it was scrunched up to reveal and expose your entirety for Thomas. Your body shakes intensely due to the coldness of the night and the darkness that came from him. It was not the same man you fell in love with at first. How did such completely change over the course of time?

Or were you just foolish enough to not see it from the start?

“I’ll make love to you all night, my dove,” he moans as he tries to undo his own clothes. His grip loosened for a short moment but you were so shocked that it left you paralyzed. He continues, “Let me carve my claim into your very blood...”

"...You will swell with my child.” He says but for you it comes off more as an intimidation. “Proof of what we are, what you cannot run from. I will make certain of it. You will carry me within you, bound by flesh and fate alike."

While you try to deny everything and shake, enough to show contest but not enough to force him away, he continues. And within the next moment Thomas gets in between the insides of your thighs, positioning himself before sinking deep and slowly into you. He lets out a deep groan, almost animalistic.

Then he continues to thrust, heavily jerking his hips while your mind fights to stay focused on what you were really feeling. It wasn’t the first time you had shared a moment like this, like any other couple would. But this time was different. There was a strong desire and immorality behind the intent.

As he spreads your legs apart to welcome himself in between your cunt, Thomas leans his body further forward. He buries his face in the crook of your neck. His weight further trapping you down as he drinks in the pleasure of fucking you senseless. “Need not resist, my love,” he murmurs, "I-I won’t harm you. I’ll… tend to you, cherish you, as only I know how."

The moment was an act of deep intimacy, entangled deep within the darkness of the room and night. It screamed and whispered both salvation and ruin. The warmth of his words was suffocating with promises that should have been comforting but instead invoked fear.

The closeness was only something you have seen and gotten from Thomas. He was right for that as you have never known it from anywhere in the cruel world.

Eventually his movements became unkempt and his rhythm was nowhere near steady. He threw his head back, the skin of his face covered in sweat as his hand trembled and lost within the sheets of the bed. He lets out a louder groan, and you knew from then how your fate would be sealed.

The intimacy shared was both tether and binding, suffocating and consuming. You couldn’t help but think this was another level of closeness shared with Thomas, the closest your souls have ever been.

Then his hands hurriedly find a way to snake and pin you down from your stomach. He grips on your body firmly with each thrust he does deliberately. With each of his last few thrusts, his moans were loud as the pleasure mixed with greed while steadily filling your bare cunt with his own seed.

He breathes our raggedly, "I won’t hurt you, darling. But I will care for you, in ways that will bind you to me forever."

“I adore you.”

i discovered i love writing gothic settings. the dialogues were immaculate and i hope u guys enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing! fell free to send in prompts of dark thomas or leave feedback :)

#thomas hutter #thomas hutter imagine #thomas hutter smut #thomas hutter x you #thomas hutter x y/n #thomas hutter x reader #nosferatu 2024 smut #dark thomas hutter #dark!thomas hutter #dark thomas hutter smut #dark thomas hutter x reader #thomas hutter/reader #nosferatu 2024 imagine #nosferatu 2024 #thomas hutter fanfic #thomas shutter fanfiction #dark!thomas hutter smut #dark!thomas hutter imagine #dark thomas hutter/reader

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geeeemmmmmmm · 2 months ago

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"beauty sleep"

A/N:This isn't "Maybe I do know" I know so don't worry I will continue it soon aha! I don't often see college AU's anymore so I wanted to try:) I did write this on like 3 hours of sleep and I wanted to post at least something for you guys so please don't have your hopes up on how good this will be. As always sorry for any mistakes and enjoy:)

Summary:!College AU! Bucky x reader

Your woken up by a rare sight - Bucky's sick so you obviously have to take care of your boyfriend:)

WC:1.9K

Warnings:Good ol sick fic:) just fluff, like 2 swear words

You weren't woken up like you usually were, which was the soft whispers of Bucky trying to stir you awake while he grazed the back of his hand ever so gently on your cheekbone, smiling softly as he watched your eyes flutter open trying to adjust to the light. No - It was something else, something that rarely happened to Bucky. He was sick, soft sniffles were muffled by his pillow and you could slightly hear him mouth breathing, you peered over to the alarm clock on your bedside table 8:55AM luckily you didn't have any classes today but Bucky had a game today. You didn't think it was a big one but with Bucky being the star pitcher his team made it seem like the world would end if he missed a game. With a sigh you gently tried to nudge your boyfriend awake "Buck, C'mon we gotta see how sick you are" but he stayed sound asleep boy he must be really sick you thought while nudging him again just slightly harder finally jolting him awake "Mm go back to bed doll m'tired" a barely understandable sentence came from him as he didn't lift his head up but somehow his hands managed to pull you onto your back again. "Bucky you have to get up, what about your game today?" you cooed, rubbing his back gently as you spoke "I'll be ready just let me sleep it off" - a sentence you both knew was a lie. Bucky doesn't get sick much but when he won't get up, it's a clear indicator he's about to be very ill. "Can you stay though, It will help me sleep" he mumbled with a slightly brazen tone as you just shook your head trying not to laugh about how clingy Bucky was already and how amplified it gets when he's sick, but you complied and cuddled up in his side waiting for him to wrap his arms around you and fall back to sleep. You stayed quiet just enjoying your time in your boyfriend's embrace planning to let him fall back into his "hibernation" and go make him some nice soup once he's asleep. You hated seeing Bucky sick, not because you didn't like taking care of him and how clingy he got- you loved that aspect, it's just you hate seeing him so sick.

9:30AM you were certain Bucky was asleep again as you could hear little snores being emitted from him so you slipped out of his grasp making sure he didn't wake up at the loss of you in his grip, you wanted to cry seeing him stir from where you had been laying, his body always wanting you even in an unconscious but he stayed asleep. You tiptoed your way into the kitchen, searching for ingredients and the recipe Bucky's mother gave you for her special chicken soup, the one Bucky has had since he was a child when he got sick. It was hell cooking without some music playing but you braved it out with the thought of not wanting to wake Bucky up. Your morning routine was messed up already so you snuck into the bathroom, quickly brushing your teeth and putting on a weak perfume you had left lying around. Hoping you didn't wake Bucky, sure enough he was sound asleep so you went back into the kitchen to finish off the meal. After only a little trial and error (and some taste testing) the soup was complete! It smelt like heaven as you poured some into a bowl from the pot after some finishing touches of getting some toast to go with it you tiptoed back into the bedroom, bowl in hand immediately letting a grin light up your face on how adorable he looked cuddled up on your pillow, of course he somehow found a way to be close to you. Carefully placing the bowl on the bedside table you nestled back onto your side of the bed and laid back down "Bucky you have to wake up baby" you whispered gently "Buckyyyy" you playfully whined seeing him slowly wake up "I'm here, I'm here" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes - still sniffling.

"I thought this might help" you said back to him as you reached over for the bowl and toast "Baby when did you do this? You didn't have to" he questioned "I'm sorry I had to leave you while you were asleep but I wanted to make you feel better. I can tell your sick" you replied softly handing him the bowl as he Bucky hastily reached out for it "Don't leave me" he teased putting on a very fake sad face "I won't, don't worry just eat" the moment you said that he acted like he was starving and downed the soup and chomped down the toast in what felt like a couple seconds then proceeded to set the bowl down on the bed in-between you two. "So.. how do you feel?" you asked reaching out to cup his face in your hands "I'll be ok for the game, It's only a runny nose, a headache and sore throat basically nothing" he hummed back in reply resting his head in your hands "Yea basically nothing" you laughed after hearing him hold back a cough "Yep nothing!" he exclaimed sitting up all proud but that moment was short lived as the cough he held in burst out suddenly. "I stand corrected" you mocked grabbing a tissue and handing it to him "Thanks sugar" he teased after graciously taking the tissue from your hand and wiping his nose, chucking the tissue into the bin after doing so.

"C'mere Barnesy boy" gesturing to your chest as you sat against the hardwood headboard slightly lying down so he could lie on you "If you say so" he replied softly, your name coming from his lips with such love. His head was positioned just under your chin as he laid tucked into your side, resting all his weight on you. You loved being held by Bucky and feeling safe in his embrace but in that you also loved being able to hold and comfort your boyfriend knowing he feels so safe to relax in your hold. Time flew by as you fell asleep while absentmindedly running your fingers through his silky short hair admiring him as he fell asleep the moment your fingers touched his hair. 12:40PM. You stirred just a little, jolting yourself awake upon feeling Bucky's soft breaths and sniffles against your collarbone.

His game was at 3PM but you knew he and his team liked to be there around 2 hours early for whatever "rituals" they did before games. A groan escaped your mouth as you peered over to your clock "shit, I have to text Steve" you mumbled while resting one hand in Bucky's hair and stretching your other slightly to grasp onto your phone but you had to double check to see if he had somehow miraculously recovered but highly doubting it "Buck..?" you prodded the back of his neck but nothing. "Bucky you just have to wake up for a second" you said prodding his spine just a little harder but yet again nothing, one last attempt before just telling Steve that he’s out sick for this game "Bucky, bloody hell wake up" you told him - finally he started to wake up "What? what's wrong" he said hurriedly trying to hide how sleep and sickness still laced on his voice trying to hold his head up to look you eye to eye. "Your games soon but, look at yourself, are you really well enough?" "Yes, yes I'll be fine! I have to get ready" he replied, trying to get up from your side. Loyalty was a blessing and a curse for him. Bucky would do anything for you or anyone/anything he loved, but that means giving his everything even when he's in states like this.

You watched as he almost fell over himself stumbling over to the bathroom so you rose out of bed to make sure he's ok and sure enough he almost fainted as you padded over behind him. Thank god your arms reached out to hug him because he cascaded down into your arms, it was a miracle you didn't tumble down with him. "Sorry doll, had a misstep" he told you trying to pretend he didn't go down like a sack of potatoes in your arms. He kissed your cheek, smiled and begun to walk to the sink again but that wasn't cutting it for you so you clung to him like a koala, standing on your toes to rest your head on his shoulders watching as he washed his face off with some water. Something caught your eye as you stepped back from him, going over to investigate a peculiar shadow you saw in your room. Bucky called out your name the moment you left the room "Sorry babe, thought I saw something" you wandered back into the bathroom, just not fast enough as you saw Bucky almost fall down again as he grasped the counter for dear life "Please stay home, just this once Buck. You're clearly not right for tonight" you pleaded, helping him back up as he turned around in your arms trying to look down at you. "I have to play though. The team will be pissed at me, you know me I never miss a game" he said, trying to not break down at the sight of the puppy dog eyes you put on "It's one game, I'm sure they'll understand. Your team knows how much effort you put in" you tried to reason to him. "But-" you cut him off quickly "But what, you guys have had a winning streak recently and you know Sam is happy to be a sub, plus isn't this an easy team to beat?"

"Fine, I'm sorry for stressing you out" he apologised pulling you into his chest trying to inhale the sweet perfume you put on earlier in the day - sadly his nose was both runny and blocked so he gave up, not wanting to put snot in your hair. "Let's get you to bed m'kay" you whispered feeling how Bucky was one blink away from falling asleep like a horse as he held you. Only a barely audible hum of agreement came from him as he let you guide both of you back into bed. Yet again your very clingy boyfriend climbed back into bed with you and made himself very cozy on your chest. "I'm gonna watch a couple movies" you told him while peppering his head with soft little kisses, feeling him smile against your chest from your kisses. It was a perfect set up, your laptop playing a movie you've always wanted to watch but haven't had time to watch and your boyfriend resting all his weight on you, it was only slightly suffocating but you wouldn't want it another way.

A couple hours later you managed to cram 2 movies in as Bucky snored softly against you, still sniffling. Your phone vibrated, quickly you glanced at it not wanting to wake a very sleepy Bucky resting on you

Game went great! Won 6-2!!! Hope Bucky feels better soon:)

You smiled softly at the text from Sam, you'd tell Bucky when he woke because you didn't want to interrupt his "beauty sleep" setting your phone back down, you closed your laptop (after logging the movies on letterboxd) an urge to nap started to entice you, so you settled your head in Bucky’s hair and began to draw patterns on his back ready for a short sleep to pull you in.

A/N:I'm not in America so I don't know anything about baseball so please correct me if I have made a big mistake. I have had barely any motivation to write oh my lordddd

#x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #geeeemmmmmmm #bucky barnes x female reader #fluff #james bucky barnes

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cyn-write · 2 years ago

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"I Feel Her, I See Her"

Summary: Rollo has been eyeing you since your arrival, seeing you as the diamond amongst coals. At the Ball, he corners you into a dance, but your BF is not going to let this slide...

Pairings: Riddle, Deuce, Ruggie, and Jamil x F!Reader (Separately)

For Idia, Azul, and Malleus, check out Part 1!

For Rollo, Check out "Heaven's Light"!

Warnings: Possessive behavior, suggestive, manipulation and obsession (Rollo), established relationships, Secretive relationship implied on Riddle's part, swearing in Deuce's part, Jamil refers to readers Rohi (Arabic for "my soulmate"), romantic ~

Note: Thank you to everyone who enjoyed section 1 ("She Blazes Me")! The idea for this came while playing Glorious Masquerade, and I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I have writing it!

Prologue

"Who might you be miss?"

Y/n gave a kind smile and nodded her head in greeting "I'm y/n, it's nice to meet you," she stayed next to Trein as she was there as his assistant.

"Yuu is our magicless perfect of Ramshackle. She will be working as my assistant throughout the trip," Trein added.

She felt Rollo's eyes scan her and, unlike his greetings to the rest, he held out a hand. Being poilet, she offered her hand as well, and he lifted it to his lips, grazing her knuckles quickly. "It is a pleasure to meet you, y/n. I understand it must be difficult, being surrounded by mages every second of the day. I hope you get a chance to relax this trip."

Y/n blushed at the motion and bit her lower lip. All the while, she could feel her boyfriend glaring daggers into her and Rollo.

"I-I'll do my best..." Y/n replied.

Throughout the entire trip, Rollo seemed to gravitate towards y/n and used every excuse to isolate her from the group. They chatted about her difficulties at NRC and of the festival. Due to her being Trein's assistant and the constant reminders to behave, she and her boyfriend had little time together.

This all accumulated at the Masquerade. Rollo had given Y/n a proper dress for the occasion instead of the attire his counsel had chosen. The (color) fabric decadently adorned your figure and stunned the NRC boys with its beauty. But before her boyfriend could ask for a dance, Rollo stole y/n away. He whisked her to the dance floor, and they started chatting.

At this point, Y/N's boyfriend has had enough of the student counsel president, but what sent him over the edge is when he takes you to the balcony and dare suggest the worst:

"Y/n, stay here with me." Y/n turned quickly on her heels to Rollo in confusion, "The fools at NRC do not deserve your purity. You belong here. with me." He has her pinned against the balcony, "This is your sanctuary."

Y/n pushed Rollo away slightly and spoke up, "Thank you for the offer, but I have not intention of leaving NRC. It is difficult at times but I wouldn't have it any other way. Now if you excuse me, I want to go back to the ball."

Rollo grabbed y/n's wrist and pulled her against him. "It's because of him, isn't it? He has bewitched you!" He pinned her between the balcony wall and him. "Those fiends have enchanted you, but I will free you from those chains and show you salvation! No matter the cost!"

Riddle Roseheart

Riddle had been watching the scene through a crack in the door. He felt his blood run cold at the mention of her leaving NRC. He knew it was a possibility, and for a second he thought she would be better off at NB. Then Rollo dared lay a hand on his rose.

His blood went from frigid to boiling.

Riddle slammed the doors open, causing them to clang against the walls. Rollo spun on his heels to see who dared to disturb him and the perfect.

"Roseheart. What are you doing-"

"Don't play daft with me. I saw everything." Riddle went straight to y/n and, with all his strength, physically removed Rollo's hand from her wrist, placing himself between Rollo and his rose. "You call yourself a gentleman, taking advantage of a lady and forcing yourself upon her! You have failed as a Host, as a Gentleman. And you dare threaten MY Rose." Riddle raised his pen in preparation to cast his signature spell, "I will have your head for this-"

He felt the hands of his rose on his back, a reminder to bring him back to reality. Riddle lowered his pen and took a deep breath. He was not the man he once was. He could control his temper.

"Y/n, let's go." He took her hand and guided her away from the cursed balcony. He never let y/n out of his sight for a single second. He ignored the mutters of the Student Counsel President and put all his focus on her.

He led her into a hidden part of the ballroom. Once safely away from the prying eyes of the crowd, he delicately checked her for bruising. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you anywhere?"

He gently caressed her face as she silently shook her head. He pulled her into a gentle embrace and whispered, "It's okay, I got you... he can't hurt you."

He felt y/n tighten the hug and he reciprocated. "Thank you for stepping in... I was so scared."

"I'm so sorry I didn't see it sooner. I should have been more assertive or-r told him off. I-I could have-"

"Riddle." Y/n leaned back and placed her hands on either side of his face, "There isn't anything else you could have done. Rollo is the one at fault, not you."

"But if I held you, or was more showing with our relationship, maybe he would have been fended off from pursuing you-"

"Riddle, I know you're not a fan of PDA. You are a little more reserved when it comes to PDA, but you show your love in other ways." Y/n caressed Riddle's cheek as she spoke, "You're chivalrous and I love that about you."

Riddle blushed as his rose complimented him, "Thank you rose, but I think... I think I am ready to be more forward, I want everyone to know that you are mine and I am yours." He leaned in and gave her a passionate kiss. He moved his hand to the back of her head and held her close to him.

After a minute, they parted and he could tell the pleasant surprise on the perfect's face. The music swelled and he heard faint voices call his and y/n's name.

"We are being summoned," Riddle peaked out of their hiding spot and gave himself a moment to compose himself. He turned to his rose and fixed his coat, "I am a man of his word," Riddle held out his gloved hand and took the stance of the knights of old, "Shall we dance, my rose?"

Deuce Spade

"What do ya think you're doin'." Deuce's voice was cold. A tone he hasn't used since his delinquent days.

Rollo turned and saw Duece holding out his magic pen to the third year as if it were a rapier pointed at his chest. His eyes were no longer that sparkling blue, but frigid cold as he glared daggers into this predator.

Y/n's look of pure fear fueled Duece's rage, as he held himself together by the seams.

"We are simply having a conversation," Rollo still had a grip on y/n's wrist and brushed off the boy, "Now if you excuse us, we have more things to-"

"No." Deuce said simply and approached carefully. Deuce may not be the brightest, but he knew when his girlfriend was uncomfortable, and this man made her very uncomfortable. "Y/n, let's go."

Y/n tried to move towards Deuce, but Rollo yanked her back. "Are you really going to let him order you around?"

"Please let-" "LET HER GO YOU BASTARD!" Deuce interrupted. His pen aided his fist as he punched Rollo right in the jaw. The Student Council President wretched back and released his grip on the perfect. She darted for Duece's arms. He enveloped her in his arms. Before he could even ask her if she was okay, he saw Rollo regain his composure so he moved her behind him.

He faced Rollo who was enraged. That filth punched him. The Host. "How dare you. Your professor will hear of this-"

"You won't say a word." All three turned to see Riddle. He saw everything. "If you don't want to be reported for harassment of the only female student from NRC, then you will say nothing."

Rollo's impenetrable expression had a hint of fear in it. Riddle approached the preditor, passing the couple. He briefly paused next to Deuce and said in a low tone, "Get her out. I'll take care of this."

Deuce was still filled with rage at Rollo, but he saw how shaken his dearest was. He nodded to his housewarden with a whisper of thanks, then whisked y/n away from the scene.

As they walked out of the balcony, he kept his arm around y/n's shoulder. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as his rage turned to worry for his dear perfect. He blamed himself for what happened. If he had paid more attention to you and how Rollo interacted with her, he may have subverted this. Once they were in the hall between the balcony and the ballroom, he pulled her aside to a hidden bench. The two sat and Deuce just held y/n close as the situation washed over the both of them.

Deuce felt his eyes water as he quietly said "I'm sorry." He patted her hair and pulled her into his chest "I'm so sorry I wasn't there, If I was then I could have stopped him or protected you or-"

Y/n cut off his ramblings with a kiss. A light yet purposeful kiss that he melted into. He cupped her face and leaned into it. When she parted from his lips, she placed her hands on either side of his face.

"Deuce, you saved me. I-I am not sure what would have happened if... if you hadn't come by I am not sure what would've happened." Her eyes started to well again, "You were my knight... you are my knight in shining armor. So stop beating yourself up. Rollo is at fault, not you."

He placed a hand on top of hers. "He was right about one thing though," he leaned his head into her hand and lightly kissed it. "I don't deserve you. You do so much and get no recognition, and I have been part of that."

Deuce sits up straighter and takes both of the perfect's hands in his. He moves off the bench to kneel in front of her, mirroring the knights of old kneeling before their love. "I know I can be dense at times and my old self may creep out, but I promise you, I will work ten times harder to become a knight worthy of standing beside you. You bring out the best in me and I want you to know how much you mean to me." Following his gut he took a deep breath, "I will start right now."

With the moon illuminating him, he stood, removed his hat to place it above his heart, and held out a hand, "y/n, may I have this dance?"

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie never trusted Rollo. From the moment he smelled the man he knew he couldn't be trusted. What was worse was that Rollo seemed to glue himself to her and that made Ruggie's skin crawl, but due to Trein and Grim dragging you from place to place he couldn't keep you by his side. Now you were missing. Rollo stole y/n away from the ball and he couldn't find her anywhere. He would have never found her if it weren't for her signature scent cutting through the plethora of perfumes.

He followed her scent to the balcony just outside the ballroom and saw his worst nightmare. Rollo had you pinned to the balcony and was leaning way to close for comfort. He heard Rollo's shpeal and felt his fur stand on its ends. He knew his girl would tell off the bastard, but when he wouldn't listen, Ruggie stepped in.

"The lady said she wanted to dance," Ruggie stepped out from behind the door and walked over to y/n, "I thought you righteous types would be more gentlemanly." Ruggie slipped his hand around y/n's arm and pulled her towards him.

"Bucchi." Rollo gripped his neckerchief and raised it to his mouth to cover his scowl. "Y/n and I were just having a conversation."

"Really? What were ya talking about?" Ruggie played dumb as he snaked his arm around his beloved's waist, holding her close.

Rollo glared at Ruggie, but this only made his smile grow and move behind y/n to hug her from behind, nestling his head into the crook of her neck. He could feel her heartbeat racing as she leaned into his hug, placing her arms above his on her waist.

"Nothing of your concern..." Rollo's face screwed at the sight.

"Really, 'cause you were getting real close to her, and she looked real uncomfortable," Ruggie said and his grin morphed into a frown, "And I don't like it when people talk to my girlfriend like that."

He seemed to halt his breath for a moment, and then Rollo glared at Ruggie in disdain. "I was merely offering her an opportunity to be actually appreciated by her community, rather than taken advantage of."

"Well. Offer declined." Ruggie said coldly then held his girlfriend's hand and looked at her with warmth, "Why don't we go have that dance, princess? I think Prechy needs a moment to process things."

Y/n looked at Ruggie with small relief, "Yes, please." She then whispered a silent thank you.

Y/n looked at Ruggie with her e/c eyes that sparkled like gems. He couldn't help himself as he kissed her softly before he led her away from the gawking Rollo.

As they re-entered the ballroom, Ruggie never let go of y/n's hand. He felt his animal instincts still singing in his gut as his desire to protect his lover and make sure everyone knew she was taken still driver his emotion. He held y/n incredibly close as they danced. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled at her.

"Sorry for speaking for you. I didn't mean to, I just got all riled up and-"

Y/n pressed another kiss to his lips. One that was a lot more passionate than the one he gave her before. When she broke the kiss, it was Ruggie who was left breathless.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," She said, "I should be the one thanking you. You swooped in like a knight and rescued me from Rollo. I honestly have no idea what would have happened if you didn't come when you did..." He could see her mind wander to the worst, so he, being her knight in shining armor, spun her around and dipped her to the music. His sudden movements caused her smile to find its place again on her face.

Bringing her back up, he held her tight as he said, "I will always be there for you. It's a knight's job to protect his princess after all." This caused y/n to blush furiously and his heart to race. She looked ethereal in the candlelight of the ballroom.

Hearing the music change tones, he danced over to the side and whispered, "Ya know, it is a knight's job to take care of his princess, so how about I go show you my devotion? shishishishi~"

Jamil Viper

Life had taken much away from him, but he was not going to let this creep take his girlfriend.

"It's fascinating to see what brings out the true intentions of people." Jamil broke the villain's soliloquy with his cold voice.

He could see the relief on y/n's face as he appeared from behind the door. He had been listening in this entire time. He never let his Rohi out of his sight from the moment she entered the ballroom in that magnificent f/c dress to when Rollo stole her away.

"Viper, what are you doing out here?" Rollo asked, standing in front of y/n as if to hide her from him.

"Looking for y/n, I promised her a dance. But it seems I came here just in time," Jamil approached the two and held out his hand to y/n. Getting the signal, y/n started towards Jamil but was stopped by Rollo's arm, outstretched to halt her.

"Y/n and I are still discussing a delicate matter. We will return to the ballroom in a moment." Rollo started to turn towards y/n when Jamil placed a firm hand on Rollo's arm.

"She has made it clear she is done talking to you. I suggest you leave her be before I make you." Jamil looked to Y/n and made way for her to escape Rollo's grip as he turned his attention to Jamil.

Y/n quickly scurried to Jamil's side and he stepped in front of her as Rollo glared at the two of them. Jamil laid his hand on his magic pen as Rollo assessed him.

Seeing the situation and wanting to save face, Rollo looked to y/n and said, "I hope you consider my offer. We will discuss this later."

Rollo took his leave, regaining his composure before returning to the ball, leaving Jamil and y/n on the beautiful balcony overlooking the city.

With Rollo gone, Jamil turned his attention to his Rohi. His expression turned from threatening to worrying as he embraced his dearest, feeling her trembling from the endeavor she just experienced.

"I'm so glad you're okay," he whispered into her ear. He caressed her hair and did his best to comfort her.

"I was so scared, Jamil. He wouldn't let me go... he-he-" She couldn't get the words out and Jamil just held her for a long time. He let her cry into his shoulder as he whispered reassurance to her.

"It's okay Rohi, I'm here. No one will hurt you." he said, "I won't let anyone hurt you, never again."

After a while he pulled back and whipped away her tears with his gloved hands. He kissed her forehead and then leaned his own against hers. "Rohi, if anyone makes you feel like this again, please tell me and I will protect you." He cups her cheeks and caresses them with his thumb, "I will always protect you, no matter what. I love you y/n."

He kissed her with all the love he had. The music swelled and he heard some of the others calling their names.

Y/n must have heard this too as she turned her head towards the door. "We don't have to go back in if you don't want to," Jamil said softly.

Y/n shook her head and took a deep breath, "I think we should attempt to salvage the evening, it's not every day we get to attend a ball without you worrying about Kalim."

Jamil smiled softly and kissed his beloved's forehead, "As you wish."

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Note: Please Like, Reblog, and Follow for more! If you are interested in seeing an NSFW part 2 or want to see more characters in this scenario, please let me know! (Do not Steal)

Also if you get the "Princess Bride" Reference let me know :)

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