#it is very much a dark fantasy au

[alteredphoenix]

Notes on The Mountain Wakes: A Brief Rundown on Technology and Its Influences

It's been quite a while since I last updated The Mountain Wakes, but I always remember how I looked at games such as Dark Souls 2, Morrowind, and They Are Billions (ironic, because I'm not really into zombie apocalypse media anymore like I used to be over a decade ago, and my PC at the time could barely run it) for inspiration to form the basis of the Bad Ending AU the fic takes place in. (You can clearly tell I'm a Morrowind fangirl because Autozam, Chizeta, and Fahren move in on Cephiro and put their stakes down the moment the Paths open without any conflict from Zagato and Emeraude whatsoever - not because it happens out of conquest, but because they're so immersed in their love for each other they ignore the problems going on Cephiro a'la fuck the world we don't care what happens to it so long as we have each other, it's not our problem anymore).

I would say the technological advancements, in the three year span that takes place after Chapter 1, would be much more developed than the steampunk Tesla Tech aesthetics seen in They Are Billions. With the arrival of the three realms, Cephiro goes from a very pastoral fantasy world with hints of old magitech (via the Saturn game) to a hard, cyberpunk theme that's part of an industrial revolution that's very much enforced.

Of the three Fahren very much leans into said cyberpunk aesthetic but is more or less inspired by the Japanese subgenre with Chinese/Asian influences and the splash of tech noir and that retro 1980s vibe that's often idealized (i.e. Chapter 2's first scene takes place as a train station terminal with payphone booths, something that IRL - at least in the States - barely in use anymore with the rise of mobile phones).

Autozam takes this a step further by being postmodern as well as nanopunk/biopunk (or trying to going in that direction in a bid to co-opt Fahren technology and repurpose it to eliminate Autozam's pollution and ecological disasters). It's about as futuristic as you can get, with their mechs and architectural approaches, so in comparison to Cephiro it's going to stick out a lot.

Chizeta would be something akin to solarpunk (to relieve the issue of overpopulation) while recognizing they are very much in the camp of technofantasy (because they don't explain their magic by applying science to it). However, there is an undercurrent of Cold War/cloak and dagger element going on that undermines Tarta and Tatra's attempts at establishing a colony for their people (read: hold onto control via authoritarian means that affect the population not in line with their cause/beliefs).

I had plans for Debonair and Nova to show up (albeit under different circumstances), but as I didn't get very far in the brainstorming phase at the time they currently don't amount to much in the plot beyond Nova being a boss fight for Umi to overcome. I like to think they'd be their own faction and sowing chaos in the background because everyone re: the three realms is too busy trying to get their upper hand over each other in the attempt to be the one to overthrow Zagato and Emeraude to become the Pillar and the people of Cephiro are too doompilled to fight back (and if they are fighting, it's against each other). They would be in the camp of pure magic and taking advantage of all the technology lying around for their own purposes while manipulating people's emotions a'la the Will of Cephiro to focus on perpetuating all the in-fighting.

[kukurubean]

do you love me yet? #studio_placious

[plusultraetc]

why does this keep happening

[south-sea]

(a drabble where i cry about the tragedy of mephiles)

~400 words

-

Solaris loved them.

At first, there were few. They would dance and sing and smile in the company of a small fire they had built, and Solaris would watch from behind the embers. These humans looked so big from down here. They were fascinating, endearing, inspiring, and Solaris found comfort in them.

Few became many. They cheered and told stories and passed down those stories to even tinier humans, and Solaris would watch from the fireplaces warming their dens. These humans looked so happy from back here. They knew each and every one of their names, and Solaris would greet each new name with a sunny day.

Many became incomprehensible. They built their towers and their altars and had their festivals, and Solaris would watch from behind a burning sun. These humans looked so small from up here. They were precious, fleeting things, and Solaris loved them.

These tiny, precious, fleeting things did not need to be told they were there. They knew. They knew. And they loved them for it.

When Solaris sang, the people knew. They felt it in the tender cradle of a sunset whose warmth would linger just a few minutes longer than it would anywhere else. When Solaris sang, the cold seas would warm and calm. When Solaris sang, the shadows and terrors of night would shrink back away from scared children in their beds, and gentle mornings would greet sleepless widowers with honeyed rays and dove song.

When the humans grew greedy for power and paper, Solaris still loved them. When the humans reached for more and still more and were never satiated, Solaris took pity on them. They provided, and provided, and the humans decided this was not enough. When the humans entitled themselves to their generosity and their mercy and their love, Solaris loved them still and wept.

It rained for three days and three nights when the humans took one thing too much.

When Solaris could love them no longer, the humans knew not what they had lost. The seas could not be quelled, the shadows were not without their nightmares, the mornings were not tranquil.

Still they had their festivals for a god they had slain, still they sang and danced and drank and ate and shivered at relentlessly cold nights.

Solaris had loved them. They had loved them. They had loved them.

Mephiles did not know the meaning of love.

[d-z20]

The Agent Next Door (NSFW)

Pairing: Agent Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You don't really talk to your (extremely attractive) neighbour, Rio Vidal, until one day an accident leads to you staying at her apartment for a couple of days. And an awkward encounter results in having your fantasy come true. -OR- Rio finds you injured after you slipped and fell out the shower and decides to look after you (non-magic AU)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, blood, small injury, fluff, smut, fingering (R receiving), oral (R receiving)

Words: 3.4k

A/N: Just wanted to write a bit of Rio caring for reader and well then it turned into smut and I have no regrets. Also I have their whole relationship arc in my head now lol

AO3 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Master List

The Worst Morning Of Your Life (so far)

Rio Vidal is your neighbour. You've noticed her plenty of times before—a striking woman with a sharp, confident look that's hard to ignore. You live in the same apartment building, just across the hall from one another. Most days, your interactions are limited to polite smiles and brief chats in the elevator, her dark suit and badge often catching your eye. You've heard her phone buzz with work calls that end with her curt, professional voice. It's obvious she's someone important—serious and dedicated. You've pieced together that she's an FBI agent, but beyond that, you don't know much about her.

You can't deny that you're drawn to her, though. There's something about the way she carries herself—all self-assured and enigmatic. You've caught yourself staring a few times, your heart skipping a beat when she looks back and flashes a rare, amused smile. It's not just her looks—it's the way she moves, the air of mystery she carries, like she's seen things you could only imagine. It makes you nervous, but at the same time, you can't help but look forward to those fleeting moments when your paths cross.

One morning, your shower decides to betray you—your hot water cuts out just as you put your head under. You let out a bloodcurdling scream, quickly trying to jump out of the shower. Unfortunately for you, your foot slips on the hard floor, and you come crashing down, hitting your head on the sink, landing with a very loud thud. Dazed and confused, you are unsure if you passed out for a second there or not, but either way your head is killing you. 

"Fucking brilliant," you mutter to yourself, draping an arm across your eyes to shield them from the light.

At that moment, you heard your front door slamming open and hurried footsteps searching your apartment. You had just about enough sense to yank your towel off the hook and cover up your naked body.

"Y/N?" called a voice just outside the bathroom door.

Shit. It was Rio. You wished the ground would just swallow you up.

"Are you okay? I heard you scream, and then I heard something shatter." You could hear the genuine concern in her voice.

Lifting your head slightly, you noticed the shards of glass from what used to be your bathroom shelf, surrounding you. All you could do was let out a groan and close your eyes at this new development of what was turning out to be the worst morning of your life so far.

This was a bad choice, as a split second later, Rio barged into your bathroom.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" Your neighbour teased, but you could hear the relief in her voice. She moved further into the room, assessing the damage. "Not to ruin such a perfect morning for you, but I might have broken your door getting in here." 

You open your eyes, blinking up at her. Taking her in, you noticed she was wearing a cropped baggy tank top and gym shorts. You blink up at her again, and your head throbs with each beat of your pulse, the pain radiating down your neck. You're still dazed, trying to process how you ended up sprawled on the cold bathroom floor with your FBI agent neighbour standing over you. Rio's sharp eyes take in your silence, concern clouding the playful smirk she'd worn just moments before.

"Hey," she says, voice softer now, as she crouches down beside you. She reaches out, fingertips gently brushing your cheek to turn your face towards her. "Y/N, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?"

You swallow, trying to focus. Her touch is surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to her usual no-nonsense demeanour. You nod slightly, the movement making your head spin. "Rio," you manage to croak out. "Neighbour, FBI agent. And, apparently, a door kicker."

She huffs a laugh, a brief flicker of relief crossing her face. "Good. That's a start. I don't usually make a habit of barging into people's bathrooms uninvited, but I heard that scream, and... well, I'm glad I did." Her eyes drop down to your arm, where blood seeps from a jagged cut. She curses under her breath, her grip on your shoulder tightening just slightly. "You're bleeding. We need to get you cleaned up."

You glance down at your arm, wincing at the sight of blood trickling down to your hand. "I really know how to make an impression, huh?"

Rio shakes her head, lips pressed together in a tight line. "Let's save the jokes until you're not covered in glass, yeah?" Without another word, she slips an arm under your shoulders, helping you sit up. The world tilts slightly, but her hold on you is firm, steadying you as you get your bearings.

"You're going to have to trust me for a minute," she tells you softly. "Can you stand?"

"Maybe," you say, though you're not entirely sure. She helps you up, careful not to jostle your injured arm, and you try to ignore the heat of her skin against yours, the way her fingers dig into your side just enough to ground you.

Rio's eyes dart around the room, quickly assessing the mess of broken glass and water pooling on the floor. "Alright," she says decisively. "I'm taking you back to my place. We'll patch you up there. Your shower is out of commission, and I don't trust that you won't take another tumble if I leave you alone here."

You don't have the energy to argue, so you just nod, letting her guide you out of the bathroom. The two of you make it to the hallway, but not before she grabs a spare towel and wraps it around you more securely. Her movements are quick and efficient, but there's a gentleness to them that surprises you. It's a side of Rio you've never seen before—one that's patient and caring, not just the tough, sarcastic woman you've exchanged pleasantries with in passing.

As you step into her apartment, you notice it's much more personal than you'd imagined. There are framed photos on the walls—nothing too sentimental, mostly candid shots of places she's travelled to, city skylines, and sunsets. Her living room is cosy, with a worn leather couch and a small stack of books piled on the coffee table.

"Sit," she instructs, pointing to the couch. You sink down into it, feeling strangely out of place but oddly comfortable. Rio disappears into the bathroom for a moment, returning with a first aid kit. She kneels in front of you, carefully prying your hand away from your arm.

"This is going to sting," she warns, pulling out an antiseptic wipe. You flinch as she cleans the cut, her brows knitting together in concentration. "Sorry," she mutters. "I'm used to dealing with criminals and suspects, not clumsy neighbours."

"Criminals don't trip in the shower much?" you quip, trying for humour despite the pain. It earns you a small smile from Rio, her eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"Not usually, no. Though I'll admit you're far more entertaining." Her voice softens again, the smirk fading as she wraps a bandage around your arm. "You scared me for a second there, you know."

The confession catches you off guard. "I did? you ask, watching her face as she finishes tying off the bandage.

She doesn't look up, her focus still on your arm. "Yeah," she says quietly. "I thought something bad had happened. Guess I care more about my neighbour than I realised."

Your heart skips a beat, the words hanging in the air between you. It's the first real admission of anything beyond casual friendliness, and it leaves you breathless. You're about to say something—anything—but Rio stands up, offering her hand to you.

"Come on," she says. "Let's get you some proper clothes and maybe a coffee. You can stay here until we sort out your door and shower."

Rio's grip on your hand is firm as she helps you up, her expression still hovering somewhere between concern and her usual, dry amusement. You follow her into the kitchen, and she releases you, motioning for you to sit at the table. It feels strange being here, in her space, especially after the chaos of your morning. She pulls out a chair for you with a slight roll of her eyes, as if it's absurd that you'd even try to resist her instruction.

"I don't have any shifts for the next two days," she announces, moving towards the coffee maker without glancing back at you. "And considering you might've blacked out for a second back there, I'm not letting you out of my sight. So, you're staying with me, here, until you're back on your feet properly."

You open your mouth to argue, but the look she throws over her shoulder silences you. It's one part worry and two parts something else—something softer, almost protective.

"I can manage," you say, but your voice lacks conviction, especially as you rub your throbbing arm. The bandage is already starting to bleed through a bit. Rio's eyes narrow at the sight, and she steps closer, prodding your arm gently.

"Yeah, you're doing a great job," she says dryly, then nods to herself. "You're staying here."

"Fine," you sigh, though part of you feels a flutter of something—relief, maybe, or the thrill of being looked after by someone like Rio. "But I can sleep on the couch. I don't want to kick you out of your bed."

Rio's lips twitch into a smirk. "I'm not letting you take the couch. You've already proven that you're a danger to yourself in any situation that involves standing up."

You can't help but laugh, despite everything. "So, what, we share your bed?"

She raises an eyebrow, as if daring you to challenge her. "It's a queen size. I think we can manage. Unless you've suddenly developed a fear of co-sleeping?"

The thought of sharing a bed with her sends a rush of heat through you, but you try to play it off with a shrug. "As long as you don't hog the covers."

"I'll do my best," she says, the smirk widening.

-

The first night is awkward, as expected. You lie stiffly on one side of the bed, while Rio takes the other, the space between you feeling like a chasm despite the closeness. She's warm though, and you can feel the heat radiating from her body and the subtle scent of her shampoo filling your senses. It's both comforting and maddening, making it hard to fall asleep. You’re hyper-aware of every shift she makes, every time her arm brushes against yours. At some point, she turns onto her side, facing you, and you feel her eyes on you in the dark.

"You still awake?" she whispers.

"Yeah," you reply, swallowing hard.

There's a pause, then you feel her hand brush against yours. It's light, almost as if by accident, but when you don't pull away, she leaves it there, her fingers barely touching yours.

"Try to get some sleep," she murmurs. "You need to rest."

"Alright," you say, voice hoarse, and somehow, with her so close, you finally drift off.

Over the next day and a half, the tension between you shifts, It's subtle at first—small, lingering glances from Rio that last a bit too long, the brush of her fingers against your back when she helps you into the kitchen. Her sarcasm returns, but there's a flirtatious edge to it now, like she's testing the waters.

"You're really milking this injury, aren't you?" She teases, handing you your drink to have with the pizza she bought for dinner. "You'd think you broke your entire body, the way you're lounging around."

"Hey," you protest, setting the drink down. "You're the one who insisted I stay. Don't blame me for enjoying the hospitality."

She leans against the counter, arms crossed, a grin tugging at her lips. "Oh, I'm well aware. But don't get too comfortable with me waiting on you hand and foot—I've got to go back to work tomorrow.”

-

That night, the atmosphere between you shifts even more. When you climb into bed besides Rio, there's no hesitation this time. She turns towards you almost immediately, her hand resting lightly on your hip as if it's the most natural thing in the world. You can feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of your shirt, her breath warm against the back of your neck. It's a small touch, nothing too bold, but it feels significant—an unspoken acknowledgement of everything simmering between you two. You fall asleep like that, closer than before, your fingers unconsciously brushing hers under the covers.

When you wake up, she's already dressed for the day, leaning over you with a mug of coffee in hand. She sets it down on the nightstand with a playful smile. "Morning sweetheart," she says, her voice laced with that familiar teasing tone, but there's a softness to it now. "Try not to do anything risky while I'm gone, yeah? I don't want to come back to find you've taken a tumble without me here to save the day."

You laugh, reaching for the coffee, but there's a flutter in your chest at the pet name, even if she means it jokingly. "I'll do my best," you say. "But no promises."

She smirks, leaning down just enough to press a light kiss to your forehead. "Good. I'll be back later. Make yourself at home."

You do. The rest of the day passes in a strangely pleasant haze, and you find yourself enjoying the small comforts of her apartment. It's quiet without her, but there's a sense of ease you haven't felt in a long time, like you truly belong here. You find yourself smiling for no reason, touching the small trinkets on her shelves, running your fingers over the soft throw blankets she has draped across the couch.

By the time you decide to take a shower, you're feeling entirely too content. You strip down, stepping under the hot spray with a sigh. That's when your thoughts drift back to Rio—how she looked last night, half-asleep and tousled, her arm draped over your waist, her expression unguarded in a way you'd never seen before.

Your thoughts turn to fantasy almost unbidden. You imagine her joining you in the shower, pressing you back against the cold tiles, her hands sliding down your wet skin. You can almost feel it—the heat of her breath on your neck, the firmness of her body against yours. You start to move your hand towards your aching clit, letting out a quiet, shuddering moan, lost in the fantasy of what it would be like to kiss her and have her hands on you.

You don't hear the bathroom door open, but suddenly, you hear her voice—low and amused. "You sure you're okay in here? Didn't have another fall, did you?"

You freeze, eyes snapping open. You can barely see her through the steam, but she's there, standing just outside the shower curtain, and you realise with a jolt that she must have heard you. You heart slams against your ribs as the curtain slides back just a little, and Rio steps inside completely naked, her smirk evident even through the haze.

"I really just can't trust you not to injure yourself while showering, can I?" she says, voice teasing but thick with something else—desire, maybe. Her eyes travel down your body, lingering in a way that sends a shiver through you.

"Rio," you breathe out, half a warning, half a plea.

She steps closer, crowding you against the wall, her hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. "You know," she murmurs, her lips so close to yours now that you can feel the brush of them with every word. "I think you've been waiting for me to do this."

And then she kisses you, slow and heated, like she's been thinking about this just as much as you have. Her mouth is soft but insistent, coaxing a response from you until you melt into her, hands tangling in her hair as you kiss her back just as eagerly. The steam from the shower mixes with the heat between you, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

When she finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, her forehead resting against yours. "I knew it," she whispers, her voice laced with satisfaction. "You've been wanting this so badly, haven't you?"

You nod, swallowing thickly. "Yeah," you admit, barely louder than a whisper. "I have."

She grins, tugging you closer until you're pressed against her, chest to chest. "Good," she says, leaning in to kiss you again, deeper this time. "Because I've been wanting it too."

And with that, she shoves you against the wall. Hard. She's kissing you all over, igniting the skin where each one lands. She nips and sucks at your neck, finding where you're most sensitive. A moan escapes your lips, and you buck your hips, trying to get any kind of friction against your core. For a brief moment, you start to get embarrassed, but then one of Rio's hands finds its way between your legs. She dips a finger between your lips and hums at how wet you already are for her.

Looking directly into your eyes, silently telling you to keep her gaze, she lowers herself to suck on one of your tits, tongue swirling around your nipple, making it harden quickly. The hand not on your clit, starts to pinch your other nipple, pulling another loud guttural moan from you. 

Working her mouth down your torso, marking up your body as she goes, Rio sinks to her knees, her face now directly opposite your dripping cunt, eyes still locked on yours.

Her hands deftly grip your hips, steadying you against the wall. "You've got to promise me you're not going to fall again, sweetheart," she all but growls, the arousal evident in her voice.

You nod your head, but it wasn't enough for the woman, who digs her nails into your skin where she's holding you. "Ye-Yes. I promise."

That is all Rio needs before she starts to drag her tongue through your folds. Switching between broad licks along the length between your entrance and your clit, and firmer, more purposeful circles over your bundle of nerves.

You feel dizzy, but you know it has nothing to do with your concussion and everything to do with the woman kneeling between your legs. Despite your head spinning, you manage to bring your hands down to tangle in Rio's hair, pushing her harder into you. You need more.

She moans against you, clearly enjoying how turned on you are. The vibration from the moan goes straight to your core, and you nearly cum just from that. Sensing you're close, Rio pushes two fingers inside you, causing you to curse her name inbetween moans.

You feel her chuckle and then start fucking you more vigorously. "I want to hear you, baby. I want the whole floor to hear you moan my name," she says, momentarily pulling away from your pussy. You can't help but oblige as she starts to curl her fingers, resuming her licking and sucking.

With her fingers curling inside you like that, it isn't long before you climax, legs shaking, cumminng hard over her fingers and tongue. Rio helps you through the end of your orgasm, making sure to hold you up as you come back down. 

"Okay, darling, I think we need to sit you down before you lose another fight with gravity," Rio smirks. You can't help but agree; your knees feel very weak and it's taking all of your concentration to stay upright.

"Oh, by the way, I bumped into the maintenance guys on my way in," Rio says lightly, helping you out of the shower. "And they said that your door isn't getting fixed for at least another week. So, it looks like you'll have me to help you shower for a little while longer." Winking, she drags you to her bed, determined to continue what she had just started.

_

alright folks, I've got a sequel in the works but can't decide on the vibes (there'll be smut regardless): READ PART 2 HERE

[mask131]

So... Wicked is coming back in style. And as such I need to make a little informative post.

Because since as early as my arrival onto the Internet, in the distant years of the late 2000s, a lot of people have been treating Wicked as some sort of "official" part of the Oz series. As part of the Oz canon or as THE "original" work everything else derives from (literaly, some people, probably kids, but did believe the MGM movie was made BASED on Wicked...) And as an Oz fan, that bothers me.

[Damn, ever since I watched Coco Peru's videos her voice echoes in my brain each time I say this line.]

So here's a few FACTS for you facts lovers.

The Wicked movie that is coming out right now (I was sold this as a series, turns out it is a movie duology?) is a cinematic adaptation of the stage musical Wicked created by Schwartz and Holzman, the Broadway classic and success of the 2000s (it was created in 2003).

Now, the Wicked musical everybody knows is itself an adaptation - and this fact is not as notorios, somehow? The Wicked musical is the adaptation of a novel released in 1995 by Gregory Maguire, called Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West. A very loose and condensed adaptation to say the least - as the Wicked musical is basically a lighter and simplified take on a much darker, brooding and mature tale. Basically fans of the novel have accused the musical of being some sort of honeyed, sugary-sweet, highschool-romance-fanfic-AU, while those who enjoyed the musical and went to see the novel are often shocked at discovering their favorite musical is based on what is basically a "dark and edgy - let's shock them all" take on the Oz lore. (Some do like both however, apparently? But I rarely met them.)

A side-fact which will be relevant later, is that this novel was but the first of a full series of novel Oz wrote about a dark-and-adult fantasy reimagining of the land of Oz - there's Son of a Witch, A Lion Among Men, Out of Oz, and more.

However the real fact I want to point out is that Maguire's novel, from which the musical itself derives, is a "grimmification" (to take back TV Tropes terminology) of the 1939 MGM movie The Wizard of Oz. The movie everybody knows when it comes to Oz, but that everybody forgets is itself the adaptation of a book - the same way people forget the Wicked musical is adapted from a novel. The MGM movie is adapted from L. Frank Baum's famous 1900 classic for children The Wonderful Wizard of Oz - and a quite loose adaptation that reimagines a lot of elements and details.

Now, a lot of people present Maguire's novel as being based/inspired/a revisionist take on Baum's novel... And that's false. Maguire's Wicked novel is clearly dominated by and mainly influenced by the MGM movie, with only a few book elements and details sprinkled on top. Mind you, the sequels Maguire wrote do take more elements, characters and plot points from the various Oz books of Baum... But they stay mostly Maguire's personal fantasy world. Yes, Oz "books" in plural - because that's a fact people tend to not know either... L. Frank Baum didn't just write one book about the Land of Oz. He wrote FOURTEEN of them, an entire series, because it was his most popular sales, and his audience like his editor pressured him to produce more (in fact he got sick of Oz and tried to write other books, but since they failed he was forced to continue Oz novels to survive). Everybody forgot about the Oz series due to the massive success of the starter novel - but it has a lot of very famous sequels, such as The Marvelous Land of Oz or Ozma of Oz (the later was loosely adapted by Disney as the famous 80s nostalgic-cursed movie Return to Oz).

So... To return to my original point. The current Wicked movies are not directly linked in any way to Baum's novel. The Wicked musical was already as "canon" and as "linked" to the MGM movie as 2013's Oz The Great and Powerful by Disney was. As for Maguire's novel, due to its dark, mature, brooding and more complex worldbuilding nature, I can only compare it to the recent attempt at making a "Game of Thrones Oz" through the television series Emerald City.

The Wicked movies coming out are separated from Baum's novel at the fourth degree. Because they are the movie adaptation of a musical adaptation of a novel reinventing a movie adaptation of the original children book.

And I could go even FURTHER if you dare me to and claim the Wicked movies are at the 5TH DEGREE! Because a little-known-fact is that the MGM movie was not a direct adaptation of Baum's novel... But rather took a lot of cues and influence from the massively famous stage-extravaganza of 1902 The Wizard of Oz... A musical adaptation of Baum's novel, created and written by Baum himself, and that was actually more popular than the novel in the pre-World War II America. It was from this enormous Broadway success (my my, how the snake bites its tail - the 1902 Wizard of Oz was the musical Wicked of its time) that, for example, the movie took the idea of the Good Witch of the North killing the sleeping-poppies with snow.

[comatosebunny09]

serve & protect | sylus

— summary: you’ve stood dutifully by his side for years. seen him at his worst, not once letting that side of him deter you. can you blame him for craving more than your loyalty? — cw: royalty au, king sylus, femme reader, knight/bodyguard reader, mutual pining, marking, restraints, sexual tension, slow burn, sylus isn’t a normal king, this isn’t a medieval setting, there are cars and indoor plumbing ‘round here, reader has hair for the sake of plot — notes: a reimagining of something i wrote a few years ago. heavily inspired by final fantasy xv & the beast within (2024). tysm for reading! [ prologue ] — now playing: tender strength - yu-peng chan, hoyo-mix

Willing His Majesty to behave and him actually doing so are two foreign points on a map. 

It’s kind of your fault, really. 

You almost don’t. Nearly preserve your aloofness, your decorum. But then you do let your formalities slip for the briefest second, and that’s what heralds this mess. 

A traitorous sigh slips past your lips, summoning the attention of your wintry-haired charge.

Warmth pours throughout your person, a prickly spike of embarrassment clotting your veins. You stiffen, staring at the dark, heavy curtains shielding the dining hall from the sun’s brilliant spill. Try to ignore how your skin tingles beneath the curious study of your king. How those scarlet eyes crinkle mirthfully, wittingly, and you know all too well no good will come from that look. 

He’s in a playful mood, isn’t he? And you’re about to serve as his court jester. 

“Are you alright, dear friend?” he intones, loud enough for only you to hear, ignoring the monotonous prattle of his guest across the table. 

His voice curls around your brain, seeping through the folds of it. You straighten, arms stiffly folded behind you, quietly clearing your throat to ward off the spell of dizziness threatening to take hold. Curse him for sounding so devastatingly hot. For being so terribly distracting, so unfairly handsome.

You murmur an apology, not once taking your eyes off the far wall to look at him. To do so would be dangerous. Get you into more trouble. You hope by ignoring him, he’ll leave you be, but—

Well, His Majesty is a stubborn man, and once he gets going, there’s no stopping him.

He fiddles with a fork on the dining table with long, skillful fingers. Smooths out the little wrinkles forming in the tablecloth, adjusting himself in his wing-backed seat into an uninterested slouch. “You’ve been awfully huffy today. Are you bored?” 

A little, you inwardly reply. You don’t care much for politics. For these fickle conversations of wealth, alliances, and nobility. You merely follow orders, keeping your opinions to yourself unless they’re explicitly requested. 

Being a knight proves to be much more entertaining than serving as a tactician or advisor. At least you can keep your hands and feet busy instead of rotting away at a desk, ripping out your hair and fretting over the intricacies of running an entire nation. 

You remain quiet, tuning out His Majesty’s attempts to get you to break character. 

But, as mentioned before, your king is a persistent man. 

He sighs, slipping further down in his chair. Props his temple on his knuckles, an ankle resting on the pocket of his knee whilst the free set of fingers drum on the chair’s arm. “I don’t blame you if you are. She’s not very entertaining, is she? Nor is she very bright.”

You snort despite yourself. Quickly remember your decorum, a scowl twisting up your lips. Your eyes shoot to your wayward king. “Majesty!” you admonish on a whispered yell.

A smirk pulls at his lips. He playfully narrows his eyes at you from behind the shelter of his hand. Has you right where he wants you, feeding into his childish games. Just like old times. 

Your staring contest, however, is short-lived when the sharp click of a teacup meeting its saucer echoes through the stilled dining hall.

“I’m sorry,” quips a voice doused in vitriol from the table’s other end, causing your attention to snap to its source. “Am I interrupting something?”

The Queen of Universum ingests the pair of you with sharp, mead-infused eyes, vexation tugging at her red-painted lips. Like two scolded children, you straighten, King Sylus sitting up in his seat with a brilliantly fake smile.

“Of course not. Please, continue with your monologuing,” he says with a theatrical flourish of his fingers. He would roll his eyes if he could; you just know it.

You disguise a laugh as a cough, piping up when the queen’s glare snaps to you. You try not to bristle beneath the weight she carries. Beneath the thin stretch of her lips. She doesn’t like you very much. Of course, you don’t care for her, either. 

She’s made it perfectly clear that she views you as a threat to her plans—marrying her daughter off to your king to forge an alliance between your countries, to spread her family’s reign. No room for love. She’s mentioned more than once that your familiarity with the king is inappropriate, a threat to his crown. How scandalous it would be for him to take you as his bride instead of someone with noble blood.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fingers curling into a fist at your back until your nails bite unforgivingly into your palm. 

Like you don’t already grapple with the notion every time he touches you or smiles a little too charmingly in your direction.

You’re not fit to be a contender for his heart; not fit to be a queen. 

Her eyes finally slip away from you, refocusing on the center of your musings. Your relief is short-lived as an impish smile rounds her lips. You swallow thickly, the queen’s body language boding danger.

“Is it truly necessary for your lapdog to be here? Her presence is spoiling my meal.”

You blink rapidly. Incredulously, mouth spilling open.

Lap—

Lapdog?

I’m sorry, what?

If you had hackles, they would raise. Instead, your nostrils flare, the tendons in your neck pulling, jaw set in a rigid line. An omniscient smirk cants the queen’s lips. She knows just how to creep beneath your skin, how to wrap her claws around your pride and pull it apart. 

How dare she compare you to a bloody dog! You’re loyal, yes. At His Majesty’s beck and call. His shield. Have been for years. But to be compared to an animal, of all things—

He feels the malice sloughing off your skin in waves. Eyes you warily in his peripheral before raising a hand to quell your silent rage.

“Down, girl,” he teases, and you glower at him. 

It seems he also wants to play along with these dog jokes.

Leaning forward, your king perches his elbows on the dining table. Twines his fingers together, resting his chin atop his knuckles, a deceptively sweet smile boasting his teeth. Having known him for as long as you have, you can easily sense the irritation pouring over the tense set of his muscles. The stiffness between his shoulder blades, peering through the tailored pleat of his jacket.

“My Lady,” he begins, words bathed in silk. “I’m not sure how you treat your subjects in Universum, and frankly, I do not care. But here, we address our people with dignity and respect regardless of race, color, status, or creed.”

The queen’s expression morphs into one of mortification. She straightens in her seat, a steady creep of redness inhabiting her cheeks as she studies the doily texture of the tablecloth. You resist an urge to cheer.

“While you are my guest, you are expected to behave with poise and grace. And I would greatly appreciate it if you did not disrespect my friend here like that again.” 

Scarlet eyes briefly flit to you, shining with a spark of fondness—a tenderness that sets your body alight with heat—before returning to the queen. 

“Or anyone in my kingdom, for that matter. Understood?” His Majesty concludes with a raised brow, sparing no room for argument.

Pride swells in your chest, warm like the soft embrace of a fur shawl on a wintry day. He’s shut her up in his own way. Read her to filth with the poise and regality of a man of his stature, and you’re envious of his composure. They don’t call him a king for nothing. 

You straighten at his side, mouth twitching with the threat of an arrogant smile, and your chin lifts slightly. Defiantly. 

She studies her lap, pulling at her fingernails. You watch a kaleidoscope of emotions stroll across her face before a nervous titter falls from her lips. 

“My apologies, Your Majesty. That was very inappropriate of me.” Her pink tongue darts out to wet her lips while she sweeps a chocolate ringlet of hair behind her ear. “I was only hoping that the two of us could have a little…chat.” She looks at you, a note of caution stirring beneath her lashes. “Alone.”

Sylus sits back with a scoff as if he’s just as confused by her request as you are. It’s rare you leave his side. Rare you’re not in his shadow, head on a swivel, fingers wrapped about your sword. You’re even present when he’s sunk beneath the murky pull of sleep. 

“Does her being here pose some sort of threat to you?” he interrogates around a smirk.

“Not so much a threat as it is a distraction.”

A distraction to whom, you wonder. It’s a ridiculous request. You’re his bodyguard, for the Gods’ sake. You wouldn’t put it past her to make an attempt on his life in your absence. Forgo the pleasantries and proposal for marriage and end his lineage here and now. Not that she could.

Your mouth works around a protest, yet it dies in your throat when your king calls your name after some time spent deliberating. He peers at you from his shoulder, and you snap to attention.

“Sorry, dear friend,” he says, tone sloping with repentance. “Would you mind giving us some space for a little while? I fear your presence is making our guest uncomfortable.”

You cast him a pensive look. Lips tremble and part. His expression softens, and he winks at you, turning up the dial of his charm.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Of course, he will be alright. His Majesty is more than capable of handling himself. Sometimes, you wonder what purpose you serve. He’s a hulk of a man, brimming with untapped power and bleeding intimidation. Most days, you feel you’re by his side to create the illusion of protection. 

Remembering your place, you step back and excuse yourself with a curt bow. You caution one last look at your charge before pivoting, briskly making for the door, ignoring the thunderous drum of your pulse in your ears.

You feel his eyes track your every move as your boots click soundly against the glittering, marbled floor. Feel the queen’s gaze drilling into your back, exuding a quieted smugness as if she’s won your silent war of wills. 

As the solid, ornate doors of the dining hall draw closed behind you, you catch wind of their conversation over your shoulder, and your heart plummets to your feet. 

“So,” begins the queen, voice steeping low. “I hear you are in need of a bride.”

—

You’re a mess of grit teeth and unease on the doors’ other side.

You’ve paced back and forth for what feels like an eternity, warring with your emotions. You’re not sure what has you more on edge: having been made to look like a fool in front of your king, or the implications of that statement when you departed from the dining room. 

“I hear you are in need of a bride.”

The conversation was inevitable. Doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

It’s the entire reason Universum’s queen has frequented your kingdom so much. Trying to set him up with her daughter, the princess, under the guise of uniting your people. You both know she’s greedy for power following her husband’s untimely demise, and His Majesty is teeming with it. 

You scoff, stopping your march to lean against the double doors, arms crossed over your chest. With a shuddering breath out, your face turned skyward, and your eyes shuttered closed, you try to compose yourself. 

If you keep huffing and puffing about like this, you might convince yourself that you care for your king more than you should. More than you’re allowed to. 

When you’ve begun to settle your nerves, the chorus of boots striking the carpeted floor piques your interest. 

You open an eye as dark figures of varying heights and sizes ease into frame, moving past you, carrying laughter and camaraderie with them. Crownsguardsmen. 

They regard you with quick bows and wary smiles, their banter lulling to a dull murmur in the face of their superior. You acknowledge them casually, still propped against the oakwood doors, not at all in the mood for formalities. 

Amid the gaggle of guards, a set of curious sienna eyes alight on you, widening with recognition before crinkling with glee. 

The smaller guard shoves through her comrades, briskly approaching you as her teammates walk out of sight. You study the top of her sleek, brown hair before she stops before you. And you stiffen, stammering as she snatches up your hands, her excitement palpable. 

Tara. You recognize her as a new recruit with youthful eyes and enough enthusiasm to power the entire Citadel. 

She reminded you of yourself when you first joined the king’s army. A young woman with a target on her back because of her gender and status. She possessed exceptional prowess with an array of weapons and vast knowledge of the kingdom’s technology. Yet, she was constantly beleaguered by her comrades and, oftentimes, her trainers.

You threw around your brass a little, ensuring she was treated as fairly as her male counterparts whilst she trained as a knight. Sometimes sparred or studied with her on your rare occasions of downtime. You were there to congratulate her when she’d been appointed a member of His Majesty’s royal guard.

With King Sylus on the throne, the Crownsguard became more progressive, opening its doors to anyone willing to lay their life down for him. Too bad a bunch of egotistical, chauvinistic airheads still occupied his ranks. 

“Good afternoon, ma’am!” Tara sing-songs, overflowing with zeal. 

You wince at the pitch of her voice, the brilliance of her smile. But you find her infectious, a soft chuckle ducking through your lips. You unwind one of your hands from her grasp, ruffling her hair affectionately. Had she been anyone else, you would’ve reprimanded her for forgoing the proper customs and courtesies. 

But are you really in any position to lecture anyone about etiquette right now?

“Good afternoon, Tara.” You’re surprised by the mildness of your voice. The fondness of it.

If she had a tail, it would surely be wagging. Your innards color with warmth at the thought. You’ve found someone else you want to protect almost as much as your king.

“How are you today, ma’am?” she asks, dispelling the nebula of your thoughts. 

Averting your gaze, you sigh, recalling what’s got you so out of sorts in the first place. You cross your arms, your spine reacquainting itself with the intricate carvings of one of the dining room’s doors with a muted thunk. “I’ve had better days.”

Tara’s expression pulls into one of curiosity. “Something the matter?” 

She steps closer, bursting your figurative bubble. With her hands clasped behind her back, Tara scrutinizes you, ducking this way and that, giving you a visual inspection. 

“Come to think of it, isn’t His Majesty having brunch with the Queen of Universum right now?” She pensively taps her lip with her index finger, eyes narrowing in thought. “Behind you?”

You flinch, watching her from down your nose. She’s eerily perceptive for someone so young. Invasive, pummeling you with a hundred questions a minute. 

“That’s strange. Aren’t you normally by his side? Did something happen? Did you get into trouble?” Tara goads, nudging you with her elbow.

You scoff, pushing off the door. For all the years you’ve known your king, you’ve never been in trouble with him. Garnered the ire of his advisor once or twice, sure. Pissed off his royal entourage with your sharp tongue, maybe. But you don’t think Sylus harbors a malicious bone in his body for you. You don’t think he ever could.

You cross the hall, perching your hands on an adjacent windowsill. The marble texture is cold beneath your palms. Grounding. You study the mixture of historical and modern architecture lining the horizon, a scene reminiscent of a dragon’s maw. 

The land of Insomnia brims with life beyond The Citadel’s walls, a nation once war-torn slowly rebuilding itself under the guidance of your genial king.

“No, I’m not in trouble.” You turn, sitting on the ledge. Your voice descends as if you’re having a conversation with yourself. “But not everyone seems to like the idea of me at the king’s side.”

Tara moves towards you with a placating smile, taking up one of your hands and squeezing it. “The queen doesn’t like you very much, does she?” 

Your silence serves as her answer. 

The smaller woman pats your hand, thumb smoothing over the rough patch of skin stretched over the clutch of it. “Well, I could’ve told you that.”

You cut your eyes at her in warning. What’s with everyone testing your patience today? Picking on you?

“You’re competition,” Tara matter of factly adds, maneuvering to lean against the windowsill beside you. 

You study the weathered tips of your boots before your gaze slowly rises to Tara. Her eyes gloss over with tenderness. With pity as a slow creep of heat inhabits the pit of your stomach. You avert your gaze, boring into the dining hall’s doors. 

You don’t have to ask what she means by that; you’ve heard the statement numerous times as of late. Your king’s recent treatment of you doesn’t help matters, exacerbating the rumor that you’re more than just his loyal subject.

As if sensing your internal plight, Tara decides to shift gears. You’re grateful for the reprieve, getting too hung up in your mind again. 

“So, do you really think the queen killed her husband?” she whispers, leaning in with a hand cupped around her mouth.

You chuckle. Leave it to Tara to fill the space with gossip. “I couldn’t say. But I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s a bit of a bi—”

As if on cue, the grandiose doors of the dining room groan open, spilling the artificial light inside onto the carpeted floor. You and Tara snap to attention like two youths caught dawdling, stone-faced, the remnants of your conversation corked in your throats. 

How anticlimactic, you muse, watching several figures emerge from the room until your eyes alight on a familiar, riotous mop of white. 

Your breath thickens in your throat as scarlet eyes capture yours. The lips beneath them quirk before the towering silhouette they belong to, strides past you.

Tara’s hand brushes yours. You don’t have to look to know she’s giving you the most impish side-eye. 

The queen turns on her heel to face your king, her entourage scuttling about behind her. She’s half-hidden by the mass that is His Majesty, but beyond his bulk, you make out her red lips curving into a deceitful smile. Bile singes the back of your throat, your fists tightening at your sides. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Your Majesty.” She punctuates her words with a small curtsy and head tilt. 

His Majesty stuffs his hand in his pocket, his wispy hair sweeping over broad shoulders. Boredom lances through his deep timbre, and you imagine his eyes rolling with disinterest. “The pleasure was hardly mine.”

An indignant sound salts the air, dredged from the queen’s throat. You bite back a laugh, recalling what got you sent out in the first place. Tara flinches in your peripheral, tamping down a laugh herself. 

Ignoring your king’s waywardness, the queen squares her shoulders and straightens her spine, her head held high. She clears her throat, holding out her hand for your liege to take. When he does nothing, she waggles it expectantly, wordlessly demanding he kiss it.

You watch the scene unfold with bated breath, tight lips. Inwardly cheer when Sylus scoffs, turning away from his obstinate guest. He waves a tired hand over his shoulder, summoning two guards stationed by the hallway’s entrance.

“Please ensure the queen makes it back to her car. Safely or harmed, I don’t care,” he tacks on under his breath.

The guards acknowledge him with nods and move to flank the queen and her royal retinue. The woman huffs, indignantly stomping her foot like a child deprived of their favorite snack. She grabs the tail of her dress and brusquely spins before being led out, carrying her jilted air with her. 

You resist a smile. Pride spools heavy in your chest. It’s almost like your souls are linked; your king’s never cared for rude nobles and their politics, mirroring your sentiment. 

He conquers the space between you in three measured strides. Pilfers the air from your lungs as electricity and pheromones spark between you, and you’re drawn into the ruinous stir of his eyes. 

Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Tara dismisses herself with a bow, but not before discreetly nudging you in her retreat. Sylus barely acknowledges her, busy memorizing every detail of your face. Every tight breath slipping through your parted lips, every feathery flutter of your lashes.

You rapidly blink as if remembering where you are, keenly aware that the pair of you are alone. 

The king’s proximity throws you off-kilter. The earthy scent and comforting warmth he exudes permeate the thickened layers of your uniform, wrapping around your heart, squeezing, leaving you raw and exposed. Your jaw ticks.

His expression slackens, brows knitting in the inner corners, and he coyly cocks his head to one side. “Are you alright, dear friend?” The texture of his voice is gritty as sandpaper, yet it’s disarming in a way that leaves you weak-kneed with a heavy tongue.

“H-huh?” comes your foolish reply. You would kick yourself for how lovestruck you sound. 

Your king chuckles, a genuine sound reserved for hushed moments like these, tucked away from the prying eyes of his court. Your lips twitch before a slender finger pokes the space between your eyes, dispelling the dreamlike fog that once loomed overhead.

“I asked,” poke, “if you,” poke, “are feeling,” poke, “alright? You look a bit flustered.”

You swat his hand like an enraged feline, to which he chuckles, all manner of refinement thrown to the wolves. He’s as bratty as ever, a reflection of that child you once knew who’d shove you off the hill to be king of it. Who knew he’d grow to take an entire kingdom onto his shoulders?

You clear the phlegm from your throat, taking a step back, haughtiness meddling with your features as his hand falls listlessly at his side.

“I’m fine, Majesty. Though I’d be better if someone learned to keep his hands to himself.”

The monarch in question feigns innocence, blinking owlishly, a dramatic hand splayed over his heart. “What? I thought you liked it when I badgered you like this. When I kept you on your toes.”

You scowl, crossing your arms and impatiently tapping your foot. “Not when it borders sexual harassment. Need I remind you of your briefings, sir? Should we revisit them?”

He sputters, mortification descending on his face. You bite back a snicker. He’s much too handsome like this—playful, boyish, unguarded. An affectionate smile crests over his mouth when you let a bewitchingly sweet laugh slip. He takes a step forward, swaddling you in prickly static, dwarfing you by a good foot. Your traitorous heart thumps something wild, threatening to leap from your chest as the mirth melts from your face.  

“Would you believe that woman came here to coerce me into taking her daughter’s hand?” rasps your king, voice descending into a secret. 

You swallow, staring between his eyes, unconsciously leaning back. You nod when words fail you. Bristle as a set of spindly fingers creep down your forearm in pursuit of your hand, scorching through the fibers of your coat.  

Your breath catches whilst His Majesty brings your hand to his lips, and he kisses it with as much fervor as he did in the gardens. It’s a simple gesture. An innocent one that feels perverse in a way, burning down to your core, the molten heat creeping back up to take residence in your neck and face.

“The only hand I wish to hold,” he smooths his thumb over the notches of your knuckles like a blind mind committing their texture to memory, “is this one.” Another brush of full lips makes you wince as if branded by a hot iron. 

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. Not with him so close, nor with the potency of his gaze drilling down to your soul. You wonder if he’s trying to kill you when he tugs you to him, a possessive hand falling to your hip. 

Whatever oxygen was left in your lungs abandons you in a sharp gasp, making way for a pleasant fuzziness and overwhelming heat. He snakes his arm around your waist before dipping you like the pair of you are waltzing, and your hand instinctively clasps around his shoulder to keep you from crumbling to the floor.  

Hooded eyes pan in, filling your vision with nothing but a beautiful wash of red. His stare centers in on your mouth, and he leans closer until your breaths intermingle, and your limbs feel like jelly, and you’re lightheaded, and…and—

You screw your eyes shut, pushing your palms against his catastrophically hard chest. He’s a dream forged by the Gods. Temptation sent to lure you astray.

“Majesty,” you gasp. You sound so incredibly pitiful, so breathless, and it makes you sick. “Majesty, please. You can’t—we can’t—” You twist your head, pillow-soft lips grazing your cheek instead of your mouth, pleasant tingles of sensation humming throughout your body.

“Can’t what?” he breathes, voice strained with the effort of containing himself whilst he roots his nose against the tender space behind your ear. He draws you closer against the hard press of his body whilst nosing along your jaw, ingesting the warm scent wafting off your skin.  

Your shoulder throbs beneath your uniform where two raw indentations reside. They’ve never truly healed after two years, the pain announcing itself in intimate quarters like this with your king. It’s a reminder of your anchor to him, to what truly lives beneath his skin. 

“The maids, the guards. What if—” You scramble for every excuse not to give in. Not to betray the oath you took to protect him. To always put him first, to never fall for him. “—what if someone sees us, Majesty?”

A bitten-off, barely there growl cleaves through your ramblings. Lithe fingers encase your jaw, coaxing you to look at your charge. A glacial thrill shoots through your body at the sight that greets you. White, mussed hair falls perfectly into his face, lips parted and glistening invitingly, eyes wrinkling with a mixture of anguish and yearning. He reminds you of something beastly, fighting to reign in his instincts. Fighting not to lose control. 

“You’ve known me for however long, yet you insist on calling me that.” 

He gathers your cheek into his pleasantly warm palm, angling your neck further back. You fight to keep your eyes open, your fingers curling into the fabric of his blazer. You’re spilling over the edge. Teetering over that blurry line between daydreams and reality. 

“I wish you would stop with the formalities. Majesty this, Your Majesty that.” Scoff. “Is this your way of shutting me out? Pushing me away?”

You haven’t the gall to tell him yes, too distracted by the flats of his nails dragging along your cheek, sweeping errant hair strands behind your ear. You shudder, and he pans in, your mouths but a whisker’s width apart.  

“If you carry on like this, I may have to punish you for your insolence.”

You suck in a breath at the underlying threat in his voice. Know it carries no weight. He’d never lay a finger on you outside of affection. But how wonderful it sounds, to be punished for your insubordination. 

Your noses brush, mouths ghosting over each other whilst careful fingers curl around your nape, scrawling through your hair. You fear that you might faint, the heat spooling in your belly threatening to burn through layers of flesh. You’re clutching the lapels of his jacket for dear life now. Torturing yourself, wanting to conquer what little space remains between your mouths and—

Forbidden. The accursed word echoes in your mind like the weighted chime of a church bell. It resounds so miserably in your mind, reminding you of your place. Your duty. You’re no noblewoman. No contender for his heart. 

“Please don’t,” you utter between a laugh and a sob. Begging is unbecoming of you, but when it comes to protecting your king and his crown, you would fall to your knees if you had to.

The body against yours stiffens. A pained sound tears through His Majesty’s chest, crackling like a hearth fire. You feel terrible for denying him again. For pushing him away like you always do. But many women regularly throw themselves at his feet, willing to ease his affliction—women of noble blood, of virtue. 

Grief furrows his brows, his eyes sweeping over your face. A forlorn smile touches his lips. He exhales loudly, shakily, his thumb cruising over the outward arc of your brow, his gaze tracking the gentle movement. 

“Of everything that resides within these walls, within this kingdom, you manage to elude me the most.” 

His eyes snap to yours, and you shiver beneath the weight they boast. He could easily flex his power over you. Command you to stay still while he ravages you. But that’s never been his style, has it? Another trait of his drawing you deeper into his spell. 

“Why do you run from me? Why do you continue to deny me? Why continue to deny yourself? I hear how your body calls to me. Your heartbeat, your scent. So ripe. So untainted.” 

The exasperation in his voice makes your stomach lurch. 

I’m not denying anyone, you wish to say. I just…I don’t know. I don’t—

“Where in the hells is he?!” a familiar voice ricochets through the empty hallway—your saving grace. Seems his advisor is on a rampage again. You’ve never wanted to kiss the eccentric man more.

“Impeccable timing as always,” sighs your king, rolling his eyes. He reluctantly releases you, his hands at your waist until your legs remember they are meant to support you. 

Just as you spring apart, and you begin smoothing out the wrinkles in your uniform, your hair spills in warm tendrils down your neck, puddling around your shoulders, water-falling from its usual coiffure.

You blink incredulously, taking note of the impish smirk canting the king’s lips. Something silver gleams in your periphery.

You watch with horror as he twirls your hairpin between dexterous fingers before bringing the warm, tarnished metal to his lips for a kiss. It’s an intimate sight. An image that makes a shiver wrack your spine, makes you dizzy, and you don’t know whether to be flattered or mortified. 

“Y-Your Majesty, give that back!”

The monarch in question chuckles something smoky, dangling the ornate pin out of reach when you swipe at it. He has an unfair advantage over you. You contemplate kicking him in his shin, figuring the risk of losing your foot is well worth it. 

Your breasts scrub against him as you struggle on tippy toes, clawing at your hairpin with the ferocity of a cat. And as your nipples knot beneath the rough glide of your uniform, you are reminded of the devastating press of His Majesty’s body.

By the Gods, it’s too much. You’re sure your face is all types of flustered now, heat spuming beneath your skin.

“My, my. Throwing yourself at your king like this. How scandalous,” he purrs, enjoying your plight a little too much. His twisted way of getting revenge for you staving off his advances. 

“Your Majesty, that is my mother’s,” you pant, taking a step back with beseeching eyes. 

He clicks his tongue, studying the pin as if it houses all the secrets to your bloodline. “That makes the spoils of victory that much sweeter.”

You watch with puffed up cheeks as he tucks the hairpin into his breast pocket, the jaded metal gleaming condescendingly at you. 

“Consider it collateral.”

For what, you haven’t the foggiest. 

With all the smugness of the world, your king brushes past you, his hands in his pockets. You stomp behind him, fighting to keep stride with his longer ones, clawing at his pocket when a moment presents itself. 

You try to sweep your hair into some semblance of neatness before the pair of you meet his advisor. Before curious eyes can form questions where there should be none. 

You hardly miss the enamored smile rounding his lips as he peers at you over his shoulder. 

“You lunatic,” you curse beneath your breath, barely concealing the hint of unguardedness inhabiting your voice.

— 

It all makes sense as you shackle his neck with a rusted collar. You can count on one hand how often you’ve had to do this in the past year. 

You step back after sliding your fingers over the stubble on his cheeks. His eyes harbor a deep sadness despite the smirk on his face, baring a pointed canine. 

“What? No muzzle this time?”

You scoff, kneeling before him, defiantly peering into his eyes, a harsh forefinger pressed between his pectorals. “If you keep talking, I’ll have one of the twins fetch it from the car.”

He chuckles at your brazenness. Leave it to him to try to lighten the mood in an atmosphere rife with tension. Thick with urgency, with fear. He tests the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, ensuring they won’t give too much when they’re put to the test later.

As if on autopilot, you reach out to ease sweat-slicked hair from his forehead, and he pauses, those brilliantly devastating eyes drinking you in. 

He swallows, studying the ground. For the first time in a long time, you’ve seen true fear stain your king’s visage. 

“One day, I won’t leave this cage as the man you know and love.”

You scoff, masking your anxiety as you placatingly pat his thigh. You stand, swiping his coat on the way up, dust speckling its sleeves. You have to be strong. You’re slowly falling apart at the seams but must remain fearless. He needs all the strength you can lend him right now.

You give him a quick look, a brief upward pull of your lips, before turning away from your king, the cage’s heavy door squealing shut behind you. You err in your steps when he calls your name. Slightly tilt your chin over your shoulder.

“When that day comes, I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain.”

Your grip on his coat tightens, jaw set in a terse line. “That day will never come,” you murmur, more to yourself than him, and you hurry up the sand-laden stairs towards the structure’s entrance. 

The twins address you with curt nods as you pass them on your way to the car. Night and soaring evergreens stretch overhead like a yawning beast. The moon peers through the treetops, sluggishly cresting its way to the center of the sky.

You sling His Majesty’s coat across the backseat. Stiffen when a familiar glint of silver catches your sight from behind his breast pocket. You grit your teeth, leaning against the car door to grant yourself a moment of respite.

“How do you stand this? Does it ever get any easier?” you recall Tara asking, her eyes glossing over with a thin film of tears as she squeezed your hands. 

She was still fresh to this lifestyle. To this harrowing secret lurking beneath the kingdom. You couldn’t blame her for being scared witless. No one wanted to see the king in pain. Only a handful of people knew of his true nature. What bubbled beneath his skin. 

It never does, you think, pushing off from the car and slamming the door shut. 

Your boots crunch soundly over dead grass and splintered twigs as you make your way back to the twins. You squeeze Kieran’s shoulder reassuringly, giving him a tight-lipped smile. He nods, his somberness hidden beneath the gaudy beak of his mask. 

It never gets easier, hearing him scream like that. Bloodcurdling and raw, reminiscent of a demon clawing its way from the hells. Hearing him call to you in a voice so broken, you feel its talons sinking into your heart. You’ve just grown more skilled at hiding your pain. Holding back your tears.

What good are you if you can’t even protect your liege from himself?

— tags: @f1c-recs, @mt2sssss, @samoankpoper21, @lovemesomesaltysylus

prologue | masterlist

[rebelfell]

for your viewing pleasure┃vol. 1

pornstar!eddie x director!reader

all my pornstar!eddie blurbs together at last b/c I hated how I published them originally. the og posts are still here, but they have been edited/expanded somewhat, and I’ve included a “finale” of sorts that is new! index for this story is here.

cw: pornstar!au, so…porn. but it’s also a kind of fantasy porn company/industry, so not really at all based in reality or fact. sex work, oral sex (f & m rec), public-ish sex, piv sex.

18+, MDNI┃8.7k

special thanks to @urhoneycombwitch for helping come up with like 90% of this via mutual flailing in my inbox 🥰 ilyaaf

After dark thoughts about pornstar!eddie…who gets fired from his first job.

Because he’s great at sex, but bad at porn.

So, so, so bad. Like, he’s incredible at eating pussy, but incredible because he does it with his whole face completely buried in his co-star. We’re talking fully and wholly submerged in her folds, as though she’s his breathing apparatus.

And that’s great for her, but terrible for camera.

They keep stopping him, telling him he has to pull it back, that they have to see her pussy and they can’t with his big head and bigger hair blocking their view. But much like a dog that’s been told to leave a treat where it is, he keeps edging closer and moving back in little by little until he’s right back where he wants to be—and they’re yelling “CUT” and scolding him all over again.

And the girl is getting frustrated because, like, she’s about to actually come and she looks at the director with this look of pure desperation and ‘just do me this solid—please?’ in her eyes.

So he finally lets Eddie get her off and just films super tight on her face and her trembling legs so it’s really obvious how real it really is.

And so they can move the fuck on already.

Then they’re filming the fucking, and once again Eddie is fucking like he would fuck in real life and the way he fucks in real life is Not. Good. Porn.

He’s not just slamming into her without any care; he’s not using her to get off; he’s trying to make it good for her. And it is very, very good for her.

Like so good, she’s this close to giving him her number once they wrap for the day.

Her boyfriend of six years be damned.

And once they wrap, Eddie’s not exactly “fired” but he’s pretty sure he’s not getting called back.

Except then the movie comes out and BLOWS UP. People are obsessed. Women are buying it in droves (who knew women even watched porn??) and the VHS is back-ordered to shit.

So the production company is like, “We gotta lock this kid into a contract. Now.”

And just so we’re clear, he gets that contract. 

But he (rightfully) feels like he has a bit of juice behind him and refuses to work with that director ever again. And they agree to his terms, but that first guy is hardly an anomaly and Eddie is still butting heads with these other ass hats who keep trying to force him to do it their way.

“My buddy, my guy, my man, you’re fucking her like she’s a person and that’s not gonna sell. It may have worked for you before, but no way does lightning strike the same dick twice.”

So Eddie walks. And he’s ready to call it quits entirely…until you approach him.

Because you are former talent, trying to branch out and direct, but no one will take you seriously. So you went to the heads of production and told them even if all they gave you was a shoestring budget and one Eddie Munson, you can spin some gold. Spoiler alert—you do.

You come to Eddie with your vision of porn for women: story-based, more realistic dialogue, and real orgasms. Some of the same tropes, but done in a way that doesn’t feel so tired and gross and vapid and soulless. Something new.

Something different. Something special.

And, oh. He is so on board with that.

Meanwhile, back in Hawkins, the rumor mill is milling. Because how in the hell did Eddie “The Freak” Munson become a sex symbol overnight? It has to be a deal with the devil—that’s the only possible explanation, right? He clearly sold his soul for a magic cock and a porn career.

And Steve Harrington is LIVID.

He would have bet his entire college tuition Eddie was a virgin, but now every babe who comes into Family Video is renting that damn tape.

They’re literally pouring in looking for it, marching straight to the back, going behind that red curtain where normally only the creepers go. And they don’t so much as blush when Steve scans it.

Robin teases him about it mercilessly. Tells him maybe if he watches it, he’ll pick up some new moves. And, like, Steve has watched plenty of porn. He can’t imagine Eddie is doing anything that earth-shattering. There’s only so much to it, you know? People must just be caught up in the novelty of it being someone that they kind-of sort-of know. It will wear off, it has to.

Then he watches it.

And, oh…Steve has been doing sex all wrong.

For one, he wasn’t going down on girls. He just wasn’t. He’s not like…against it, or anything. But he sort of didn’t realize that was a thing? He lost his virginity in high-school for fuck’s sake—what did he know besides porn and magazines? And that was all the same, so wasn’t that what girls wanted? (Oh, you sweet summer dingus, Robin would shake her head and lament later.)

Secondly…the girls he was with never sounded like that. And he never realized just how fake all those other “orgasms” in porn sounded until he heard the real deal. Now he can’t un-hear it.

From that day forward, for almost two months, they are short one copy of Eddie’s tape because Steve snuck it home in his bag one night after closing. For research purposes only.

No, seriously.

Eddie is a fucking star. Literally.

The second you and he get together, (in a, ahem, professional sense) something shifts. It feels like a long-laid plan plotted from a distant corner of the vast universe has finally come to fruition.

Your first tape is a smash. The camera you get is barely a step up from a hand-held camcorder, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest. Even with a bare bones crew (you wind up doing a lot of the sound, the lighting, the editing yourself) and everyone doubting you from the jump, it’s a hit.

The concept isn’t anything crazy—Eddie shows up to deliver a pizza, and instead the girl accepts his delivery. But you add a twist: the pizza is for a poker game her boyfriend is hosting. He canceled date night for it and she’s been sitting out here all alone while they play in the other room.

Not on Eddie’s watch.

He goes to town on her, bringing her to the brink three or four times while her boyfriend’s pizzas go cold on the countertop. You push the camera in close on both of them, really trying to give the sense of Eddie as a person. So he’s not just another disembodied guy with a nice dick.

Although his is very, very nice.

His personality shines through when he does things like hike her leg up to fuck into her pussy deeper, chasing her pleasure like her high is his own; and when he grins down at her all devilishly as she tries to stifle her sounds so her “boyfriend” won’t hear; or when Eddie mocks her, making her own little whines and huffs and squeals right back at her in a way that is so infuriatingly hot.

He talks her through it, locking those big brown eyes of his on her, clutching the back of her neck while she tries to block her moans, until at last she can’t hold it back any longer and explodes.

And you have the sound guy stand off to the side and call out, “Everything okay in there, babe?” after she’s done. Nothing but a shuddering, trembling mess on a black leather sofa.

Cut. Print. That’s a wrap, folks.

Eddie is a dream to work with. He’s collaborative and creative; he communicates effectively and often. You guys are like two halves of the same brain, often anticipating what the other wants before they even know it themselves.

It’s alarming, almost. To be seen so clearly.

Even short on crew, equipment, time, money—you can’t seem to fail when you’re together.

The one thing you’re never short on is actresses. Ever since Eddie’s first tape came out, word of mouth (pun intended) has spread. Rapidly. And since you know most of them, you know who to hire. You know which ones are the flakes, which ones are divas, which ones will vibe best with the kind of set experience you’re trying to create. So Eddie trusts your judgment, completely.

He just waits for you to tell him who he’s fucking and then he does it. And he does it so well.

The fucker has chemistry with everyone—down to the guy who brings the sandwiches when you break for lunch. He’s so charming and funny and considerate practically to a fault. He’s fully dialed in from the moment he steps on set to when you wrap for the day. And afterwards, he’s checking in with you, making sure you got exactly what you wanted, asking if you want anything else, if you need him to stay because he’ll be happy to.

It’s…completely and utterly disarming.

He has every right to be a full blown asshole. This entire venture hinges on him and his magic dick, so his head should be as big as a hot air balloon. But he doesn’t ever stray from that unflagging decency that’s so rare in this industry. 

And you pray he never will.

It’s Eddie who pitches your next film.

He’s got this notion of a good girl—a cheerleader—who’s having a hard time and goes looking for weed from the mean and scary tattooed dealer.

(One guess who’s playing him.)

Except he’s not so mean and scary. He’s actually kind of a goof, mock-stabbing himself in the heart and flailing around like a clown, throwing himself off the picnic bench you and he dragged out to this clearing at the ass crack of dawn.

All part of the vision, he assured you.

They look great on camera. His dark, wild hair and clothes and everything in direct contrast to her sweet, round face and bright pastel hues and soft waves. Chemistry’s off the charts, as usual. She starts out really nervous and fidgety, but he makes her comfortable and flirts, offers the bud at a discount. And then her brow cocks daringly and she asks if he has anything…stronger.

Cut to her being eaten out like a banquet spread out on this table in the middle of the forest.

It’s oddly lush and romantic with the rich color of the leaves and the dappled sunlight that filters in through the branches—a foil to the lewdness of their acts and their wanton sounds. 

And when they’re dressed down to nothing, bare skin on bare skin on gray weathered wood, they look almost like forest nymphs or elves caught up in the throes of passion, secluded in the trees.

Especially with the leaves still clinging to Eddie’s hair from when he fell off the table.

Not for the first time, you feel a certain twinge of something that squirms low in the pit of your stomach while you watch them.

Except you’re not watching them…because you can’t take your eyes off of him.

After you wrap, he hangs back. Asks what you thought of the shoot while he helps break down the equipment. Blushes when you tell him you loved it and how good he looked. Explains how it was inspired by these daydreams he used to have about this one girl he knew in high-school.

And you almost, almost, ask him about her—but you’re cut off by a PA who runs up in a panic.

The studio is calling, and they’re pissed.

They’ve just gotten a look at the contract you had drawn up. Rights to a boutique company under their banner, unlimited use of their distribution channels. Full creative control and intellectual property rights to anything and everything.

Plus exclusive use of Eddie.

(Effectively nullifying that horseshit deal they originally gave him for a much, much better one.)

You know they’re gonna fight you on a lot of it—you swung big so you’d have plenty of room to negotiate—but it will all be worth it when they fold. Because you and Eddie have big plans.

You both know you’re onto something special and you’re in it together, to the end of the line.

Apparently, Eddie is also interested in editing.

He shows up to the production offices on a day he’s supposed to be off, but knows you have the editing bay reserved. Brings you coffee and an egg sandwich like a literal angel on earth.

An angel dressed like the devil, maybe. Because he’s got on this tank top with arm holes that’ve been stretched way, way beyond their natural elasticity, drooping down around his ribs and flashing glimpses of his tattoos and the tops of his obliques. And you aren’t entirely sure why you’re getting all hot and bothered over a tank top when there’s not a single intimate inch of his        body you haven’t already seen up close and personal through your viewfinder.

In fact, it’s the same body you’re watching fuck the shit out of that girl on the picnic table from a few days ago. And he’s wearing a whole lot less than a tank top.

You share a brief chuckle over it—the fact that his bare ass is flickering on three screens while you scroll through footage. And it’s not so much that it’s awkward, more like you’re mutually tickled by the fact that it’s not? There’s not an ounce of self-consciousness left between you two.

In a way, it’s like there never was.

He asks if you want any help, or if you mind him sitting in. He’s interested in the process, thinks it might help him on set too. There’s such a rich vein of enthusiasm and curiosity in him, a real thirst to be better and to learn. It’s ridiculous it took him three tries to graduate.

You think it’s a great idea…at first.

But then you’re watching him on the screen with him sitting right next to you. His earthy, woodsy scent layered with the smell of his soap in your nose; his recorded grunts and groans of pleasure in your ears coming through your headphones that are starting to slicken with the sweat.

It’s all wildly distracting. And you must be some kind of masochist, because (not for the first time) you can’t help but wonder how he makes all these women come the way they do.

“So, uh, what…what exactly are you doing here?”

You clear your throat, trying to cover the tremor in your voice as you ask. Eddie scoots in closer, his eyes darting between yours and the screen as he describes the way he’s using his tongue, swirling it around the edges of her entrance, plunging it deep inside her while his nose pushes firmly on her clit. Pretending not to notice your chest heaving with his every word.

“How do you even breathe?” you chuckle.

“I find my moments,” he says.

Smirks back. Winks.

And uh-oh. When did his hand touch your knee? When did he start to rub his thumb over your bare skin through the hole in your jeans? When did his long, ringed fingers start to curl under your thigh to squeeze it? When did he start to lean further into your space? When did you get so wet?

He’s close now. It wouldn’t take anything for you to bridge the gap and let your lips meet his. You can’t, though. You don’t. Because it would be so…stupid. It would be wrong and bad, and it could jeopardize both of your careers. Everything you’re working towards, totally gone.

You’re starting the porn for women movement, here. You can’t fuck your first star!

And you don’t. You keep it professional. You tell him you’re going to call it a day and head home so he’ll do the same. But later that night, when he calls with some new ideas for a script, asking if he can run a few lines by you (just to know how it sounds out loud, you know?), and you wind up having the most insane, mind-blowing phone sex of your entire life…Well, that’s different.

That’s totally and completely different.

The next time you see him, it’s business as usual.

You knew it would be. You two are nothing if not consummate professionals, fully committed to this endeavor. Neither of you would dare let your goals be derailed by a silly little crush.

And it is just a crush. It has to be.

Just the natural result of working so closely with him; of seeing him so completely in his element; appreciating his work ethic and his creativity.

Not to mention the fact that you are consistently watching him have the hottest sex you’ve ever seen in your life. But that’s unrelated.

The next shoot is your biggest yet. It’s at this massive mansion that you’re dressing to look like a spa with two massage tables set up by the pool that looks like something straight out of a resort.  Eddie is playing a masseur who offers a lonely, neglected housewife consolation in the form of his cock after her husband chooses work over their couples massage.

After the success of the pizza delivery tape, you think it’s best you lean hard into the “Eddie fucks it better” sort of storylines.

Because why not play to your strengths?

Except that the call time of your female lead has come and gone and she’s nowhere to be found. You know Trina, this isn’t like her, she’s never late. But you called and got no answer. Twice.

The light is perfect, everyone’s in place…but there’s no one for Eddie to fuck.

Even if you could get a replacement, it would take at least an hour for anyone to get out here and that was being generous. By then, the shoot would be way behind and you’ve literally only got today in this stupid model home before some fucking billionaire moves in tomorrow.

It’s gonna be a massive loss of time and money if you don’t think of something. Like, right now.

Eddie can see you’re stressed. He comes over and you huddle by your storyboards. And neither of you has to say it, but you both are thinking the exact same thing. As per usual.

You could do it.

You’re here, for one. And you’ve done this plenty of times. It just makes good business sense.

It’s been a while, and you’re not quite “camera-ready” after not having to be for the past couple of months, but you and Eddie have been talking about using more normal-looking bodies; bodies that jiggled and had hair where it grew naturally and are authentically real, regular bodies.

The camera guys know what sort of shots you want and you’ve got a bigger crew now—people who know your vision and can help bring it forth.

Plus, you’ll be with Eddie. You know he’ll take care of you. He’ll be sure that you get exactly what you need, no matter what. You’d bet your life on it.And, well…you and he did just rehearse your lines the other night.

The shoot is…interesting.

From the outside, it goes great. Perfect, even. Eddie looks all kinds of cute in his white polo and white pants. He’s got his long hair twisted up off his neck, a few loose tendrils framing his face. 

And you somehow forgot until he puts his hands on you the first time that the whole concept for this shoot was born out of the fact that he actually went to massage school for real.

Before you even get to the sex stuff, you’re putty in his hands. He moves them up and down your calves, slides his thumbs over your muscles in a dizzying pattern en route to your thighs. 

You’re not even faking the deep moans of relief you let out as he moves up higher and higher… arousal promptly pooling between your legs.

He starts going through his lines, striking that perfect balance between his casual, trying-to-be professional voice, while slowly getting more and more desperate and possessive. 

As if he’s constantly fighting the urge to take you right then. Right now.

Telling you how awful it is your husband chose work over you like this; how you should always be his number one priority; how Eddie would never let you out of his sight if you were his…

His hands reach your ass and he grips one round globe in each, spreading you apart so he (and the camera) can see how you glisten, the sunlight reflecting like it does off the water in the pool.

You wait for his next line—when he offers you a very ‘special’ massage with a ‘special’ technique he ‘doesn’t use on just anyone.’ 

But Eddie goes off script.

He licks a fat, wide stripe directly through your folds and your head pops out of the little headrest at the end of the table, the pure shock and delight on your face captured instantly by the camera.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he pleads, his tongue still swirling in between the words muffled by your ass cheeks, like he can’t stand to take it away, even to speak. “I had to taste you…”

“It’s okay,” you moan, voice nearly cracking in a dry sob, “It’s okay, just please don’t stop—”

And he doesn’t. He keeps going until you come, until you’re reaching back behind you to grip his hair as you push your hips back to meet every thrust of his perfect tongue. From there, it’s back to regularly scheduled fucking. He stays on script, peppering in the sort of ad-libs he knows from experience get a good reaction every time—

That’s it sweetheart, you’re doing so well for me.

Your husband doesn’t know what he’s missing.

This pussy is all mine now, you understand?

And, yeah, that stuff gets you off, no problem. But it’s the other stuff he does—the quieter, subtle things you aren’t expecting—that really push you over the edge again and again. And again.

It’s the things he whispers (actually whispers, not stage whispers) low in your ear so you’re the only one who can hear. You feel way too good/I gotta slow down or I’m gonna come/I know you faked that last one, gimme a real one now—

It’s…it’s almost too much. You knew he’d be good, you just didn’t expect how good. 

And you definitely didn’t expect to feel the way you do when he checks in between takes: asking if you want more or less of anything, making sure he’s not being too rough, telling you how great you’re doing, apologizing again for that initial snafu. It makes you all…fluttery.

But it’s not until after you wrap for the day, after you’ve gotten in the shower at home and start to wash off the massage oil spread all over your skin, that you realize Eddie never kissed you.

Not once.

When Eddie calls later that week, it’s to ask you out. Not on a date, though. 

Which is good. Really, it is. A relief, even. Because contrary to the way your heart leapt into your throat when he asked if you were busy this weekend, you absolutely cannot date him.

It doesn’t matter that you’re attracted to him. Or that you came out of your eyeballs multiple times with him the other day. Or that you haven’t been able to think about anything besides him since.

You. Can’t. Date.

You’re pretty much his boss, don’t forget. Maybe not technically, maybe not on paper—but if you start something up with him, it will be messy and complicated and it could put everything you and he have worked for in jeopardy. More than that, you don’t want anyone thinking he got where he is by any other means besides his hard work (pun intended). He’s earned everything he’s gotten.

And now that includes an award.

That’s what he’s calling about. He’s been nominated for what is essentially the porn equivalent of an Oscar for that first tape he made. And now he has to go to this ceremony, except he’s sort of freaking out because he’s never done anything like this before and he’s really nervous and he kind of needs you there because ‘you’re the only one I’m always comfortable with.’

So he asks if you’ll go with him. As friends.

And you say you will. And it’s fine. You can do this, you can do this, you can do this—FUCK. 

Why does he have to be so hot? Showing up in a black Prada suit with a sheer shirt underneath? Almost as bad as wearing nothing under it at all. Worse, maybe.

It’s unbuttoned nearly to the middle of his torso, layered chains dangling low, hanging around that tree trunk of a neck you can’t stop wishing you could sink your teeth into, wrap a hand around—

Nope. Nope. You’re not going there. The only place you’re going tonight is these awards.

Except when you get there, the organizers don’t want you photographed with Eddie. At least not arriving together. People still aren’t familiar with you as a director, and you haven’t starred in a project in months. That’s practically a century in porn time.

Plus, the tape Eddie is nominated for you didn’t even work on. It wouldn’t make any sense.

Eddie is immediately poised to protest, but neither of you is given much of an opportunity. While you’re shuffled into the long line of people already being photographed in front of the venue, he’s being whisked away so he can walk with the girl he starred in that very first film with.

You know her, sort of. You did a group scene once upon a time. She’s a biter.

They even sneak him into her limo so it looks like they came together. He gets out first and then holds out a hand to help her, a storm of flash bulbs going off, making her jumpsuit sparkle.

And you tell yourself not to watch. You try to smile pretty for your own pictures and look like you are having a good time. Or at least not look like you’re chewing on glass. But it’s…difficult.

Especially when you look up at the worst possible time—the exact moment she places a dainty hand on his chest and he turns his face toward hers, their lips meeting for a long kiss. 

Long enough for every camera there to capture it.And the very last shot they get of you that night is one of your back as you head inside to get a drink. Or ten. Trying not to think about this sour, putrid, inconvenient feeling in your chest.

Eddie should have walked with you. 

He should have done a lot of things, actually.

He should have told those uppity event coordinators to fuck off. He should have ignored that girl from his first film when she whispered under her breath for him to look at her. He should have dodged that sticky, tacky kiss she planted on his lips without any kind of warning.

He should have asked you out for real instead of hiding behind this ‘as friends’ bullshit.

Maybe if he had, he’d be tasting your lipgloss instead of the glittery mess he was wiping off his chin. Maybe it would be your hand in his as you walked the carpet. And maybe it would be him getting you a drink and clinking his glass with yours instead of the guy you’re with right now.

Eddie knows him. Well, he doesn’t know him, he recognizes him from a tape with some absurd name like Sex Kittens 4 that featured a surprising amount of doggy style, considering the title.

Plus you in a never-ending stream of animal-print bikinis.

(He definitely did NOT go looking for every movie you’d ever made. No, that would be ridiculous. He just sort of…happened across one. Or five.)

And it’s not that he’s jealous—because there’s nothing to be jealous of. You met him doing a job. A job very much like the one you did with Eddie. You’re just catching up with an old coworker.

It’s fine. Totally fine. Did he mention it’s fine?

But then Tom Wanks put his hand on your hip, and before Eddie can take even a second to think, or to rationalize his actions, he’s striding up to you and taking your hand to drag you away.

The beaded fringe on your dress swishes noisily as he brings you with him behind a curtain that was set up as a backdrop for more photos. In the shadows behind it, your eyes glint a little meanly and your voice is barbed when you ask what the hell is the matter with him.

And he’s really not sure.

Because much like you, he’s not used to this; he’s not used to not saying exactly what is on his mind at any given time; he’s not used to holding anything back—not when it comes to you.

“I should have stayed with you,” he blurted out at last. “That was messed up, I—”

Your face falls and you dodge his gaze. “It’s fine, Eddie. Don’t worry about it.”

“But I am worried about it,” he shot back. “I could have said something, I could have told them—”

“What for?” you mutter, arms crossing in front of your chest. You look at the floor, hurt. Not just hurt, disappointed. “I mean, what…what would be the point? It’s not like we’re…or that you’re…”

He watches the words stall behind your lips, all of them trying to fight their way out like people on a crowded bus. But in their efforts, they only wind up clogging the exit so nothing gets through.

“God, listen to me!” you laugh bitterly. “I sound like some crazy, jealous…something, and I don’t know why I’m getting this upset when you don’t even like me—”

“Wait, what? Who the fuck said that?”

He can tell you’re shocked by the panic that rises in his voice, staring back at him wide-eyed.

“Wh-when we were filming, you never kissed me. So I thought…”

You fell silent as Eddie’s hands covered the sides of your face. Softly cradling your jaw, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks, he stares straight into your eyes and determinedly holds your gaze. 

Your breath stuttered, so lost in those deep brown pools you could hardly recall your own name. And even if you could speak, you weren’t entirely sure what you wanted to say.

Luckily, Eddie gave you something better to do with your mouth.

His lips meet yours in a gentle brush. His hold on your face never tightens, but you can feel the way his fingers flex like he’s resisting the urge to grip you harder. There’s a tenacity in his kiss, as if he’s trying to savor the taste of you, but struggling not to devour you whole.

You break apart too soon for his liking. He easily would have stayed there forever. And he braces himself for whatever might be coming—a slap across his face, a knee straight to his balls.

He might deserve both, but receives neither.

You don’t pull back so much as an inch, happy to let him keep your face close to his. He inhales shakily, still breathing you in, “I didn’t want the first time I did that to be on camera.”

You chuckle at him, dazed and grinning, trying to decide if this is a dream or not. If it is, you don’t ever want to wake up. You want to live in it. Your own hands creep up his stomach, tugging on his silky shirt, feeling the way he shivers in it when he feels the caress of your fingertips.

“What about the second?” you whisper.

And then he’s kissing you again.

Deeper. Hungrier. Messier.

He’s not kissing you like it’s his job; like he’s just doing what was written for him in a script—he’s doing it like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted, desired, chosen to do. Like it’s all he needs.

Your bare back meets the cool wall as he pushes you up against it, sliding his hand inside the slit of your dress, hooking it under your knee to hitch your leg over his hip. He presses every single inch of himself against your seam, harder than he’s ever been in his whole fucking life.

The closest second being when you and he filmed just a few days ago.

You claw at him, pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders, pulling open more buttons on his shirt until the gossamer fabric tears and unravels.

“More,” he begs, kisses trailing down your neck. “Fucking please, sweetheart, I need more—”

Your hand takes on a life of its own, sliding down to cup his length through the luxurious suiting. It causes him to release a deep, desperate moan you can feel his lips spreading apart to let out. The sound of it ripples through your body like an electric shock in every extremity.

The dull roar of the crowd right on the other side of that curtain is only barely enough to cover the sound of you and Eddie’s passions. His touch is so enthralling, so engrossing, you are this close to letting him fuck you right there.

Room full of people be damned.

Eddie seems to have the same idea, his mouth blazing a trail down the middle of your chest and stomach as he drops to one knee, his other foot planted to support himself as he drapes your leg over his shoulder. A rush of excitement floods your body as you realize his intentions, fingers sliding into his unruly curls to grip them at the crown of his head.

But the very second his fingers pull your panties to the side and his tongue finds its home in your folds, a commotion breaks through your bliss.

There’s a loud crash as a cater waiter stumbles into the curtain obscuring your entangled bodies and drags it down with them as they fall.

Light floods the darkened space and a sound of collective amusement ripples through the crowd. No one is exactly surprised to see people hooking up—but it’s usually not until the afterparty.

Cocktail hour isn’t even over, for crying out loud.

Then they realize who it is.

The shutters of opportunistic photographers snap as you give Eddie’s hair a sharp tug. But he just moans loudly—too absorbed in what he’s doing to even realize what’s happened.

Finally, you pull him off your clit and he looks over his shoulder at the rest of the room.

Another round of snaps and flashes go off and his eyes return to yours, brightening when he sees the way you’re covering your mouth, fighting back laughter. His own lips, still shiny with your arousal, spread into a wide grin. His gaze lands on an emergency exit and he jumps to his feet, taking your hand in his and pulling you towards it tucked securely under his arm.

Flipping off the room behind him as you leave.

Together.

The trip back to your apartment is the longest cab ride of your life.

Whereas on the way to the convention center, you’d ridden mashed against your door trying to leave a respectable distance across the middle seat, Eddie practically has you in his lap on the way back. It’s like he thinks he’ll die if he stops touching you for even a second—lips on your neck, his hands roaming hungrily, whispering filth in your ear under the cover of the radio.

You do your best to catch the driver’s eye in the rearview, trying to shoot him an apologetic look or at least mouth a wholly insincere ‘sorry’ for the display. But he seems unphased.

Still, you stuff a wad of extra bills in his hand as you scramble out of his car. Unceremoniously crashing through the front door, you’re lucky not to break it down in your haste to get Eddie inside.

Of your apartment, that is.

Lips locked for every step across your cramped studio, you tumble to the bed and let out a soft grunt when a plastic hanger digs into your back. Hearing you yelp, Eddie pulls back and can see you’re lying on top of the ten or so discarded outfits you went through trying to decide on what to wear tonight. Sequins rustle under your bodies as the bed shakes with your gentle laughter, and Eddie drops a kiss to the tip of your nose before he climbs off you. Reluctantly.

He watches while you gather the dresses strewn across the bed, smiling when you try and stuff them back in your closet, fumbling with only the amber street light filtering through your blinds to see by. When you finally turn back to face him, he’s still smiling. Head tilted at you, eyes slowly raking over your form, heart rate picking up in his chest when yours do the same to him.

The pause is nice. It gives you both a minute to catch your breaths, for your brains to catch up with your bodies. Your steps turn careful and slow as you move towards him. With trembling fingers, he pulls open the last remaining buttons of his sheer shirt and lets it fall to his feet.

Remembering only just now that his jacket is still on the floor of that hotel ballroom.

You come to a stop in front of him and he closes the distance left. He reaches around you and pulls down the zipper of your dress, fingertips dragging lightly along your spine as he reveals it.

It’s the closest you’ve ever come to feeling like a gift someone is unwrapping.

With your dress pooled around your ankles, Eddie’s hands are free to wander. He runs them up and down your arms, sweeping them along the inside of your wrists to twine your fingers with his. He brings them to his lips to kiss and the sight of plush pink brushing your knuckles is bordering on being too much to handle—more erotic than anything you’ve ever filmed.

He’s going slow because it’s slowly dawning on him what you’re about to do. 

And how this time it’s not going to be for work or for a camera. It’s going to be real. 

Except…is it going to be real?

Should he do something different than what he did when you filmed? How can he, when he used all his best moves during the shoot? Shit…

He doesn’t want you thinking he’s just doing with you the same thing he does with everyone else; that this—that you—aren’t special to him.

Then suddenly, he’s not going slow anymore.

He’s stopped completely.

“You okay?” you whisper.

“Y-yeah,” he chokes out, like the word is made of sawdust. “I just, ahhh…I don’t know, I think I’m psyching myself out? Thinking too hard.”

“Thinking about what?” you whisper, your teeth tugging back your bottom lip.

His head just shakes, eyes still scanning your face while his thumb lightly strokes your jaw, until he lets out a sigh that’s heavy with fondness and whispers, “How I don’t want to mess this up.”

He takes another deep breath, letting his forehead rest against your own as his chest shudders. Confounded as to how something he’s done in front of a whole-ass camera crew could make him feel so self-conscious when it’s just you here with him. A few seconds of silence pass until his lips part in a smirk and his gaze cuts to the side, right to where a camera would be.

“Is it just me…or does it feel like something is missing?”

It takes a few minutes of digging to find your old camcorder buried in the depths of your closet. 

Eddie chuckles when you emerge, brandishing it with a flourish and a little ta-da! before you set it on top of your dresser pointed at the bed, angling it slightly to properly frame the shot.

The red light blinks as you hit ‘record,’ barely taking a second to check if there’s a tape inside. You let it run, capturing your figures half in shadows as he sits on the bed and pulls you into his lap. He helps you settle on his thighs, runs his hands up the backs of yours, slips his long fingers under the elastic band of your panties to rest on your hip. He pulls them back and snaps them softly on your skin, earning a hum of approval from behind your pressed lips.

You wriggle on top of him and delight in how it makes his chest reverberate with a low groan.

“That better?” you whisper, the answer to your question immediately stiffening underneath you. He nods fervently, his voice tight and strained as he struggles to keep his cool.

“Wanna taste you,” he grunts out roughly.

He moves his hands to grip your waist so he can flip you underneath him, but your hands find his shoulders and stop him before he can.

Big, doleful eyes look up at yours, his face etched with concern as you shake your head. His bottom lip wobbles as he searches your face for why.

In a reassuring press, you mash your lips to his and lace your fingers behind his neck. You kiss all the air out of his lungs, until his fingertips are digging into your flesh hard enough to leave ten tiny bruises. You kiss him like you’re trying to take the weight of the world off his shoulders, like you’re going to accept his every burden as your own so he doesn’t have to carry them alone.

There’s a quiet pop as your mouths separate and you press your chest flush with his, wrapping your arms around his neck so your lips find his ear as your nose nudges through his curls.

“Tell me you want me,” you whisper. “Tell me how much you want this.”

“I don’t want it,” he groans back, “I need it. I’ve needed it since I fucking met you.”

The heat in his voice, the rumble of it in your ear, causes a wave of arousal to rush through your body. You unwind your arms from around his neck and slip slowly, painfully slowly, from his lap to stand between his legs. You place a finger under his chin and tip his face up for him to look at you, your thumb settling in the tiny dip at its center. Too small to see, it could only be felt.

“Everyone always uses you,” you tell him softly, almost mournfully.

His eyes stay wide and hopeful, never leaving yours as you sink down to your knees. His long, dark lashes flutter as your hands run up his muscled thighs, the edges of your thumbs grazing the outline of his cock. He hisses through his teeth and you grin devilishly at the sound.

“I want you to use me,” you instruct him. “Take whatever you need, as much as you want.”

And you can literally see how your words affect him, his eyes bugging wide as the wheels in his head are turning behind them. He reaches out to touch your face and you turn it to kiss his palm.

“Sweetheart, I—oh, fuck,” he gasps, cut off with your sudden squeeze of his clothed cock.

“I’ll stop you if I need a break,” you reply firmly.

The muscles in his neck pull taught as he nods. He leans back on one elbow, reluctant to let his other hand leave your face. You kiss his bare stomach along the top of his waistband and he curls his hand around the back of your head, gripping it tighter when you tug down his fly.

And you knew Eddie’s dick well by now. You knew it inside of you as well as out. But there was nothing that could have prepared you for the sight of it tonight. Thick, and veiny, and weeping with pre that dribbles down its sides. He’s almost ashamed of it, almost embarrassed by how hard he is for you; by how close he is to blowing his load when you’ve not even gotten started.

It was practically a miracle he didn’t soil the inside of his suit when you pulled his hair earlier.

His pupils are blown out when your eyes meet his, your lips hovering so close to his cock he can feel your breath on it. Saliva pools under your tongue so rapidly, you almost feel like you’re at risk of it spilling out of your mouth and running down your chin when you speak.

“Fuck my throat, Eddie. Please.”

And he does. He lets you set the pace at first, still holding fast on the back of your head he watches your lips surround his tip. His chest heaves with deep, gasping breaths as you take him fully into your mouth and start to bob on his perfect cock. It’s almost too much, too perfect, the feeling of your warm, wet mouth and your soft tongue and, fuck, your hand—

He pants wildly as you cradle his sack, your fingertips stroking them and spreading the spit from your mouth that’s dribbling down his shaft to his balls. They tense in your palm and his stomach tightens the faster your mouth moves, the more your throat relaxes to take him in deep.

The man who gives the best head imaginable finally having the favor returned.

“Jesus Christ…”

Eddie's words are whispered like a prayer and you look up to take in the sight of him.

Eyes pinched shut, his brows drawn like he’s in pain even though the sounds he’s releasing are nothing short of euphoric. You tease all the most sensitive nooks and crannies of his cock, all the places that make his eyes roll back and his head loll on his shoulders and his chest heave. Every ridge, every vein, every muscle that twitches under the attention of your tongue.

“Oh, pl…p-please,” he gasps, tightening his hold on your hair to still your movements as his hips start to move in an instinctive and primal thrust.

He hits the back of your throat and you swallow more of him down, taking him deeper, deeper until your nose brushes the wiry hair at his base.

You groan around his length, enthralled by the exquisite ache of him hitting your soft palate, and the sound is Eddie’s undoing. He lets out a long, low moan and spills hot and thick down your throat. His arm trembles as he fights his own iron grip on the back of your head, forbidding himself from pulling your hair. You can feel the tremors of his fingers against your scalp.

His abdomen spasms as you stroke him through the aftershocks, flirting with overstimulation. Fucked-out eyes, heavy-lidded and sleepy, but nothing short of reverent, find yours and they’re wet—shiny, shimmering with tears that crowd their rims and threaten to spill down his cheeks.

Quick as you can, you’re on your feet cradling his jaw to ask if he’s okay. And Eddie can’t answer, can only nod as he kisses, kisses, kisses your palm, the heel of your hand, your wrist, down the inside of your arm all the way to your elbow.

He can’t kiss you enough, it seems. 

You giggle softly as you sit beside him and reach out to ruffle his bangs, tucking some of his hair behind his ear and letting your touch linger on his neck. With the pad of your thumb, you brush a tear that has leaked out of the corner of his eye. He looks back at you with a smile and swipes the pad of his thumb along the corner of your mouth to wipe away a drop of his spend.

And you know there’s still a lot left to figure out—damage control that will have to be done, difficult conversations that will have to be had. There will be whispers and rumors and sidelong glances.

Not to mention the firestorm those pictures of you two at the ceremony will undoubtedly stir up.

But none of that matters right now. Nothing does, beyond this bed and this night. Nothing else even exists outside the confines of this room.

All that matters is you and him.

You lay there for a while, just…being. Your fingers tracing his tattoos and the soft planes of his chest and stomach; his, the slope of your shoulders and the lines of your body he’s always wanted to know better. Quiet words pass back and forth, teasing jokes and soft confessions. Admissions of fears that held you both back and don’t seem so daunting anymore. Don’t seem so scary.

When he’s hard again, you pick up the camera and point it at him as you guide him to lay on his back. You push in close on his face when you sink down fully onto his length and start to ride him at an egregiously slow pace just so your shot holds steady. And because he looks so pretty taking it.

“Something wrong, Ed?” you goad him a smidge, toying with him in more ways than one when your pussy squeezes so tight around his cock it makes him lose his breath and pant out of control.

“F-fu…fuuuuuck meeee…” he whines and writhes, throwing his head back into the mattress.

“Oh,” you chuckle at him, speeding up just a hair, “I’m sorry, is that not what I was doing?”

His head jerks up, eyes ablaze as he stares you down through the camera lens. You peer at him over the top of the viewfinder and shiver despite the thin layer of sweat building on your skin.

Okay, yeah, that might have been a little too far. Or just far enough, you think, almost giddy.

“Nah,” he growls, the corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk. “Sorry is what you’re gonna be.”

A loud squeal bursts out of you as he rolls your bodies to the side and pins you underneath him, somehow managing to keep himself seated inside you the whole time. Breathless, you watch as he takes the camera from you and practically tosses it away so he can hold your arms over your head. For a while, all it captures is a blurry close-up of your duvet cover, the frame shaking in time with every deep, solid thrust of Eddie’s hips that rattles the entire bed and you in it when he gets going.

Your moans and his grunts mix in a symphony that will surely earn you some side-eyeing from your neighbors tomorrow, but you can’t bring yourself to give a single ounce of a shit.

The song that you make together swells to a crescendo as you topple over the precipice you’ve been dangling off the edge of practically from the moment you met him. Eddie fumbles like mad for the camera and picks it up, recording your blissful expression before he swoops in to press his lips back to yours. Kissing you like he’s trying to eat you, like he’s trying to fuse your faces.

You’re certainly not complaining.

And now that he’s the one with the camera, he’s eager to keep going. He pans it up and down your whole body, guiding you into every filthy position he’s been imagining all those long nights alone in his bed. Through his eyes behind the lens, there’s not a single angle on you that isn’t pristine. 

He gets you up on all fours, films tight on your ass as he squeezes it and cracks his palm down on it when he lets go. The sting makes you keen, your back arching as your hips thrust back—seeking more, more. His hand then smooths over your buzzing flesh, soothes the ache he’s made.

And even as you’re making it, you can tell this is not just another sex tape.

It’s a love tape.

thank you for reading — love you, mean it! 🏝️

[onlymingyus]

Fatal Trouble

pairing; lee jihoon x f!reader 

genre; fantasy, heavy angst, mild horror, slow burn, smut (minor dni), toxic, fluff 

summary; where others would steal, bargain, or kill to live the life that jihoon had, he knew the truth. a charmed life was often a cursed one. 

content warnings; prince!jihoon, princess!reader, both the reader and jihoon’s parents are mentioned/in the fic, duke!mingyu, mild love triangle, jealousy, based on the beauty and the beast, beast!jihoon, some ideas have been borrowed from damsel, royalty au, time period not stated but not modern, curses, pregnancy/miscarriage scares, blood, mauling, murder/death, loss of parent(s), arranged marriage, crying, arguing, mental struggles, vivid descriptions of wounds/shifting, poor use of french, especially old french (i apologize). I am sure there are more—this is a very heavy fic. if there is anything glaring I missed, message me. (patreon will have additional warnings)

smut warnings; multiple smut scenes, virgin!reader, mild Dom/sub themes, dubcon leaning noncon briefly, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f recieving), handjob, pet names, crying (pleasure and not) — as always I’m sure I’m missing something, send me a message if it’s glaring. (patreon will have additional warnings)

w/c; 47k and some change (50k~ with patreon bonus)

once upon a time collab masterlist 

fatal trouble - enhypen 

a/n; thank you to @nothoughtsjustfic for putting together this collab. this has been a lot of fun and incredibly challenging all at the same time. also a huge thank you to @junkissed for proofreading this beast (pun intended). I know you are incredibly busy and you still managed to carve out a little time for me, I appreciate it more than you know. 

French word bank: Monseigneur - title for prince, Madame - title female royalty (queen/princess), Madame La Reine - title for queen, Monsieur - title male royalty (duke), Maman - mother, Mon fils - son, Mon amor- my love, Mon ange - my angel

before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here

1

He knew they were trying to keep the truth from him. Jihoon wasn’t sure why at this point. His mother liked to pretend that if you didn’t speak about something, you could pretend it didn’t happen. Jihoon knew all too well that not saying something didn’t make nightmares disappear. 

The bile was rising in his throat as he watched the men shift the girl’s bloody arm under the white sheet. She had been exceptionally pretty and incredibly naive. She had truly believed this was her dream come true. She was going to become the Queen of Aetherial Grove. She was changing the lives of her tiny little no-name kingdom... At least half of that was true. 

“Monseigneur…” 

Jihoon hadn’t realized he had stopped walking or that he was staring. Even as Wonwoo spoke to him, the prince kept his eyes down on the ground. Jihoon was beginning to look ill. Over the past few months, the stress of everything around him had only made his usual ordeal all that much worse. Wonwoo knew and saw everything in the palace, but watching Jihoon now he could see his sunken cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes that were only highlighting how pale he had become. 

“Monseigneur? Prince Jihoon?” 

The droplets of blood were like a trail of guilt for Jihoon as he watched the girl’s body being taken from the courtyard. He could hear Wonwoo’s voice, but the blood rushing in his ears and the sound of his own heart beating rapidly were drowning it out until the moment that the Steward placed his hand on Jihoon’s shoulder. “What? What do—stop coddling me.” 

Lifting his shoulders to shrug the man’s hand from him, Jihoon swallows the bile from his throat and leans his head back towards the sky. It was a cloudy day in the Aetherial Grove. If Jihoon had to be out of the palace, these were the days he preferred. The sunshine hurt his sensitive eyes and reminded him that most nights he hadn’t slept as much as he or anyone else would have hoped he had. 

“My apologies, monseigneur. You just looked lost in your thoughts, I—” Wonwoo knew that he wasn’t fooling anyone, but especially not Jihoon. He could see the disdainful look on his face as he finally met his eyes. “I just wanted to bring you back to the present. Nothing here was worth your concern and your mother wanted to meet with you in the queen’s salon.” 

There was nothing else in the world that Jihoon would rather do less than speak with his mother after what had just occurred, and yet he knew—as always—he didn’t have a choice in the matter. “Ah, I see. Well, I won’t keep the queen waiting then. I’m present and accounted for, Wonwoo; you’ve done your job well, as always.” With a roll of his eyes, Jihoon sighs out the last of his words, turning on his heel and turning back up the steps towards the large front doors of the palace he had the unfortunate privilege to call home. Where others would steal, bargain, or kill to live the life that Jihoon had, he knew the truth. A charmed life was often a cursed one. 

“It’s entirely unfortunate. If they ask for a cause, we say what we always do—” 

“That she died of disease?” 

Jihoon’s mother was a beautiful woman. In her youth, the queen had been regarded as one of the most stunning women in any surrounding kingdom to Aetherial Grove, and that was what brought her here and to her husband. While age hadn’t taken her beauty, stress had begun to show around her eyes and lips as, with each backhand comment from Jihoon, she found a new line forming from frustration. 

“Yes, mon fils, because that is precisely what happened to that poor girl.”  

Of course it was. That was what had happened to every single ill-fated princess who had made her way into Jihoon’s life. Scoffing under his breath, Jihoon moves to the large windows, feeling his mother’s eyes linger on him for a moment longer. She was frustrated; her annoyance was palpable in the air. 

“We persevere and try aga—”

“You can’t be serious, maman. When is enough, enough?” Jihoon didn’t allow his mother time to answer his question as she shifted on her chair. He knew the right answer and the answer he would receive. “I’m done with this.” 

The air in the room had gone stagnant as the tension rose between them. There was only so much that she could handle before she would snap, and Jihoon was walking that line. “Well, darling, that isn’t a choice you simply get to make, is it?” In the queen’s mind, Jihoon might be struggling with the adjustments he was having to make, but his life—this life that they all lived—was worth all of it. It was worth a few mishaps. “This isn’t about you, Jihoon. Your father is struggling; don’t you care? It’s your job—no, it’s your duty to step up and accept your position, and you are acting like an insolent child because, why? A few girls we barely knew didn’t fit in.” There were more important things to be concerned about in his mother’s mind than things that were now part of the past. 

“Wonwoo, dear? Make sure that the room is in perfect condition for our beautiful new princess, won’t you?” 

The bile was back in Jihoon’s throat. He could hear the faint roaring of what could be mistaken as his blood in his ears once again, but he knew that wasn’t what it was. No, that rumble was too familiar and terrified him. He was angry, and he wasn’t the only one that was taking notice. Inside of Jihoon was his family's greatest tragedy and well-kept secret. While he had been told his entire life that it had never been his fault, every time that he woke up with blood on his hands and face, he would need to be convinced again. 

The great kingdom of Aetherial Grove was full of wealth and prosperity, not just for the royal family but their subjects. While those around them seemed to fall into debt and ruin over the years, Aetherial Grove seemed to have never faltered. That was far from the truth. Those who truly knew the history of the kingdom would know that Aetherial Grove grew from nothing and not without immense challenges. That was all until Jihoon’s family took the throne and suddenly the challenges were gone, seemingly bringing the kingdom into the sun and good fortune. 

What had really happened not only changed the lives of everyone in Aetherial Grove, but Jihoon’s life in particular. Jihoon’s father had been a young king with a barren wife. His kingdom had been on the brink of complete collapse when a beautiful man with a charming smile offered him a solution. He would grant the King everything he ever wanted if the King promised him a favor. It seemed simple, and it had been until Jihoon’s father let the wealth and power go to his head, and then the man had come back requesting his favor. 

“Such a pretty wife, Sire... and she’s with child? So far along. My blessings to you both.” 

The words had seemed like a threat more than anything. Where the man seemed to be offering his well wishes, the glint in his eye told Jihoon’s father there was something amiss. “She is, and we thank you.” 

“As you should. It was by my will that it came to be, and what was given can be taken away.” The beautiful man’s smile that had seemed charming at first now seemed so sinister. “I’ve come to collect my favor, Sire.” 

“I’m certain that you have, but I fear I have noth—” 

“You have more than enough. Look around you; all that I have helped you to attain. Yet you lie to me and say you have nothing? Are you attempting to renege on our agreement, Sire?” The man appeared more snakelike than human as his eyes moved along the pretty queen’s face and down to the swell of her stomach. “I wouldn’t suggest it. Allow me to stay in the palace until I wish to part. Be that in days, months, years, or until I die.”  

While the king knew in his heart that the man was right and that all that was around him was due in thanks to the deal he had made with the man, his pride couldn't allow him to admit it. How would he explain to his servants or subjects who this man was that he was allowing to walk around freely in his palace? What could this lithe man do to him? The king was a man of immense power and fortitude. So instead of folding and showing any respect to him, the king scoffed and held his queen closer. “I owe you nothing. You’ll leave us at once.”

“Is that so? Do you know what happens when you don’t keep your promises? What happens when you let your ego think for you?” While the man knew what the answer from the king would be, he took a step forward only to feel the guard’s weapon at his chest to keep him back. He knew that something that weak and simple wouldn’t stop him if he truly wanted to harm any of them, but for the sake of peace in the moment, he took no further steps and chose to speak instead. “You’d rather sacrifice something other than your pride? That’s fine. Act like a beast and receive one.” 

Before the king could even open his mouth to question what the man’s words meant, at his side the queen gasped in pain, feeling a cramp in her stomach. There had been no complications with her pregnancy, and the child had been a miracle—perhaps too much of one. "Darling, what’s wrong?” 

Taking a step back, the man smirks to himself as he watches the king move to his knee at the woman’s side as she sobs and shakes her head in confusion. “She will survive. Everyone will, for now. We will see if he harbors your pride, Sire. I have my doubts. I’ll take my leave.” 

The king wanted to question the man, have him detained, and get to the bottom of his words, but one more fearful scream from his wife had him terrified. Jihoon had been born a month early and thought to be stillborn for a full ten minutes until, by another miracle, he let out a frantic scream as if brought back from the dead. 

His mother’s voice had become ringing in his ears as Jihoon rested his head against his hand, attempting to force the roaring in his ears to stop. It wasn’t until she was on her feet and talking about moving out the previous girl’s things that Jihoon groaned under his breath, loudly bringing everyone’s attention back to him. “Isabelle. She has—had a name. They all have names, maman.” 

“Obviously, Jihoon. I’m aware she had—” 

“Isabelle, Lia, Haeun, Elise, Baili, Krista, Ara, Gret—” 

“Stop it!” 

While it was rare for Jihoon’s mother to raise her voice—to truly yell—today she had. She was tired of hearing the names. She didn’t need to hear their names again. Their names didn’t matter to her. “It’s all unfortunate, Jihoon; I’m aware! Mon fils…” Carefully lifting her hands, she cups Jihoon’s face and meets his eyes, seeing the pain behind them. That was why she pushed as hard as she did. He was always alone; not even her company would ever be enough, and eventually, like his father was now, she would die. How could she leave her son alone? How could she leave him alone with his secret? With their secret? “It’s not your fault.” 

The words he hated more than any others. That was the prettiest lie and the most frequent lie that his mother told him. She had told him that same one time and time again over the span of his life. Resting his hand on her arm, Jihoon closes his eyes and furrows his brows tightly to attempt to hide his frustration as he spoke through gritted teeth. “It is, so please, maman... Don’t make me try this again. I don’t need a wife.” 

“I’m sorry.” Jihoon’s tears trail over her fingers, and his mother’s heart breaks once again. She had lost count on how many times she had felt that feeling since the man who had cursed them had come into their house. While Jihoon’s curse was much worse, this was hers. She had to watch her son live in pain. “Your father is dying, Jihoon, and you need a queen.” 

2

You knew that one day someone would arrange for your hand and you would have to leave your family and your kingdom. However, the day that it happened, you weren’t sure you could have ever been prepared for it. A man had shown up at your family’s small palace in Thornwood, and you had never seen someone who looked more out of place. He had handed your father a letter, and you had watched pride and happiness wash over your father’s face before his eyes landed on you. That was the moment your life changed forever. 

Deep down, you knew that this arrangement was a good thing. Even in just the couple of weeks since your father had received the letter, things had changed dramatically, not just for your family but for your kingdom as a whole. Thornwood had been struggling. In your memory, you couldn’t remember a time when the kingdom hadn’t been in a time of suffering, but things had only gotten worse over the past few years. 

Waters once rich with fish were now seemingly empty and the crop fields were barren. There wasn’t enough money in the entire kingdom to make any changes that were deemed necessary, much less keep everyone fed, so that was why when the letter came, it had been to everyone else, a miracle. To you, it was your worst nightmare. You had to leave the kingdom you loved more than yourself and marry someone you didn’t know and that you didn’t love. The only thing that made the weight of the price worth it; it was the dowry already being spent towards the benefit of your kingdom. 

“That is what duty is, my love. Sacrifice is difficult, but the reward is great.” 

Your father’s words looped in your ear as you now stood in front of great golden gates in the Aetherial Grove. You had heard so much and yet so little about this kingdom and its prince. He was a mystery and their were horror stories to match the amount of fairytales that came from the forest that acted as a gate around the kingdom. While you didn’t heed much credit to gossip or tales, you couldn’t help but think of them now as the servants unloaded your luggage and the gates began to open on your future. 

“I’ve heard the prince is a cruel but handsome man.” 

“No way! He’s a prince; he has to be charming and kind.” 

“But dear, Y/N... stay out of the woods. Did you hear about the beast of Aetherial Grove? So many women have gone missing. Or at least that’s the story.” 

“Don’t listen to silly stories! Your prince will keep you safe. I mean, your king! Oh my goodness, Y/N, you’re going to be a queen!” 

Those had been the last things you had heard from your cousins, as they had helped you pack your things. You had never cared enough about wanting to be a queen of anywhere, not even of Thornwood and now you were being thrust into a completely new world and expected to rule. You could feel your breakfast churning in your stomach as the handsome butler ushered you forward and spoke, though you barely listened to what he said, your mind a whirl of anxiety. 

“Madame Y/N, we are so honored to have you here.” 

The man named Soonyoung kept speaking, explaining other servant’s names, but none of them stuck with you because you were unable to focus on anything the moment you stepped foot inside the palace. The room was massive; it felt like an echo chamber. Every spoken word reverberated back into your ears like a bomb that made you feel unsteady on your feet and no one seemed to notice at first until a kind hand rested on your forearm. 

“Madame… are you alright?” 

The color in your skin had gone wrong. Jieun could see the chillbumps rising on your arms as you swayed ever so slightly along with Soonyoung’s words. It wasn’t like her to act out of turn, but she was happy she had put her hand on you when she did and saw the discomfort in your eyes. 

“No. I feel like I’m going to be sick.” 

Those words got everyone in motion. You hadn’t wanted so much attention and yet at the mention of being ill, you found yourself on a sofa with your feet up and a wet cloth on your forehead as the pretty girl who had first spoken to you watched over you closely. 

“Perhaps we could let Madame rest? I can stay with her and we can finish the tour when she is feeling like herself again.” 

Soonyoung wanted to argue with Jieun and tell her that there wasn’t time for all of the drama, but one more look at you and the pitiful look on your face had him agreeing. “I will let the monseigneur know what’s happening. Find me as soon as she’s feeling better.” 

The silence that followed the moment that Soonyoung closed the door behind him left you with a sigh of relief and put a smile on Jieun’s face. “I’m sure that is a welcomed change, Madame. I apologize for overwhelming you. I’m sure between your travels and—” 

“I’m alright, I promise. Could—would it be wrong of me to ask you to just call me Y/N? Your name is Jieun, right?” 

The apprehension was clear on Jieun’s face, but there was something about you that made her agree. She knew that if the queen heard her call you anything other than a proper title, she would be reprimanded, but it was nice to be treated differently—similar to an equal—for once. 

“Yes, Mada—Y/N. That’s my name. I—I’m actually the monseigneur’s cousin.” A shy smile pulls at her lips and Jieun shifts closer to you to adjust the cloth on your forehead. “We will be family soon." You can’t help but notice how her brows furrow even slightly and how she swallows hard, using her thumb to keep the cloth from your eyes. “Hopefully. I—as long as you and the monseigneur find no disagreements with the arrangement, I mean.” 

It was such a peculiar choice of words for Jieun to use in your opinion, but instead of questioning her, you choose to offer her a smile and nod. “Oh, that’s lovely. I’m certain that as long as I meet his standards, we can move along with the marriage. They’ve already paid—” Pressing your lips together, realizing how crass you sound in your words, you wrinkle your nose and try again. “A generous dowry was offered and accepted. My kingdom is very appreciative of this arrangement. It’s a duty I’m happy to uphold.” 

Jieun knew how this worked. She had done this so many times, with so many other women and yet as she sat with you like this now, it was the first time it made her heart ache. You were too good for this. She feared for you. “I’m certain you are... I—however, I know this isn’t my place, mada—Y/N, but may I offer some advice as a resident of Aetherial Grove?” Giving a quick glance to the door before avoiding your eyes directly, Jieun speaks through a strained smile. “Keep your head down and please stay out of the forest. Don’t go out at night.” 

The warning seems genuine, perhaps a sweet word for someone who might be afraid of the dark until you laugh under your breath and Jieun’s gaze finally meets yours. You can see just how serious she is, how her nose flairs and how she looks from the door once again and back to you whispering please before adding once again, “Don’t go out at night, Y/N.” 

Jieun’s words, much like your father’s, were echoing in your mind as you finally were being led through the palace with the girl by your side. She had seemed so sincere, and yet the moment that Soonyoung had returned to check on you, a facade had gone back up. You were no longer Y/N; you were once again Madame and now you were being led to what would become your rooms. 

“Until the wedding and after the coronation, of course. I’m sure you understand. The rooms are a bit smaller than the queen’s, but I hope they will suit you.” 

You weren’t sure what Soonyoung thought you were used to as you looked around the spacious rooms. If you chose to, you wouldn’t have to see anyone else in the palace. You had an entire wing to yourself and servants that would answer directly to you, including Jieun. Of course, you knew that your choice wasn’t your own and there would be no staying in your rooms and being alone. 

“This is wonderful—more than I could possibly ever n—”

“Soonyoung!” 

The raised voice made your heart begin to race instantly. While there had been a lot of voices and too much commotion around your arrival, no one had raised their voice once since you had arrived—that was until this man. You watch as Soonyoung swallows hard and rubs his lips together as if to steady himself before he turns towards the open doors to your salon and towards a handsome man dressed only like who you could assume to be royalty. This couldn’t be—

“Monseigneur…” 

Too soon. You had arrived far too quickly for Jihoon’s liking. They had barely gotten Isabelle’s things out of this room before they were moving yours in. Jihoon’s head was busting, his stomach was in knots, and you looked like a fragile doll ready to be broken with eyes wide with fear. 

“Keep her away from me; is that understood?” 

While Jihoon was speaking much quieter now, you could still make out his words as Soonyoung shuffled closer to him. You could so clearly see that there was a disdain for you written on the prince’s face and yet he hadn’t said a word to you. This was the first time he had seen you. Did he even know your name? 

Stepping forward, you hear Jieun mutter madame under her breath as you clear your throat and offer Jihoon a soft smile. “No, it’s okay, Jieun. Monseigneur?” Ignored. Jihoon barely shifts his eyes towards you, tilting his head almost like a wounded animal when you take another step in his direction. “Prince Jihoon… I’m—” 

“Y/N Y/L/N, of the Kingdom of Thornwood. Yes, I’m aware of your name. I’m busy, as you can see, madame.” He knew he was being cruel from the getgo, but that look of shock in your eyes was better than seeing you dead on the forest ground. “Soonyoung, with me. I have things to do. Good day, Madame.” 

3

It had been two months since you had arrived in Thornwood. While others seemed overjoyed by this fact, you were growing more miserable every single day. There had been times when Jihoon had been forced to be in the same room with you or to be at events with you, but otherwise he had spoken no more than a dozen words since your arrival. 

Today was no different. Today was the official public announcement of your engagement to the prince. Apparently no flaws had been found in you—he had deemed you good enough and you would get to suffer by his side until you died. 

“You look beautiful, Y/N.” 

At least you had Jieun and moments of privacy where you had a bit of normalcy. Smiling at the girl in the mirror. You lift the bracelet from the vanity in front of you as Jieun adds finishing touches to your makeup. “I don’t feel beautiful, but thank you.” 

Jieun could see the changes that had been slowly occurring in you since your arrival. Your smile was different. Your light was different. You were becoming resigned to a life of loneliness and while it wasn’t fair... perhaps that was the sacrifice you and Jihoon would both have to make in order to make this marriage work. This was the farthest that any of the women had ever made it. Some had gotten scared off in hours, some injured in the matter of days, and others killed after a week. You were sad but alive after two months. That was a triumph to be celebrated. 

“Then I will work harder. Make sure you look even more gorgeous in your dress for the party. Your bracelet is a very good choice.” 

You admired Jieun’s resilience. She was easily your closet friend in the kingdom and to say that you valued her presence would be an understatement. Smiling at the piece of jewelry now around your wrist, you run your fingertips over the closed clasp and think back to the moment that it was given to you just days before you had left Thornwood. “Mm, it is beautiful. It was a gift from a dear friend. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss him.” There was something beautiful and gut wrenching about the twisted golden thorns circling your wrist. The design was so delicate and yet in it’s simplicity, you felt a pang of home sickness. 

“Oh? I—it wasn’t my place.” 

Lowering your arm into your lap, you smile at Jieun in the mirror as you shake your head. You knew it was a bold choice to wear the bracelet. It wasn’t a gift from your betrothed, and yet you hadn’t received a gift from Jihoon. You had little fear that he would even notice a bracelet on your wrist anymore than he would notice you in the room for longer than he had to. “It’s fine, Jieun. No harm done. I’ll have something to far outshine it soon enough, won’t I?” 

Your words seem to ease Jieun’s mind, but they only cause yourself to spiral. You can already feel the weight of the ring on your finger and wonder if that weight will be worth the price. 

In his own room, Jihoon was thinking much the same. He had already felt the weight of the box in his jacket pocket and it felt as if it weighed an impossible amount. It wasn’t his life that he felt that he was ruining, but yours. 

He had gone out of his way to avoid you over the past two months. It had been equally as difficult as it had been easy. His mother was furious with him and his behavior, and yet you were still breathing and now you were going to be officially named as his future queen. All that he had done had been for the sake of his kingdom and, in his own twisted way, for you. 

It wasn’t that Jihoon didn’t have a desire to know you. You were stunning. He had found many of the other women who had been brought to the palace beautiful, but the first day you had been brought in, he knew that he was in trouble. You were a breath of fresh air with how you lit up the room until he spoke you with such unkind words and he watched your smile fade. It was a hefty price to pay to keep you at a distance, but a distance was safe. At a distance, he could observe and yearn. There was no true danger in that as long as you followed the rules. 

You were as intelligent as you were beautiful. Jihoon knew about all of the books you were requesting in the palace library. If they happened to not be found, he made sure they were the next time you had them in your mind. He knew that you loved fresh air, and as terrified as that made him, as long as it was during the daylight hours, he would permit it. So one day you woke to learn that there were horses at your disposal in the palace stable. 

And yet, with all the things that Jihoon tried to provide for you, he watched your spirit diminish daily. You made friends with the staff easily, despite knowing that the queen wouldn’t like it. In that way, you were much like him and that made it even easier for him to learn about how truly depressed you were. 

Standing in front of the floor-length mirror, Jihoon stretches his arm out, allowing Soonyoung to adjust his sleeves as he listens to Junhui, the palace chef, explain the menu for the night’s event. 

“Duck confit served with roasted potatoes, cauliflower gratin—” 

“Tell me again what she said, Junhui.” 

This was the third time that Junhui had attempted to make his way through the entirety of the menu for the prince to interrupt him and want to talk about you. While he enjoyed having you in the palace and your frequent visits to his kitchen, at the moment he wished he had never divulged that information to Jihoon. Sighing into his words, Junhui lowers his head before lifting it once again to meet Jihoon’s eyes in the mirror. “Why are you obsessing over it?” 

“You know why.” Shaking out his hand, Jihoon scowls at Soonyoung and Junhui each as he turns from the mirror, deeming himself dressed. “I’m—this is happening tonight and then in less than a month she’ll be my wife. She hates me—” 

“Because you want her to, Jihoon.” It was Soonyoung who spoke up this time. He knew that if this were anyone else in the palace, they would be reprimanded for how they spoke to Jihoon, but he had been chosen to be his butler for a reason. He was the same age as the prince. They had grown up in the palace together, as close as brothers could be without sharing blood. He knew every detail of Jihoon’s secrets and regrets. “You purposely hurt her to keep her awa—” 

“And she’s alive! For fuck’s sake, Soonyoung. What would you have me do? Waltz into her salon and profess my affection? Tell her about what I am." Scoffing into his words, Jihoon tugs roughly on the lapels of his expensive jacket, feeling the threads shift at his strength. “My darling, Y/N... I regret to inform you of my terrible curse. I’ll never be able to show you true affection, dear, out of fear that I might remove your windpipe with my teeth.” 

With Jihoon’s words, you could have heard a pin drop at how silent the room had gone. He knew what Soonyoung and Junhui wanted to say to him—the same thing everyone always did; this wasn’t his fault. Jihoon knew all too well that it was his fault. He couldn’t control the beast and that was his fault. 

“Let’s get this over with.”

4

Your life was now one massive echo chamber. As you stood in the middle of the ballroom with people moving around you, it was as if nothing that was being said made it to your ears. Instead of intelligible words, you found muffled and warbling phrases muddling together as you nodded along. The only thing keeping you grounded to the marble under your heels was the champagne flute in your fingers that kept being refilled. 

“Such a handsome couple. Truly, we are blessed. Think of the children she will bless the kingdom with.” 

Jihoon couldn’t even find it in himself to force a fake smile as members of his extended family regarded you like well-kept livestock. He knew the duty to the kingdom. His was to become king and to take a queen, and that was why you were even in this room and near him in the first place, but the fact that they expected him to put a child in you. How was he going to be able to—The bile was sitting in his throat. It was too close to dark and Jihoon could feel the rumbling in his head as he dug his nails into his palm as you shifted closer to him to get out of someone’s way. 

“My apologies, monseigneur.” 

Your voice was so small that it made the hair on Jihoon’s neck stand up. He could smell the champagne on your breath and he couldn’t help how his eyes moved over your beautiful face and down your frame. Taking a calming breath, Jihoon shakes his head and carefully removes the flute from your fingers, placing it on a tray as a servant passes by. “Quite enough. They are trying to keep you inebriated and pliant. You’ll be sick in the morning.” 

Wrinkling your nose to Jihoon’s hushed words, you meet his eyes and barely hold back a scoff. You knew he wasn’t wrong, but you were four glasses of champagne in and it made the night feel less like hell. “As you wish.” The room was too loud without something in your hand, without your distraction. You could hear the gossip now. You could hear the compliments and their halfhearted meanings, but you were better at putting on a fake smile. “Mm, can—will you give me my ring now?” 

You just wanted to get this over with. Somehow that both broke Jihoon’s heart and brought him back to reality. He had made you this way. It was a fair question. You had endured a couple of hours of this and he had been watching the sun slowly fading behind the trees for the last half hour. “As you wish.” 

The sound of Jihoon clearing his throat brought a hush over the room. You watch as he puts on the first fake smile of the night while opening and closing his fist at his side out of nerves. “Thank you, each of you for spending the evening with us. On behalf of myself and Madame Y/N, we wanted to let you know how deeply grateful we are that you could share this important moment with us.” 

Jihoon was good at lying and yet as you watched him, transfixed on his frustratingly handsome face, you realized you knew he was lying through his teeth. There was something about his body language—the way his voice went up and down in octaves as he went through his well-practiced speech. He had planned places for people to laugh, for them to aww and coo; he was a puppet master working the strings so well, but you could see the strings for what they were just as well as you saw the pain in his eyes. 

“It’s an exciting day.” Smiling along with the happy laughter, Jihoon looks down at this jacket to find you watching him carefully. You are the only one who sees his facade break for a moment as he takes the ring box from his jacket and you are the only one who sees how his fingers tremble with fear as he removes the delicate ring. “A gi—gift for my beautiful betrothed...” 

The stuttering of his words is the first real indication to everyone in the room that Jihoon might be breaking and at the first sign of a muttered word, you aren’t sure why it puts you into motion, but it does. A wave of desire to protect the man in front of you from anything, including anxiety or embarrassment, puts a smile on your face and has your left hand lifted towards Jihoon’s hand. “And what a stunning gift it is, monseigneur. I’m truly honored that I’ll share my life with you.” 

You were a beautiful liar. Jihoon could see and almost smell the lie on you, but he was so thankful to you as he slid the diamond ring on to your finger. Your eyes kept him steadfast and calm as the rest of the room erupted in cheers. Not even the rumble in his ears and tingling at the back of his neck stood a chance in that moment as Jihoon leaned down to press a kiss to the back of your knuckles, keeping his eyes locked with yours. 

There was a shift in the air with that kiss. A breath of hope filled your lungs seeing the look in Jihoon’s eyes. Would things finally change? Could you find a way to love your new home and your soon-to-be husband? 

Fingers wrap around yours as Jihoon laughs under his breath, accepting well wishes for you both. You are thankful for him keeping you grounded, much like your champagne had once been. You find yourself even more thankful when he excuses you both under the excuse that you are tired and he must allow his beautiful fiancée to get her rest. 

“Oh, thank God. I felt like I was going to suffocate—” 

The moment the doors shut behind you and Jihoon, you feel his hand drop from yours, leaving you feeling confused and cold. You watch as he runs his fingers through his hair and rocks his head from left to right as if to release the tension in his neck before he turns his attention back to you with a now familiar disappointed look on his face. 

“Go to your room, Y/N. It’s going to be night soon.” 

This was all you were getting from Jihoon after such a touching moment? Where had the man who had slipped the ring on your finger and looked so deeply into your eyes gone? “I—I’m not tired, ye—” 

“And I don’t care. This isn’t about your ability to sleep. Do as you are told.” It was getting harder to keep himself calm as you scoffed at him. Jihoon could see your lips moving; he could hear the dull mumble of your words, but it was difficult to make out the words. Something else was talking over his senses and Jihoon knew that this wasn’t going to be a good night. “Shut up, for the love of God. I put that fucking ring on your finger so you will obey me! Go to your goddamn room and lock the door, Y/N!” 

Stunned by Jihoon’s outburst, you stumble back on your heels in an attempt to get away, only to feel your balance waver. Fingers wrap tightly around your wrist above your bracelet and you meet Jihoon’s angry eyes, noticing for the first time a slight shift in their color. His once dark brown eyes seem golden as he looks from your face down to the bracelet, his lips curling in anger. “I told you that you drank too much... And what the fuck is this?” 

“Leave me alone, Jihoon.” 

Once again, your voice was soft and too small, almost breaking Jihoon’s heart, but he wasn’t the one that you were dealing with anymore. The jealousy flaring in him wasn’t a normal occurrence; this side of him came with the predator that was ready to run free with the moon rising in the sky. 

“I’ll do what I want since you seem to do the same.” Using just the strength in his fingers, Jihoon breaks the fragile clasp of your bracelet, ignoring your sobbing pleas for him to stop. You both watch as the gold thorns slip from your wrist and clatter to the ground at Jihoon’s feet. “Now, obey me.” 

Tears streaked your cheeks and down your neck as you leaned against the door of your room. Clutching the broken bracelet to your chest, you sob openly, wondering if the sound you are hearing—the wailing growl—is coming from you or your imagination. By the time that you are calm enough to think clearly, the sound is gone. You find yourself alone and numb, with pieces of your home shattered in your hand, much like your heart inside your chest. 

5

It was too bright. There was the smell of copper in his nose and Jihoon’s body felt as if he had been trampled by a stampede of horses. Turning onto his back, he rests his forearm over his eyes and groans, the now too familiar feeling of the forest floor under his bare back. 

Everything had happened too quickly and Jihoon had barely made it off the palace grounds before his body had been torn apart by his curse. It hurt every single time, and every time he could remember it in detail. He supposed that was the point. A curse wasn’t meant to be pleasant. He was being punished. His family was being punished. That was why his muscles were torn fiber by fiber, his bones broken bit by bit, and his skin ripped until nothing human was left of him—only the beast. 

To anyone looking at him, unknowing what they were seeing, Jihoon would look like a bear. A great, large black bear with golden brown eyes that had tormented Aetherial Grove from the moment that he had reached puberty. His mother and father had thought that the man’s curse had been a lie. Perhaps his threat had been that Jihoon almost died during childbirth, but no, it was much worse. Instead, they had witnessed their precious son shifting into a monster and slaughtering half of their palace staff after becoming slightly upset. 

What was worse about Jihoon’s curse was the morning after the beast would take hold of him. Not only would his body feel as if it had been in fact torn apart at the very fiber, but he could remember down to the second what the beast had done. He could see every person he had killed or mauled but he had no way to prevent it. No matter how hard Jihoon tried, every single princess would wander out of the palace at night due to stupidity or curiosity and each time the beast would claim them. 

That was why Jihoon treated you the way he did. That was why he kept you at a distance and made you hate him. He couldn’t kill you if you were never around him. 

“Jihoon.” 

Wincing at Soonyoung’s voice, Jihoon turns on his side and pulls his legs up towards his stomach. Of course he would already be looking for him. He was grateful, but there were days when he wished everyone would just let him vanish or let him die. Was he worth this? 

“Come on. I have clothes... I—you need to come back quickly. Your father—” This wasn’t something that Soonyoung wanted to tell Jihoon. He could already see the realization in the prince’s eyes as he took the clothes from his hand and swallowed the air as if it were water. “I’m sorry. I—” 

“Stop. I don’t want—fuck.” Jihoon’s clothes felt foreign against his skin as he quickly dressed himself, hearing his heart in his ears. This was just one more thing that the curse was taking from him. “Is he—” 

“No. No, he’s just—the doctor says before the day is over. Your mother told me to find you as quickly as possible.”  

Jihoon didn’t need to hear anything else. He didn’t want to hear anything else. He was feeling far too many emotions at once while trying not to let a single one of them bubble to the surface as he walked quickly in front of Soonyoung towards the pair of waiting horses. 

On a good day, any of the palace horses would struggle to trust Jihoon; animals were smarter than normal humans by a long shot. Today was not a good day; every tug at the horses reigns had the animal fighting for control and more terrified of what was on her back. 

“Please… I’m trying!” Yelling wasn’t helping, but Jihoon was swallowing back the bile in his throat as he saw the palace come into view at the treeline. He was so close. He just needed the horse to push forward for a little while longer—and then it happened; perhaps Jihoon had been too sharp with his heel into her flank but the horse had enough and Jihoon felt the wind knocked out of his lungs as his back met the ground. 

You knew something was off at the palace. Everyone was on edge and yet no one would tell you anything. Something had gone from the moment that the engagement party had ended, and then when you had woken up, it was worse. 

You had heard loud yet hushed muttering from every corner that would silence the moment you came into few. You weren’t privy to a single thing and yet the ring on your finger told you that you should be. Weren’t you going to be important to them? Shouldn’t you already be important? 

Outside was better. The palace always felt suffocating to you. From the first day you had walked it, not only had it become your echo chamber—every word reverberating back a thousand times into your brain—but also it had sucked the air from your lungs. You knew that Jihoon preferred you to stay inside, even during the day, but today was one of the days when you didn’t feel much like doing anything he wanted. 

The palace gardens were filled with beautiful things. Flowers, vines, trees—anything you could think of you might find in front of you and yet it made you sad as you thought back to the shards of gold now laying on your vanity. You had tried to piece back together your treasured bracelet only to make it worse. The clasp had held the delicate overlapping thorns together and when Jihoon had broken it, there was nothing left to keep them from falling apart. That was much like your heart as you had sat in front of the vanity and struggled uselessly, watching the bracelet become unrecognizable. There was only the memory of when you had received it now and you would hold it close to your heart and cherish it forever. 

You hadn’t known many boys in Thornwood. Your father was a strict king when it came to his kingdom and his daughter. It had been in your early teenage years when you had finally met Kim Mingyu and he was the first boy your father hadn’t instantly run off. 

Mingyu was the son of a duke. In your father’s eyes, perhaps one day if nothing better came along that might be a suitable match, but it was more than that—you had been happy to just have a friend. It wasn’t until you were older, months before the letter came from Aetherial Grove, that you realized something different might come from your relationship with Mingyu. While you had never considered him in that light before, there was something about the possibility that made you take a step back and really picture it only to have the picture torn in front of your face by a royal letter. 

“So, don’t make fun of it... It’s not perfect; I’ve never done work with gold before.” You had fondly watched Mingyu as he fumbled slightly with the delicate clasp of the bracelet before finally managing to secure it on your wrist. “Maybe it’s not half bad. I just wanted you to have a little piece of home while you—I mean in your new home, Princess.” 

Your piece of home and piece of your best friend was now shattered by someone you were starting to despise. Trying your best to push the angry and painful thoughts from your mind, you walk closer to the edge of the garden, looking out towards the treeline. The forest was truly beautiful. You could understand the appeal and why many wanted to explore it, though you had been forbidden to do so, even on horseback—so why was it that someone was coming out of it now? 

Squinting slightly to the brightness of the morning sun, you tilt your head before shock registers within you as you watch the horse buck hard. Your eyes follow Jihoon as he falls backwards from the horse and lands in the tall grass hidden from your view, causing your heart to sink. “Oh my god, Jihoon!” 

By the time you make it on foot to Jihoon and Soonyoung, the butler is down from his horse and on his knee beside the prince. With your hand at your stomach and tears stinging your eyes, you quickly move to the other side of Jihoon and do the same without regard to your dress or your legs as the ground bites into your knees angrily. “Jihoon? What the hell happened, Soonyoung?” 

You were different than any other woman that had come to Aetherial Grove by far. Even as Soonyoung checked over Jihoon for injuries, being careful not to move him too quickly, he watched you curiously, surprised by your quick arrival. “I—the horse got spooked, I think. She threw him. He’s—there’s blood. Mons— Jihoon?” 

Anxiety and fear had your stomach in knots as you saw the blood from the back of Jihoon’s head on Soonyoung’s fingers. Wrapping your fingers around Jihoon's, you whine his name, watching his eyelids flutter for a moment before he groans in pain and slowly opens his eyes, starting to come to. 

“Fuck—” Attempting to sit up, Jihoon hisses in pain and tightens his fingers around yours before laying back down for a moment. “Stupid fucking mare..." Jihoon knew it wasn’t the horses fault, but the pain radiating through his back and his head made him want to lash out at something. “I need to get to the palace—Father.” 

Using your free hand, you put a light amount of pressure on Jihoon’s shoulder when he tries to sit back up. “Just wait, I—please? You can wait a moment. You are bleeding, Ji—” 

“St—stop coddling me. I’m fine.” Moving his hand to wrap it around your wrist where your bracelet had been the night before, Jihoon lightly draws a circle over your pulse point with his eyes still closed. “‘M fine. I have to get to the palace. Father needs me.” 

Nothing that Jihoon was saying made sense to you, but Soonyoung simply nodded along while gently moving your hand from Jihoon’s shoulder.

“I know. Perhaps—” Timidly meeting your eyes, Soonyoung almost winces before speaking. “I could put the prince on the horse with you. I’ve seen you ride... I think—” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Soonyoung. I can do it alone.” 

“Of course.” 

When you and Jihoon speak up almost at the same time, Soonyoung looks taken aback, his eyes moving from one person to the other before he sighs and settles on the prince. “Let her help. She—Jihoon, she wants to help.” 

You shouldn’t have to help. You shouldn’t be seeing him like this, weak and flustered. He was going to be the king, your king. More importantly, as things were progressing, Jihoon was going to be your husband and now you were having to mother him already. Pathetic. Lee Jihoon was pathetic and unworthy of the throne and you. 

Without another word, Jihoon lets you and Soonyoung help him to his feet as he sways on his feet, unable to keep his balance. Lifting your hand, you carefully touch the back of his head furrowing your brows when Jihoon winces and jerks away from you in pain. “This looks—you should see the doctor, Monseigneur.” 

Your voice had started so strong and yet the more you spoke with Jihoon, your hand loosely in his, your confidence faltered. Sighing under his breath, Jihoon nods and glances towards you as you move to take the reigns of the horse that had bucked him off. With you next to her, there was a calm in the air. There was no fear in her eyes, almost as if she knew that you wouldn’t let anyone, beast or man, harm her. 

“Jihoon. Just—call me Jihoon. I don’t like when you call me Monseigneur in private. You—you’re going to be my wife. It seems odd.” 

While you agreed, you could also remember this same man reminding you that you would obey him. You offer him a gentle smile and a nod as you carefully slip your foot into the stirrup before hosting yourself into the saddle. “Of course—” Swallowing hard, you glance down at your hands on the horn of the saddle, the reigns loosely draped over your fingers. “Jihoon.” You had said his name many times, and even when you were terrified for his wellbeing, saying it now at his request felt different. 

Furrowing his brows tightly, Jihoon could feel the air around him shift. There was something about you. From the moment that you had stepped foot in Aetherial Grove, things were different. It wasn’t just that he was trying to distance himself from you; it was something else and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

With a few muttered curses and a disgruntled groan, Jihoon finds himself seated behind you with his hands hovering over your waist. You could feel the warmth of them through the layers of your dress and even the boning in your corset, so much so that it was difficult to not let a small smirk pull at your lips when you urge the horse to take a step forward and feel Jihoon finally grab ahold of you for stability. 

“May I ask you something?” 

Despite your ability to keep the horse much steadier than he had, Jihoon still found himself wincing with each step. He almost felt every stone under the horse’s hooves as you carefully directed her towards the palace. Swallowing hard to your question and tone, Jihoon chews on his cheek before glancing back to where Soonyoung was following at a moderate distance—almost too far, leaving Jihoon to defend for himself with you. 

“I suppose. Is something wrong?” He knew that was the wrong question to ask the moment it left his mouth. Closing his eyes, Jihoon leans his head back towards the sky and listens to you take in a sharp breath as the horse shifts to the right and towards the palace stables. 

Did he really want to know? You had a laundry list of things that were wrong, but that wasn’t what you wanted to ask right now. “Um, it’s not—well, in a way. I don’t wish to seem unappreciative or spoiled, but—” Sighing under your breath, you furrow your brows, deciding to start over. “What I mean is, I am just wondering if there is something about me you find unpleasant. Perhaps you are unhappy with this arrangement? I’m not attractive or intelligent enough to be your queen and in which case, Monseigneur, perha—” 

“Stop it. What are you—” Unconsciously digging his fingers into your sides at your corset, Jihoon grits his teeth, feeling the frustration rising in him. He knew this was his fault and while he hadn’t planned on changing it, he also didn’t want you as miserable as you seemed right now. “You aren’t unpleasant. I don’t—you aren’t unpleasant to me, Y/N.” 

Straightening your back out of surprise, you take in a deeper breath at the strength of Jihoon’s grip. It wasn’t just that his touch had tightened; it was how he was speaking to you. There was a layer of desperation in his voice, as if he were begging you to understand without truly saying it. “O—okay. I just—” 

“No, just nothing. You are beautiful—the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You are going to make a perfect queen, I have no doubt. I—” Stopping short, Jihoon removes his hands from your waist, realizing that you have brought the horse to a stop. There was no need for him to be touching you anymore, no need for all of the dramatics and yet he couldn’t help himself as you glanced back at him, your eyes low, causing your lashes to shield your gaze from him. Resting his index finger under your chin, Jihoon sighs softly and allows himself a moment to be a man who is truly engaged looking at his future bride. “You are incredible and I hate myself for making you feel so small. One day—” 

Every word was reaching your ears and yet your heart was beating so fast and hard in your chest that you were afraid you might fall from the saddle and perish on the ground. Jihoon’s simple touch had your skin on fire and something lit inside of you—a desire that you had never felt in your life. You had come close to what you suspected had been desire—a brush of lips across yours from Mingyu—but this, Jihoon’s thumb grazing your bottom lip and watching your lips part felt private and precious.  

"Perhaps one day you’ll learn why I am—why I have kept you—” Jihoon was struggling to find the right words and he could see Soonyoung’s panicked face as the man paced a few feet away. “I have to go, Madame. Remember the rules, please. That is all I ask of you.” 

You start to speak and to argue with Jihoon. You want him to finish explaining himself, but he jumps from one topic to the next and then suddenly the back of your knuckles are against his lips. You are left watching Soonyoung help him down from the horse and your eyes follow both until they disappear behind the palace walls. 

Every part of Jihoon’s body was aching. It always was after a night of shifting, but the fall from the horse had only served to make it worse. Brushing his fingers over the back of his head, he and Soonyoung moved through the halls. Jihoon winces in pain, though his mind lingers on you and the range of emotions he had just taken you through. None of this was fair to you. He hoped and prayed that one day he might be able to explain this to you and you understood. He wished with every fiber of his being that he would be able to keep you alive, but the more he started to feel something for you, a longing, the rumbling from the beast trapped inside of him grew louder and more angry with jealousy. 

6

“Mon amour…” 

It was difficult for Jihoon to watch his mother grieve while his father took his last breaths. He was expected to stay strong and on the surface he did. He showed little to no emotion. Jihoon was a rock for his family and especially his mother, but on the inside, the son that his father had raised was devastated as he watched his father pass. He wanted nothing more than to run from the room and lock himself away in his rooms to get rid of the pressure behind his eyes. 

“Come—come here, mon fils.” Beckoning Jihoon closer, his mother sobs softly through the words before taking his hand and bringing it to her heart, using him as the anchor he would have to be. “I—mon fils.” 

Jihoon knew without his mother even saying the words what she was thinking. He knew what came next. The mourning period. The funeral and the burial, but most importantly, he would sooner rather than later now go from crown prince to king. “I know, maman. I’ll take care of it all. You should—I’ll have Jieun help you to your roo—” 

“No! Not yet. I can’t leave him, Jihoon.” 

The tears that Jihoon was trying to keep at bay were harder to push back now as his mother pulled from him and clung to his father’s arm. He didn’t understand that sort of love, though he had witnessed it through them his entire life. He hoped for that sort of love. It made him think of you and how confused you must be not knowing what was truly happening in the palace. 

“Okay, I’m sorry, maman. I know…I won’t make you leave. I’m sorry.” Brushing his lips against the top of her head, Jihoon feels his mothers grief wash through him in how her body trembles. Leaning his head back towards the ceiling as he takes a deep breath to keep his emotions at bay, he nods once and finds Wonwoo by his father’s bed with a solemn look on his face. “Stay with her, please. Until she is ready to leave, you and Jieun. I need—I have to do something.” 

Even stepping out of the room and into the hall, Jihoon could feel a bit of the weight lifting from him but what replaced it was worse. Clenching his fist over his chest, he takes a deep breath as he leans against the wall hidden from prying eyes. Somehow the anger and disappointment that he felt every day were nothing compared to the feeling he was overwhelmed with now as Jihoon tried to force himself forward towards your room. 

Everything had gone deadly silent on the side of the palace where you resided. You knew that you were a bit of distance from the king’s rooms and Jihoon’s but usually you could hear servants in the hallways going about their tasks and tending to the queen, but today there was nothing. It was making your anxiety all that much worse after the morning and your interaction with Jihoon. 

The prince was truly an enigma to you. While you wanted to hate him, and in some ways perhaps you did resent him, you couldn’t find it in your heart to truly allow yourself in your heart to hate Jihoon. There was something inside of him that wanted to be close to you. You had sensed it more than once now and even if the other part of him was pushing you away, the man who had looked deeply into your eyes and taken your breath away with a simple touch had your mind spiraling. 

Sitting at your window, you lean your head back against the wall with a book in your lap. You had started to read it hours ago now, but every word led you back to where you were now—your eyes on the trees as their leaves moved with the wind as it picked up in speed. There was a storm coming. You hated storms. You always had, but back in Thornwood you had distractions and protection. You had run to your father or mother, who would keep you close. You had let Mingyu wrap his arm around you, shielding you from the sounds—as soon as Mingyu enters your mind again, you push him out. Since the previous day's incident with your bracelet, it seemed he wouldn’t leave your thoughts alone. 

The rain starts calm, with large drops that hit your window with dull thuds but quickly, but with the wind getting stronger so does the rain. Wincing, you close your book and recoil slightly from the sounds of the water assaulting your window when a knock at your door startles you even more, causing you to gasp in surprise. 

“Y/N?” 

Jihoon knew he should wait for you to answer the door or at least speak, but the sound of your fear takes away his logic. He had asked for you to lock your door but this was one time he was glad you rarely listened to him when his eyes scanned your parlor to find you with your hands over your head sitting by your window. The pain that he had been feeling from the loss of his father is shifted to the side in place of his concern for you as Jihoon mutters your name and quickly moves across the room and kneels by your side, timidly reaching for your hands. “What’s happened? Why—are you okay?” 

Embarrassment washes over you when you realize that Jihoon is in your room, seeing you cower from a few loud noises. You are certain this isn’t who he or anyone wants for the queen. Though no one truly looked to the queen in a time of perill, you still should be able to lead and command, and here you were meeting Jihoon’s eyes, attempting to feign courage. “O–of course. I’m—nothing happ—” 

Jihoon could tell you were lying as you spoke. He had seen the times you lied and thought to some people you were a decent liar; with him, he could see right through it. Starting to call you out on it to cut you off, he doesn’t have to at the first strike of lightning and boom of thunder. The act you are putting on shatters as Jihoon watches you tightly close your eyes and visibly shake as the sound reverberates around the room. 

Storms had never bothered Jihoon; in fact, in many ways he enjoyed them. The walls of the palace made the rain louder and the thunderclaps seem to last longer, which in turn drowned out the rumbling he heard constantly. Clearly, you didn’t feel the same way. You put on a good face; it was a beautiful one and a strong one, but deep down Jihoon could see how delicate and precious you were. 

“Mon ange…” Muttering under his breath, Jihoon moves his gaze from you to the window, watching the rain angrily coming down to the earth. “I didn’t know you were afraid of storms.” Speaking loud enough for you to hear him now, he slides his hand along the back of your arm towards your elbow, trying to get your attention on him fully. “But I—” 

“You don’t know anything about me, Jihoon.” You didn’t mean to lash out at Jihoon; however, in the moment you felt raw. His words felt like needles and his touch felt foreign, because it was. No matter how much you wanted to be close to him, it was difficult to rely on someone who had spent so long pushing you away and treating you like a virus. “Wha—why are you here?” 

Your reaction to him was valid. While it stung, Jihoon understood where it came from. If Soonyoung had been there, he would agree that he brought this upon himself. Nodding along with you, he sighs and closes his hand, removing it from your arm to give you a bit of space. “I know. I—I apologize for—there’s a lot that you just don't—" Leaning his head back, Jihoon feels your eyes follow him even as he closes his eyes and takes a calming breath, feeling the waves of emotions roll over him again. “I don’t deserve your kindness with how I have treated you. There is a reason behind my actions but it’s not something I can explain to—”  

“Jihoon! You’ve been cruel. You’ve banished me to—” Wincing to another boom of thunder, you whimper and slide from the window seat into the floor next to Jihoon, feeling him shift to sit next to you. It takes a moment for you to regain your composure but he never rushes you; instead, Jihoon stays close without crowding you. “All I know are these rooms and what I have been able to explore of the palace. You won’t let me off the grounds. I try to get close to you and you get angry at me. You—” 

Tears slip down your cheeks similarly to how the rain marks the glass of your window, and all Jihoon can do is watch and listen to you falter, finally speaking through your sobs. In his mind he knew why he had made you do all of these things and why he had pushed you away but to you it made no sense. It wasn’t fair to you, just like it wasn’t fair that you never knew anything that was happening in the palace you now called your home. “There is so much I need to—Y/N… It’s difficult, but please try to understand that I have been attempting to shield you and keep you safe. I know that I have gone about it in a strange way and it’s not fair—” 

“It’s—it’s not fair! What did I do to deserve this? Why did you make me come here, Jihoon? Why me?!” Finally pulling your legs up, you lean forward and rest your forearms on your knees burying your face against your arms, letting out sobs that only get louder with each deep rumble of thunder. 

Jihoon knew that he hadn’t been the one to make you come to Aetherial Grove but he felt responsible enough. You were breaking his heart as your body shook with grief and fear, something he understood all too well. Leaning his head back against the base of the window seat, Jihoon shifts his eyes down and to the side to keep an eye on you, not rushing you as you work through your emotions. Resting his arm over his chest, he carefully reaches for your fingers, circling his thumb over the diamond on your finger. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I—I wish I could fix it. I—my father, he—” Sighing, Jihoon looks away from you, feeling your fingers shift to hold on to him at another crash of thunder as he speaks. “He died a few hours ago. Everything is going to change now.” 

The weight of Jihoon’s words hit you even as the thunder shakes your windows and you lift your head to look at him. That was why everyone was quiet and where everyone had been. Why had no one told you? Were you not important enough to know that the king had passed away? As soon as the anger starts to sink in for you and you think to complain, it passes when you see the look on Jihoon’s face. Yes, you were still upset and a lot of your frustration was with him but he was in pain. How could he not be? Then it dawns on you; he is the prince and a son. He’s not allowed to mourn the same way around certain people. Those people wouldn’t be you. 

“Oh, Jihoon…” 

There is a soft compassion in your voice that almost instantly breaks Jihoon. It reminds him of how he had heard his mother speak to his father on so many occasions. Closing his eyes tightly, Jihoon tries to force himself not to let go, but when you turn towards him and lean against him, his resolve shatters. There were only a handful of times that Jihoon could even remember truly crying. He had been taught that this sort of emotion was weak and dangerous, but with you holding his hand, he didn’t feel like anything could hurt him as he felt it all for the first time that day in waves. 

7

Jihoon had been right; everything did change. There had been a few days of mourning and a moment to breathe before the air and ground had been ripped out from underneath you both. Suddenly your days were filled with wedding preparations and daily meetings with various members of Jihoon’s family as they helped walk you through not only expectations of your wedding but the coronation. 

You had found yourself on more than one occasion wanting to find time to spend with Jihoon only to be whisked away without more than a dozen words spoken between the two of you. Even without the time you wanted, you could still feel the difference after the storm and after you had shared your feelings with Jihoon. He was different. While you could almost see the stress as it surrounded him like a blanket, you could also see the tenderness in his gaze as he looked at you. You could feel the same each time he would lift your hand and kiss the back of your knuckles before apologizing for once again being pulled away to a meeting, leaving you to deal with the wedding on your own. 

“You’ve changed him.” 

There had been very few moments when you had spent an extended period of time alone with the queen, but today was one of them. The two of you watch as Jihoon once again excuses himself and with her words, your cheeks warm as they would be if you were standing too close to the fireplace. Pressing your lips together, you pick up the sample fabrics laid between the two of you when she smiles and reaches for your hand, taking your fingers into her own and squeezing them gently. 

“I don’t know how. And I know it’s been a difficult few months with us.” 

Hearing her voice break, you finally lift your head and meet Jihoon’s mother’s eyes with concern, sliding your hand into hers and offering her comfort. You watch as she smiles sadly and tilts her head, looking down at your hand as she adjusts the ring on your finger, remembering when Jihoon’s father had put it on her hand so many years ago. 

“He’s difficult, I know. We are difficult. I’m not proud of how—” Shaking her head, she sniffs back her tears along with her words, choosing not to go on with them. “I hope that you can grow to love him. That you will learn to love one another. He’s so special, Y/N. You are special; I feel it.” 

There was so much left unsaid. Not only from the queen but Jihoon. It seemed that almost everyone in the palace would skirt around things, keeping just enough information from you as if it would keep you pliant. Sighing, you tilt your head and smile at the woman watching her fingers adjust your ring with precision and care. “Thank you, Madame. I haven’t… I—well, if anything, I fear I’ve frustrated him more than anything. He just pushes—” Realizing that you are starting to complain about her son, your soon-to-be husband, and the soon-to-be king, you swallow hard and put a smile back on your face. “I will improve on my ability to adapt and obey my husband.” 

It wasn’t much of a secret—your discomfort and Jihoon’s seeming disinterest in you and your feelings. While Jihoon’s mother knew that most of what Jihoon had been doing had kept you healthy and alive, it still was a lot for you to handle. You had come from a completely different kingdom to a place where you were expected to follow a new set of rules, and you had your life turned upside down in the matter of days. Now just a few months later, it had happened again; you were being sent spiraling down the aisle. 

“Mm, and I’m sure over time things will get easier... for the both of you.” 

You wished that the queen would say more. It was always like she wanted to tell you something, give more advice, and yet she’d swallow it every single time before changing the subject back to the wedding or the coronation. You were left looking over the fabrics in your lap as she spoke softly enough for you to almost drown her out, leaving her voice a dull echo in the room as she planned much of it for you with Jieun. 

Jihoon was growing tired of meetings already and he knew for the rest of his life this is what he had to look forward to. Sitting at the head of the table, he let the paper rest between his fingers as he pretended to look over it as much as he pretended to be listening to his cousin speak about the same topic for the last twenty minutes. None of this was important. He had more important things—in his opinion—to be doing, and you had looked so disappointed when he had once again been pulled away from you and the wedding planning. 

It wasn’t as if he had wanted this. He didn’t want to be listening to budget adjustments and which kingdoms owed Aetherial Grove what. He knew most of them owed something, and to him it didn’t matter. Aetherial Grove had more than enough to endure for centuries at this point, and he knew why. He dealt with the backlash of that deal almost every night, and every night that he wasn’t getting his body torn apart, he was thrashing in his bed with nightmares. 

“So it might do us well to seek out some repayment from at least thirty percent of these—” 

“Why? Where did you find that number?” 

It seemed that others in the room found it surprising that Jihoon had actually been following along, with how he had seemed to be staring off into the table. When he spoke, it caused several of the men in the room to shift uncomfortably and to straighten their backs, realizing their crown prince, the man they would call king in just a matter of two weeks, was listening to every single word despite him wanting to or not. 

“I—from my research, Ji—Monseigneur. It would benefit us. There is a royal wedding in less than a week and a coronation. I—I’m not certain that you understand how expensive—”

“I understand that you all seem to think I’m an idiot. You think that because I am new to this particular station and not yet fully seated that you can get by with whatever you wish; that won’t happen.” Pushing the papers from in front of him, Jihoon moves to stand, watching many of the others in the room do the same, but mostly Soonyoung and Wonwoo, who are ready to do what he commands. “Leave the other kingdoms alone. If the wedding and coronation are so expensive that you have to find ways to subsidise the budget, we can cut back on both. There is no need for all the fanfare. I doubt Madame Y/N would much disagree with me on this. Neither of us need some grand affair—” 

“It’s for neither of you! It’s for your kingdom, Monseigneur!” Having kept quiet for most of the meeting, Jihoon’s eldest uncle finally leans forward and raises his voice, causing the rest of the room to fall silent. “As for what Madame Y/N wants, I don’t care and I doubt many others do either. We appreciate her presence and she is a requirement, but she doesn’t get a say in this. You barely get a say in this. You aren’t king yet. We might have money to make this all work, but you need to learn the ins and outs of your kingdom before you go about throwing around your ego and making big decisions.” 

The room suddenly felt smaller; too small, as Jihoon stared at the older man, feeling his chest tightening. He knew there would be push and pull as he took his rightful place as king and knew there would be those who would think to know better than him; he just hadn’t expected it to be those who had held his father in such high regard. “I care.” 

Jihoon’s voice is smaller than intended at first, causing his uncle to furrow his brows and lean forward to hear him better, but the second time that Jihoon speaks, he has the man and other’s sitting back in their seats. “I care, what Y/N wants! You can have your wedding and your coronations, but you will not speak about her like that again. You won’t speak to me like that. This meeting is over, gentlemen. I have a fiancée to see to.” 

8

There were only 36 hours left before you would officially be Jihoon’s wife. Invitations had been sent out and guests were beginning to arrive from surrounding kingdoms, including your own. You had been thrilled when your mother and father had arrived and you had been able to see the pride in their eyes as you walked them through your new home. 

It was easy to see that the benefit of your dowry was making a difference for them. You could see the difference mostly in your father. The stress that you had almost grown accustomed to seeing etched on his face was gone,replaced with happiness as he held your mother close and complimented every detail of the palace. You had felt the most sense of pride yourself when Jihoon had finally made time to meet your parents and put on his best face. 

Over the time since his father had passed away, Jihoon had changed dramatically. You could see it; everyone could, and yet there was still something so distant about him that you were trying to figure out. He still wouldn’t allow you the freedom you longed for and still kept you at a distance that left you cold and left your heart slowly splintering. 

“Of course you are welcome to visit Y/N, and she—perhaps she could visit you more often.” 

Jihoon’s words have your parent’s preening, your mother swooning over him and your father in awe, but to you, you can sense that he’s trying to get you out of the palace. You aren’t even sure how you know, but you do, and it’s even more obvious to you when Jihoon meets your eyes and stumbles over his words before dismissing himself to get back to important matters. 

“I—I’ll see you later for din—dinner.” The disappointment was evident in your eyes and Jihoon had to get away from it. You saw right through him and sometimes he was terrified that you saw more than he wanted. Did you know more than you let on? What if you knew about his curse? Would you hate him? Hate that you were marrying a murderer? Barely brushing his lips against your fingers, Jihoon blows out a panicked breath and slips out of the room. Meeting the eyes of a tall and broad man, he nods in his direction without asking who he is or why he is there. Instead, he moves quickly down the hall and out of sight, not hearing as Wonwoo announces the arrival of another guest. 

“Madame. Monsieur Kim Mingyu, Duke of Leressair, has arrived.” 

You aren’t sure why you hadn’t expected Mingyu to accept your invitation, but seeing him for the first time in so many months has your heart in your throat. Quickly standing, you smooth your dress and listen as your father greets Mingyu, ushering him into the room towards the sofas. 

“Thank you.” Unable to keep his smile from growing too wide as he looks at you, Mingyu takes in a deep breath and lets it out a bit unsteadily. He almost hadn’t accepted the invitation but the desire to see you at least one more time was too great and if it had to be like this, then so be it. “Madame—” 

“Stop it.” The playful smile on Mingyu’s lips as he uses your title makes your stomach tighten even as he reaches for your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips and kissing them gently, managing to linger just a second too long. “Don’t call me that, please.” 

“Mm, fine. It’s wonderful to see you, Y/N. You look—” Mingyu lets out another breath, trying not to overstep but it had always been difficult when it came to you and he wasn’t sure if your prince was in the room or not. “Congratulations on your wedding. I’m glad you invited me. Care to, uh—wanna show me around?” 

It was a bold attempt at getting you alone so you could talk freely, but it worked. You knew that your parents trusted Mingyu and you had no reason not to, despite your own heart beating out of your chest as you looked at him now. Offering him your hand, you smile as Mingyu carefully guides it through his arm to rest on his forearm before letting you lead the way. 

The moment that you and Mingyu step out of the room, you know you aren’t alone. You can feel eyes behind you and hear the muffled steps drawing your eyes over your shoulder as you frown at Wonwoo. “I—Wonwoo… I’m fine. I am just showing him around the palace. I don’t need a sitter.” 

“Not my intention, Madame. Simply following protocol... You would rather I—” 

“I would rather you didn’t follow me. Please? I want to talk to my friend. If Jihoon needs me, I’m certain any one of you can find me. I am not difficult to find and Mingyu is very obvious.” 

It was clear that Wonwoo wasn’t sure about following your wishes, his eyes moving over Mingyu as the taller man offers him a simple smile, almost feigning innocence, letting you speak for him. “If that’s what you want, Madame...” Wonwoo had no reason not to like Kim Mingyu, but he already felt uneasy with him here. 

Sighing, clearly exasperated, you tug on Mingyu’s arm and lead him forward. Nodding at Wonwoo, you watch the steward stay where he is, though his eyes follow you until you are out of sight. 

“Is it always like this? You aren’t allowed to just—I don’t know, exist?” 

Finally, someone understood how you felt without you having to sit down and explain it to them. Pouting up at Mingyu, you turn towards the gardens and sigh under your breath. So often since you had arrived in Aetherial Grove, you had felt like a prisoner in a fancy cell and this was one of the only times you felt like you had a semblance of freedom. “You have no idea, Mingyu. I—I shouldn’t speak poorly of my new family.” 

“It’s between us, Y/N, as always. Your secrets are my secrets. That hasn’t changed, dove.” 

The pet name slipping from Mingyu’s lips not only has your cheeks burning but also a bit of shame and excitement rushing through you as you lead him further into the gardens away from the palace to enjoy the privacy. The name was nothing romantic or anything you should be ashamed of, but it could be misunderstood. It had come simply from your wish to be as free as a bird all of your life. You had sat in your window and Mingyu had caught you so many times staring off at the sky and daydreaming that the name had stuck when he had asked you if you were going to fly away like a dove. 

“No, perhaps not, but it feels like it’s been so long since I’ve seen you now. Things are complicated here.” Sliding your hand along Mingyu’s arm, your fingers catch his briefly, feeling him almost attempting to keep your hand in his before you find your hand back at your side. Looking down at the flowers, you sigh under your breath, feeling Mingyu’s eyes on you, forever patient as always, though his eyes move along your face and down your body, studying you. “I’m not allowed to leave the palace and there’s only so much I am able to do inside. It’s suffocating. I–” 

Mingyu watches you laugh; though he can tell the laugh is without humor, it’s almost sad, causing him to furrow his brows and move closer to you. Wrapping his fingers around your wrist where your bracelet once sat every day while you lived in Thornwood, he gently taps at your pulse point and smiles at you, almost feeling your stress flowing through your body as you stand amongst the various flowers. “You what? Seriously, tell me. I’m not going to run to the prince and tell him. I don’t even know what he looks like. I’ve only heard stories.” 

You had seen Jihoon look at Mingyu as he had walked in, but clearly they hadn’t been introduced; you’d have to fix that at some point. Mingyu was so important to you, and Jihoon was and would remain important. There was no ending marriage for someone like you. This was your one and only chance, and it terrified you to look at the person who you thought you were going to be spending that chance with, seeing the kindness in his eyes that you so rarely got from Jihoon. 

“I feel like a prisoner sometimes.” Grimacing, you whine and tug your wrist from Mingyu, almost hating that he’s touching you when you feel so gross about your own words. You shouldn’t feel that way about the people who were giving you so much and giving your kingdom even more. They were saving your people and they hadn’t truly done anything wrong to you. It was more about how you felt, about how your heart felt. “I’m awful.” 

“Stop, no, you not. You aren’t happy, Y/N. I could tell the moment I laid eyes on you.” Sliding his hands into yours, Mingyu turns you towards him and leans down to make you meet his eyes, watching you pout at him still. "Dove, you want me to steal you? I’ll do it. I’ll run away with you in a heartbeat.” 

It was a cute joke and a sweet dream. Laughing under your breath, you glance away from Mingyu even as your reaction makes his smile falter. He knew you wouldn’t accept it. You were a child of responsibility and duty. This marriage was your duty and you wouldn’t run away from it, no matter how much Mingyu tried to convince you otherwise. He wished with all of his heart that he had made you a ring instead of a bracelet and he wished even more right now that you were still wearing the bracelet. 

“Well, the offer stands. Forever.” Lifting your hand slightly to look at your ring, Mingyu tries to judge it harshly but even he has to admit its fitting for your beauty. At least Jihoon had done that right, even if he wasn’t keeping you happy. “I wish—it’s stupid of me, but I wish you were wearing your bracelet. I’m sure the prince won’t allow it though.” 

The mention of your bracelet causes even the slightest smile on your lips to fade quickly as you think about the shards of gold sitting on your vanity. Lowering your eyes to the ground, you shake your head and lick your lips before trying to think of the best lie you can, not wanting to hurt Mingyu anymore than you have to. “I—no. I’m sorry. It wouldn’t be appropriate.” 

Shivering in the cold, Jihoon narrows his eyes as he watches you move deeper into the garden on another man’s arm. Jihoon trusted you. There wasn’t really any reason for him to be concerned until this Kim Mingyu had shown up at the palace. The man hadn’t even been on his radar until Wonwoo had found him and let him know that you and Mingyu had decided to walk alone. That on its own didn’t have Jihoon where he was now, casually keeping his distance as he listened to you laugh softly at the man’s words and seemingly swoon over him; it was more how he was looking at you. 

You seemed oblivious to it while not immune to Mingyu’s charm. That wasn’t your fault; you were a woman whose betrothed had been pushing her away for months, and now a man you had known for years was showing you kindness and interest. The entire display was enough to make Jihoon’s stomach twist with something he wasn’t used to feeling on his own without the beast provoking it: jealousy. 

“No—I, Y/N… I completely understand. It really wouldn’t be. I just miss seeing it on your arm, though—” Laughing softly, Mingyu guides you by your wrist towards one of the concrete benches to sit down so he can do the same next to you, not realizing that Jihoon is watching so closely from the shadows. “It’s nothing compared to how pretty you are. It’s really wasn’t up to par with what I can make now. I’ve been practicing; in fact, I made you something. You know, as a wedding gift.” 

As always, Mingyu has your heart racing and your face on fire with his compliments. Shaking your head, you try to argue with him, but at the mention of a gift, you whine his name and draw your shoulders up towards your cheeks in an attempt to hide from his attention. 

“Now, why are you doing that? It’s nothing big, just a little thing, Dove. Here…”

Clenching his fist at his side, Jihoon watches Mingyu take the small bag from his jacket as he feels the hair at the back of his neck stand up much like the hackles of an animal sensing danger. He didn’t like this man. Mingyu didn’t know boundaries. Where did he get off calling you Dove and giving you gifts days before you were getting married? You were Jihoon's... Taking a deep breath and letting it out under his breath, it comes out more of a growl than a breath as he watches you take the necklace from the pouch. You liked it. Your heart was racing. Jihoon could hear it from here—the beast could hear it. It pissed Jihoon off just as much as it pissed off the beast. 

“Oh my god, Mingyu. It’s gorgeous. You really have gotten so good at this.” Tracing the golden bird in your palm, you frown slightly, feeling a pang of guilt over how much you like the necklace. You shouldn’t accept it, and yet it feels like a piece of home to replace the bracelet that Jihoon had ruined and taken from you. Taking a deep breath, you hold it for a second before nodding and letting it out sharply, making up your mind. You’d accept it and wear it. Jihoon didn’t have to know. “Will you put it on for me?” 

You were too naive, and it made Jihoon want to be sick as Mingyu grinned, taking the necklace from you to do as you asked. Of course he would put the necklace on for you. It didn’t mean the same thing to Mingyu as it did to you, but how could you know that? You were just a stupid little girl with her head in the clouds while Jihoon could read all the signs that Mingyu was throwing at you. 

“So beautiful and it looks perfect on you, Y/N.” Trailing his fingers along your neck even after he’s clasped the necklace, Mingyu leans his head around to look at you, watching you smile at his compliment. You were perfect and somehow you looked even more perfect with that necklace on. “Promise you’ll try to wear it whenever you can? Remember me just a little bit, even when you’re a fancy queen?” 

Leaning back slightly as you laugh, you roll your eyes to Mingyu’s teasing, trying to tell him you’d try only to stop laughing or smiling at all when he presses his lips to your cheek closer to your jaw. “I—yes. I—we should go inside, Mingyu.” 

The kiss was enough to make Jihoon move, his hands now securely in his pockets as he put on a fake friendly face, moving through the garden as if searching for you. “Oh, there you are, mon ange. That’s a pretty necklace.” Lifting his brow, Jihoon lets out a breath through his nose, meeting Mingyu’s eyes as he still speaks to you, watching you shift to sit on your own away from Mingyu. “Who’s this?” 

You hadn’t expected Jihoon to look for you. He never really had before and he had never, to your knowledge, called you anything other than your name or your title. Why was he calling you angel now? Putting your hand over the necklace in question, you feel your heart attempting to beat out of your chest as Mingyu smiles and half smirks up at Jihoon realizing who he is. “I—thank you. This is Kim Mingyu. He’s—” 

“Monseigneur, I presume? Kim Mingyu, Duke of Leressair. I’m an old friend—” 

“I see and you presume correctly, Monsieur.” Turning his attention from Mingyu, Jihoon presses his lips together before offering you his hand, waiting for you to take it. “We should prepare for dinner. Allow our guests time to do the same. I have something I want to speak to you about anyway.” 

Jihoon’s eyes never leave you, even as you seem to struggle with your decision. Finally watching you put your hand in his, his lips pull up into something that resembles the half smirk that Mingyu had given him before he takes a step back, helping you to your feet. “We will see you at dinner, Monsieur. Say goodbye, darling.” 

Between the feeling of Jihoon’s hand on yours and his intense gaze, you feel almost faint. This was different from what you were used to. You had never seen him act like this before, almost possessive over you—was that what this was? A show of dominance? Glancing back over your shoulder as Jihoon guides you away from Mingyu, you furrow your brows and whisper your goodbye to your friend as he offers you a soft smile and a nod. 

“I’ll see you at dinner, Y/N.” 

Once inside the palace, the feeling of Jihoon’s hand around yours causes your anxiety to spike even higher. You find your mind racing as he leads you silently down the hall towards your rooms before finally stopping to push the door open and leading you inside and dropping your hand. Glancing around the room, you avoid his eyes and move towards one of your sofas when he finally speaks, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Don’t go anywhere with him alone again, and I—” Struggling with what he knows he wants to say and what he has to say, Jihoon moves closer to you, carefully touching your arms, feeling you jump slightly. You were afraid of him. That was good and yet it still broke his heart. “You can’t wear this. Do you know how it would look?” Unable to see how your composure breaks, Jihoon carefully undoes your necklace, bringing the delicate chain into his hand along with the dove charm, leaving your neck bare. 

Twice now he had taken home away from you. Tears slowly slide down your cheeks as you watch Jihoon move towards your vanity to lay down the necklace near the broken bracelet. You watch as he takes in a deep breath, picking up a piece of gold furrowing his brows at it, though you don’t know what he is thinking; it just serves to anger you more. “Could you leave, please?” 

He deserved that. Your anger and the contempt in your voice. Gently putting the broken piece of the bracelet back with the others, Jihoon sighs and glances over his shoulder at you, seeing the tears drip from your face. Was this possibly worse than killing you? He hated both situations, but he also hated seeing that man’s hands on you and his lips against your skin. “No, not yet. I—” 

“Why not? There’s nothing to say or do, Jihoon. I just—please leave me alone.” 

The room seems too small as you close your eyes and wrap your arms around yourself, knowing that Jihoon is watching you so closely. You listen between your sobs to hear him leave the room but it never happens; instead, you open your eyes to find him sitting on the arm of your sofa, his eyes on his hands as he turns the ring on his index finger, slowly waiting for you to calm down. 

“Do you hate me?” 

Another valid question for you to ask and yet again it broke Jihoon’s heart. You were leaving jagged pieces in his heart with almost every word and all Jihoon could do was shake his head and hope for a way to make this better. “Of course not. Y/N, I—we are getting married; how could I hate you?” 

“Marriage and your ability to care about someone don’t go hand in hand, Jihoon. You could hate me and tolerate me as your wife.” Wiping your cheeks free of tears even as more fall, you move past him, feeling his eyes follow you. “As long as I can stand by your side as a decent queen and provide an heir, I’ve met my purpose. I just need to keep my mouth shut and my legs open, right? I’ve been told it enough tim—”

“Jesus, fucking Christ, Y/N! Who told you that? It wasn’t me.” Moving to his feet, Jihoon lifts his hands as you seem to recoil at his raised voice. He didn’t want to scare you again, but you were spiraling and going off on a tangent once again. “I have never once said—” 

“You told me to shut my mouth the night of our engagement party.” 

Jihoon’s brows furrow, his words dying in his mouth before he’s finished when you speak over him. He barely remembered that night at the party. He had made it out of the palace and off the grounds before shifting; he remembered more of what had happened in the forest and how the beast had killed every animal in its path. “What? I don’t—” 

“‘Shut your mouth, Y/N and obey me.’ You said that you put the ring on my finger and that I would obey you. Is that what you want from me now, Jihoon? Because that’s what everyone else seems to think I should do.” Looking down at the ring on your finger, you furrow your brows at it, having grown to hate it. “Provide you children and obey you, day in and day out. Even if you yell at me and tell me to lock myself in my rooms for the rest of my fucking life.” Sniffing back tears hard, you defiantly meet Jihoon’s eyes even as you see the shock and pain behind them as you speak. “I hope I never give you a child.” 

While he wasn’t going to say it to you now, Jihoon hoped the same. He was terrified that he would put something like himself inside of you. Not only would he curse another person by them being born like him, but he’d put that thing inside of you. But it wasn’t the fact that he agreed with you that it hurt Jihoon, but that you’d say it out of anger. You hated him that much. “Perhaps you won’t. Time will tell, won’t it?” Running his fingers through his hair, Jihoon shakes his head and glances towards your window, knowing it was getting closer to dinner time. He wanted dinner over and done with as soon as possible. Everyone tucked away safely in their beds. “Everything I do, I do it for you.” 

Wrapping your arms around you at Jihoon’s words, you tilt your head, feeling a pang of resentment towards the man in front of you. “So you say so very often with no explanation. Please… leave.” Your eyes follow Jihoon as he stands and moves towards you, stopping by your side to look at you, though you turn your head away, not wanting to look at him. You only feel his hand take yours and feel his lips brush over your knuckles as always before you head the door open and close to your room, leaving you alone. 

9

"Oh, terribly so. Until she was 10 years old, I believe.” 

Hiding your face with your hands, you whine as your father tells yet another story to embarrass you hearing Jihoon’s mother coo at how adorable you are. Across the table from you, Mingyu grins at your reaction, using his napkin to wipe his lips as he furrows his brows and nods along. 

“She’s still afraid of storms, Your Majesty. She may have hid it well, but up to the day she left for this—" Choosing his words wisely, Mingyu nods at the Queen, shooting her a bright smile. “Beautiful kingdom, she would tremble and simply shut down at the first rumble of thunder. I’m sure it hasn’t changed. You would have to wrap her up in a blanket and keep her sheltered until it passed or she’d suffer too much.” 

Mingyu was sharing too much. Shifting a bit uncomfortable in your chair, you reach for your wine once again when Jihoon takes it from you, taking a sip of his own and then offering it to you as he hums in appreciation. 

“Mm, Monsieur Mingyu is right. I found my darling Y/N during the most recent storm, after—” Furrowing his brows, Jihoon clears his throat and chooses not to talk about his father, instead he smiles and shakes his head, looking over at you. “Anyway, she made it through just fine with someone simply by her side. She’s much stronger than some give her credit for.” 

You didn’t need Jihoon to stick up for you. You couldn’t shake the feeling of him trying just a little too hard, asserting his dominance a bit too much. By the end of the dinner, you find yourself feeling drained between his need to hover and Mingyu’s need to meet him at every level. At the beginning of the afternoon you hadn’t noticed it, their preening, but it had become all too clear by dessert as you hoped and prayed for dinner to come to an end. 

Jihoon wanted nothing more than to walk you to your room for the night. He had watched you stare at your cake, your fork slicing off thin bits that you never ate until most of it lay in a pile on your plate while others laughed and drank around the table out of celebration. They were all distracted; well, most of them. He had noticed Mingyu watching you as well. He knew that the other man had realized how distracted you were and even now, as the dinner was wrapping up, he was lingering. 

“Y/N…” 

“Mon ange.” 

The two voices pull your attention from your destroyed dessert and up to where Jihoon stands to your right and Mingyu just a bit further to your left. When had everyone else left? Were you that distracted? Dropping your fork, you mutter your apologies, allowing the servant to take the plates from in front of you, meeting her worried look before you start to slide your chair back, feeling Jihoon ease it from you, making it easier to stand up. 

“Are you alright? I—perhaps we could take a walk?” 

Mingyu was being bold and right in front of Jihoon. You could feel the heat from Jihoon’s body as he steps closer to you, meeting the larger man’s eyes over your shoulder. Before he is able to speak, you remember what Jihoon said in your room, and you shake your head and offer Mingyu a sad, genuine smile. “I’m so tired. Rain check? I just want to go to bed.” 

“I’ll get you to your room, Y/N.”

The tension between you and Jihoon was evident even as he guided you out of the dining hall and deeper into the palace with his hand on your lower back. He felt too warm, too close. You were still angry at him and you didn’t want him to walk you anywhere. 

“I can make it the rest of the way myself.” 

Rolling his eyes, Jihoon sighs your name under his breath, grabbing your arm at your elbow when you try to walk away from him. This wasn’t the time to be frustrating him. It was too dark outside and though he could feel that he might not shift tonight, he was close. The beast was right under his skin, causing his emotions to be heightened. “I said I’d get you to your room. So, please... stop acting like this. Are you just trying to get away from me so you can run back to your friend?” The moment the words leave Jihoon’s mouth, he feels regret wash over him, especially when he sees the look on your face. “Shit, I—no, wait. I’m sorry, Y/N!” 

With Jihoon, he really did take one step forward and two steps back. With those words spoken aloud, he took five massive steps back and he might as well have punched you in the stomach. Tugging your arm free from his grip, feeling his fingers try to grip you tightly, possibly leaving a bruise, you find yourself not caring as you sniff back your tears and start walking quickly away from him as he tries to apologize. “Why? Why are you sorry? Because you said it, or because you think I—” Grimacing, unable to even say the words, you shake your head and throw up your hands out of anger. 

Jihoon finds himself walking behind you, his fingers working through his hair out of nerves as he tries to keep up and think of how to fix this. “No! Wait—I, yes! I’m sorry because I said it! I didn’t mean it!” Stopping quickly when he reaches your door to watch it be slammed in his face, Jihoon lets out a loud, frustrated breath as he leans his forehead against it and presses his palms next to his head. “I know you wouldn’t! Please let me in and talk to me. Don’t—come on! We are getting married in a day!” 

Resting your head back against the door, you feel fresh tears stream down your cheeks and along your neck as Jihoon knocks on your door, begging you to speak to him and to forgive him. You knew when you were getting married and you were beginning to wonder if you should take Mingyu’s proposal up and run away with him. As quickly as the thought passes through your mind, a wave of guilt rushes through you, pain hitting your chest and stomach and causing you to sob loud enough that Jihoon’s knocks stop. You wonder if he has left, but his soft voice a moment later tells you that he hasn’t. 

“Y/N… I hate myself for this. For—for making you feel like this. I’m a curse to everyone around me. D-do you—” Sliding down the door, Jihoon sits on the floor against it, knocking his head back against the wood before reaching up to rest his head in his hands. “If you want to leave me, I’d let you. I would tell them you—I don’t know. I’d make up something, if that’s what you want.” 

Silence. You aren’t even listening to him. Jihoon feels like a fool for even trying to speak to you. You clearly hate him more than anyone else in the world, but then that feels impossible because no one could hate him more than himself. Sitting in his own self-loathing, Jihoon pushes his thumb against his palm hard, wondering if he should give up when he hears the lock of your door turn and feels the surface behind him shift, leaving him sitting on his own as he looks up at you from the floor. 

“Y/N…” 

Taking a step back, you let Jihoon get to his feet, his hands quickly trying to wipe the dust from his pants so that he looks somewhat more presentable before he moves into the room once you let him. 

“We have a duty, Jihoon.” 

"No, I know th—” 

“Let me speak.” No other woman had ever spoken to Jihoon like you did or made him feel this way. You commanded the space, even with tears drying on your cheeks and a look of heartbreak in your eyes. “I came here for Thornwood and I’m not a coward. I said I would marry you and that’s what I intend on doing, but things have to change.”

Change terrified Jihoon. Swallowing hard, he tilts his head, watching you appraise him and his reaction. He wanted to give into you so easily and give you everything you wanted, but was it that easy? The beast would kill you the first chance it got. “Y/N…” 

“Things have to change, Jihoon! I’m not your prisoner. I’m not a doll that you can lock away in some room and play with when you see fit. I’m going to be the queen.” 

You were right; he knew that. Grimacing even as he nodded, Jihoon watches your expression soften. He wasn’t completely giving into this; there would still need to be some safe guards put up, but perhaps he could allow some changes for your happiness. “Okay, but we have to compromise. I still don’t want you going out at night, ever.” 

It takes everything in you not to lash out at Jihoon; it’s only the look in his eye—a genuine look of concern for you—that makes you even consider that he’s not just trying to keep some power over you. “I—fine. I don’t get it, but I won’t go outside after dark.” 

Relief washes over Jihoon and he nods along with your words, taking a step closer to you, happy when you don’t instantly move away from him. “There are things in the dark that you don’t understand, Y/N. I don’t want you hurt, or worse. So that’s the only thing I ask for right now.” 

To you, it sounded like ghost stories and fairy tales once again getting the best of the imaginations of the residents of Aetherial Grove; you just hadn’t expected it to be their prince who fell for them. You didn’t expect those stories to make him pale and to look sick to his stomach as he reached for your hands, wanting you close. “I—okay. They’re just stories, Jihoon, but I’ll stay inside at night. I said I would. Stop worrying so much. We have enough to worry about besides ghost stories.” 

Ghosts? If only that were the worst of Jihoon’s troubles. He had never seen a ghost in his life. He didn’t question their existence. Perhaps they did exist and wandered another realm, but in his world he had bigger things to worry about. Offering you a smile, Jihoon nods and lifts your hands bringing them to his lips kissing both of your hands and resting his lips against your left for a moment longer before taking a step back. “You’re right, darling.” 

10

You had always been told that dream weddings were made for princesses. So why was it on your own wedding day that you didn’t feel like it was your own wedding? You were in your dress, your flowers in your hand, as you stood next to your father in front of the large church doors, listening to the beautiful music, but it was as if you were watching someone else get married. 

“Ready, honey?” 

Had you said yes? You couldn’t remember, but it didn’t matter. You were putting on a smile and avoiding the eyes of everyone as you walked down the aisle, just attempting not to trip. One, two, three, four, five, six—by the time you reached the front of the church, you had counted 79 flower petals that had been dropped by one of your youngest cousins. They were very pretty petals. What did petals lining a wedding aisle mean again? Luck? Fertility? Transformation? A bond between families? 

“My wife and I.” 

Your father was speaking and offering your hand to someone else. You were getting married. Lifting your eyes, you meet Jihoon’s feeling, and your heart starts to beat frantically as it all seems to set in for you. The air settles around you and his hands on yours ground you bringing you back to reality. 

“You okay?” 

What did he want you to say? You could barely find words to speak so instead you smile and nod, watching him do the same as the priest continues the ceremony. You find yourself transfixed on the man in front of you, every piece of hair in place, his handsome smile, and his beautiful brown eyes. 

“Yes, I do.” 

He does? What does he—- 

“Madame Y/N Y/L/N of Thornwood, do you take this man, Monseigneur Lee Jihoon, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

The room had become deathly silent. You could hear a pin drop as they waited for your answer and all you could truly hear was your heart and unsteady breath as Jihoon kept his eyes on you. The words sit on the tip of your tongue until Jihoon’s fingers gently squeeze yours, giving you the confidence you need to continue and gaining a happy whispered cheer from the audience watching. 

“Ye—yes, I do.” 

Blowing out a breath, playfully. Jihoon smiles when you finally do speak, feeling the tension release from your fingers. You were nervous and that was making him even more nervous. You seemed like you were in another world until he finally brought you back and now that he had you and the priest was delivering the last of his lines, Jihoon felt like he could either throw up or like his chest could explode from being overwhelmed. 

“I now pronounce you man and wife. Monseigneur, you may kiss your bride.” 

His bride. His. He had never kissed you before, no more than the back of your knuckles but that hadn’t meant that he hadn’t thought about it or dreamt of it. Swallowing hard, Jihoon nods and takes one hand from yours to cup your jaw gingerly as he leans forward, his lips resting mere centimeters from yours, letting you decide to do the rest. 

Why had he stopped? Whining under your breath, feeling Jihoon’s breath against your lips, you furrow your brows and close the distance, pressing your lips against his for the first time hearing the audience burst into a loud cheer seeing the first kiss shared by a husband and wife. You had shared a kiss with Mingyu before; it had been small, just his lips brushing against yours before you had pulled away, but this was different. You could feel Jihoon smile against your lips. You could almost taste him before he pulled away, leaving you breathless and stunned at the alter next to him. 

It shouldn’t surprise you or Jihoon that the rest of the reception would be a whirlwind of well wishes and unsolicited advice. You find that once again your only saving grace is the man standing beside you, his hand linked with yours and his thumb rubbing small circles on the inside of your wrist as he carries most of the conversations. 

“Mm, no. We won’t be going anywhere. We have the coronation set for the middle of next week and there is so much to be done here. I will enjoy my bride at home. I’m hoping to spend as much time with her as possible.” 

You find yourself wondering how much of Jihoon’s words are true. Would he spend extra time with you? What would tonight be like? The idea of your wedding night has your stomach in knots and Jihoon tugging you tighter to his side, feeling your fingers closing around his. 

“I—mm, no, thank you. We’re fine. Really, we won’t travel often. If Y/N wants to travel—” 

Why wouldn’t Jihoon travel? That had come up time and time again. He was ready to send you back home to visit your parents. You two would be going nowhere after your wedding and now he was offering to let you travel without him? Furrowing your brows, you look up at your husband finally meeting his eyes, making him laugh a bit awkwardly and excuse you both as he grabs two glasses of champagne, leading you towards one of the windows, letting you rest against the sill. 

“This is exhausting. Are you alright?” 

Gladly accepting the glass, you hum between sips before tilting your head and looking out over the crowd that was luckily getting smaller as the afternoon crept by. “Fine. Ready to be alone. This is just overwhelming.” 

Nodding into his own glass, Jihoon lets his eyes move around the room before they land on Mingyu, who nods in acknowledgement before looking away. He was ready for everyone to leave as well, ready for them to go back to where they belonged—especially Kim Mingyu. “It’ll be done soon and you can head to bed.” 

Pausing mid-drink, you glance up at Jihoon before lowering your glass. "Oh, and should I—” Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, turning your head away, feeling awkward and uncertain about how to continue without sounding desperate. “Should I expect anyone to join me?” 

Jihoon had taken a drink and swallowed half of it when you finally got your words out. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t that. He hadn’t meant to react the way he had, but being caught off guard and feeling the champagne take a sudden wrong turn, Jihoon finds himself coughing as he tries to calm himself down and avoid your eyes and others as they look at him concerned. “I’m fine… I—” Tilting his head and clearing his throat, Jihoon holds up his hand, keeping others from approaching him or you as he repeats that he doesn’t need help. “I’m fine, I promise.” 

“Was my question that shocking?” 

Jihoon watches your lips quiver slightly, only for you to hide your emotions by taking a sip of the drink in your hand. “No—I, yes. I won’t lie, yes, but also it shouldn’t have been. Y/N, I’m not meaning to upset you.” 

Shaking your head, you clear your throat, feeling your cheeks flair with warmth from embarrassment. You were such a fool for even considering that Jihoon would come to your room or want you like that even if you were his wife. “I’m not upset. I’m tired. I’m going to go ahead and call it an evening. Say goodbye to the guests, Jihoon.” Stepping away from him, you meet his eyes, feeling his fingers trail over yours. “And get a wonderful night’s sleep.” 

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, Jihoon groans in frustration at you and mostly himself as the door closes behind you, leaving him alone with the guests in the dining hall at the wedding reception. He had once again messed up and was left to clean up the mess. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to see you or be with you, but tonight was going to be a bad night. 

Some nights Jihoon couldn’t tell when he was going to shift, and others like tonight he could feel it from a mile away. Every inch of his body felt like it was on fire and the rumbling in his ears had been loud from the moment he had gotten up. He had barely made it through the wedding on sheer will, but now you had left him to the lions, and one in particular looked overly amused. 

Working his way through the remaining guests, bidding them a goodnight and explaining you had needed to go lay down with a headache, Jihoon felt his own headache growing with every single lie he told. It wasn’t until Mingyu had given him one more smirk and sipped at his whiskey that Jihoon cracked. “Something on your mind, Mingyu?” 

“Of course not, Monseigneur. Just awaiting my turn to give my well wishes to the beautiful couple before I retire for the night, but—oh, where is your bride, Monseigneur?” 

He was playing with fire and clearly drunk. Laughing under his breath, Jihoon nods and wipes his finger under his nose, moving closer to Mingyu. He could feel a subtle shift in the air, not realizing his eyes had already shifted in color from brown to gold. “Waiting for me in bed, like a good wife. Where she belongs.” 

Mingyu’s smile falters not only at Jihoon’s words but also at the change in his tone and the difference in Jihoon’s eye color. “Yeah, that so? She didn’t seem very happy earlier. So I figured you wouldn’t be satisfying her on her wedding night. Or at least that’s what her face was saying. I know her pretty well, you see.” 

Scoffing, Jihoon digs his nails into his palm, taking a step towards Mingyu, who doesn’t budge. “Do you know her pretty well? How well? Careful with your next words...” 

He had no reason to be afraid of Jihoon, and yet the air around Jihoon was causing Mingyu’s hair to stand on end. He could feel his heart rate starting to rise as he realized that the only people left in the room beside himself and Jihoon were servants. “I—yeah, I know—” 

“Monseigneur! It’s time for a night walk.” 

Time had gotten away from Soonyoung during the festivities. He hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten until he had seen Jihoon backing the larger man against a wall and he knew that could only mean one thing: Jihoon was shifting. “Apologies for taking away the monseigneur, but routines. Have a goodnight, Monsieur.” 

Left speechless, Mingyu is only able to take a full breath once Jihoon is ushered away from him and out the doors. “What the fuck—” His heart was slowly starting to calm down and the sense of danger seemed to dissipate the longer that he was away from Jihoon. There was something wrong with everything that had just happened. He was twice the size of Jihoon in most ways and yet the man had him almost trembling for a moment and quickly sobering up. Now the prince was going for a night walk? Where? You weren’t allowed to go out at night. That was one of the things you had told Mingyu. Now he was even more curious as to why. 

Guiding Jihoon towards the gates, Soonyoung grimaces, hearing the sounds of flesh starting to rip. This was closer than he wanted to be to a shift. It was dangerous and he had scars that he already bore from Jihoon and close calls. 

“Get away from me!” 

Trembling from the pain and fear of shifting, Jihoon growls out the words, glancing back at Soonyoung as he slams the gates shut in front of him, sealing him out for the night. The painful groaning roar that escapes Jihoon next almost breaks Soonyoung’s heart as he turns on his heels and runs back towards the palace, not seeing Mingyu lingering in the shadows near the gates watching Jihoon stumble and fall as he shifts into the beast. 

“Fuck—” There aren’t words to explain what Mingyu feels or the terror for you that runs through him as he watches the bear’s claws dig into the dirt as it runs for the forest snarling. There was no way he was going to let you stay here with that thing. He’d kill it before he’d let it hurt you. Without much thought, Mingyu heads back towards the palace and to his room to grab his knife before sneaking back out towards the forest in search of Jihoon, determined that only one of them would come back for you in the morning. 

11

The night had been too long and filled with strange and horrible dreams as you tossed and turned in your bed. You had hoped and prayed that Jihoon had been lying to you and that he would show up at your door, but instead you found yourself on your wedding night alone. You had been half tempted to go find Mingyu, but after sending Jieun to find him, she only found his room empty, confusing you more. 

You woke the next morning to terrified and frantic yelling that made your stomach twist instantly with nausea before your feet ever hit the floor. What was wrong? Why would anyone be that upset after the day of your wedding? 

Not caring about putting on more than a robe, you run through the halls and towards the commotion only to stop when Wonwoo wraps his arms around your waist, urging for you to wait. “No! What’s wrong? Let me go!” Tugging free from his grasp, you manage to move through the wall of people only to fall to your knees at the sight in front of you. 

When you hear the scream, you aren’t aware that it’s coming from you until your mother is holding you to her chest and rocking you back and forth, trying to calm you down. The sound is so gut wrenching and devastating that you can’t believe that you are making it, but the sight of Mingyu bloody and clinging for life in front of you was enough to make you learn that you could make such a sound. 

“He’s alive, but—barely. Jihoon found him in the forest this morning and brought him back. If it wasn’t for him...” 

Blinking through your tears, you search for Jihoon, who mutters something you can’t hear to Soonyoung before he disappears from your sight down the hall once again, leaving you essentially alone. You are left clinging to your mother as you watch the servants move Mingyu into another room where doctors begin their work to save your friend. 

Your sense of time gets lost as you sit outside of the room listening to the hushed voices of the doctors and the clanking of their tools. It’s only when someone kneels in front of you, putting a plate of food on your lap, that you seem to focus on the face in front of you, realizing that it’s Jihoon. Glancing down at the plate, you grimace and look away from it, feeling Jihoon’s palm against your cheek, turning your head back towards him. 

“You have to eat. You’ve been sitting here all day. It’s doing him no good.” Picking up the fork from the plate, Jihoon cuts into a piece of meat, lifting it for you and watching you furrow your brows as he tries to feed you. “Eat, please? How is not eating going to help the doctors save him?” 

The smell of the meat wasn’t appetizing. Nothing about the food in front of you made you want to eat it, but it was more Jihoon urging you to take a bite that had you leaning forward and accepting it. Chewing slowly, you lean your head back against the wall as he sighs, moving to sit in front of you, crossing his legs, and putting the plate in his own lap so he can gather more of the food waiting for you to finish the first bite. 

“Y/N—” 

“Where did you find him? Why were you outside, Jihoon?” 

Closing his eyes, Jihoon rests the fork on the plate and takes a deep breath to your questions as you cut him off before he can speak again. There was the truth and then there was what he and Soonyoung had come up with. Jihoon wasn’t sure which he was ready to tell you or if he was ready to tell you anything. 

He could remember Mingyu trying to attack him—the beast—in the forest. He could still see the anger on the man’s face as he tried to do anything with the useless knife in his hand, but like many others before him, Mingyu had found himself powerless against the beast. The thought of it made Jihoon feel sick to his stomach as he smelled the copper in the air even now as the doctors worked to repair what he had done to Mingyu. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t killed him. Maybe it was seeing your face and the pain in it when he had taken the necklace from your neck, but he had managed to run away from Mingyu and then find him barely breathing once he was human again. 

“Please don’t do this to me.” 

Jihoon heard your tears before he saw them. He heard the desperation and despair in your voice as you sobbed, drawing his eyes back up to you. It had broken his heart before to see you upset but now you were his wife. It was his duty more than ever to take care of you and he was already fucking it up. “I—he was attacked by a mon—” 

“The monseigneur was out for a morning walk and heard him.” 

Gritting his teeth to Wonwoo’s voice, Jihoon lowers his head again and nods along with the story that he and Soonyoung had come up with. Of course others in the palace would know the story by now, and the steward would want to protect him—especially from himself. Jihoon wants to explain it all to you and make you understand, but the look on Wonwoo’s face makes him stay silent as you stare up at the tall man. 

“Do we know what attacked him?” Jihoon had started to say something. You could tell that he was keeping something else from you, that perhaps he had started to open up and then he was once again silenced. This had happened before—the same song and dance, but this was different for you. Your best friend was laying torn apart on a table fighting for his life and you weren’t just going to accept it and smile. “Jihoon said—”

“The monseigneur is tired, madame. You both are. You aren’t eating properly and the monseigneur is increasingly busy as the coronation approaches.” 

You were starting to hate Wonwoo. He kept secrets worse than Jihoon in some ways. He made you realize that Jihoon was as much, if not more, of a prisoner in this palace than you were. Shaking your head, you turn it away from both Wonwoo and Jihoon listening for the sounds of the doctors as they continue to work. “I want to be alone.” 

“Y/N, I can sit with you. I don’t have—” 

“Very well, madame. Monseigneur, you have a busy day. If you don’t mind to come with me?” 

Biting at his cheek, Jihoon lets his eyes move over your pretty face as fresh tears run down your cheeks untouched. He wanted to fix this, to make you feel better and yet he was once again being pulled away from you. “Fine… Here, please eat a bit more.” Putting the plate next to your leg, Jihoon watches your eyes move to it for a few seconds before you look away again, ignoring what he said. “I’ll check in when I can, darling.” 

You do your best to stay stoic even as the tears run down your face, but when Jihoon’s lips press to the side of your head, you can’t help how your body shakes with grief. You wanted him to stay with you and keep his vows to love and protect you. 

Keeping his eyes on you until it’s impossible to do so, Jihoon crosses his arms and scowls at the ground in front of him, knowing Wonwoo is just a few steps behind him. “This better be important. I should be back there with her.” 

“With all due respect, monseigneur I’m not sure being around madame Y/N is in your best interest when you are in the headspace you are currently in. You might make mistakes and put yourself or the kingdom at risk.” 

Jihoon felt like the air had been forcefully removed from his lungs as he came to a stop in the hallway. There wasn’t anything pressing to take care of; Wonwoo was just trying to keep him quiet. It made sense. He had heard some of what Jihoon had started to tell you, but it didn’t give him the right to dictate what he said or did. 

Even as Jihoon stood there seething, he knew that he was lying to himself. Of course Wonwoo could tell him what to do and how to do it. His allegiance was to the king and to the kingdom. Jihoon wasn’t yet king. Wonwoo was doing what he thought would protect the kingdom, and even Jihoon knew the man was right. If you knew everything about Jihoon, there was no way you would have married him. There was no way that you’d be his queen and there was no way he’d ever even have a chance of having an heir with you. 

“I know you are upset with me, Jihoon. Your father gave me very specific instructions before he passed away. I’m attempting to follow them to the letter. I want you to succeed. Stop attempting to self-sabotage yourself.” Watching Jihoon’s shoulders relax, Wonwoo lets out a breath and takes a step closer to the prince, tilting his head. “She’ll learn everything in time. It doesn’t have to be now and certainly not while he is on an operating table. Think about how she would react learning that—” 

“I get it. I was being weak. Thank you for stopping me, Wonwoo.” 

He was right; Jihoon knew it. You’d hate him. You might even try to do exactly what Mingyu had and he wouldn’t even blame you. 

12

Thorns dug into your feet. Bloody footprints marked every step you made as you ran through the dark forest away from the sounds of heavy breathing and snarls. You were terrified. Every beat of your heart could be felt in your throat as you tried to take in breaths to keep your energy up just enough to stay in front of whatever was chasing you. 

It didn’t seem to matter how hard you ran or what way you turned; you could almost feel the hot breath of it on your neck. Tears streamed down your face as you heard it growl your name; your eyes shut tightly as you begged for your life, only for your body to jerk awake as you hear your name once again. 

“Y/N… dear?” 

You weren’t in the forest and there was nothing chasing you. You were inside the palace but you had been moved from where you last remembered being. Shifting on the sofa, you whine, feeling your mother’s hand brush over your head as you try to sit up, feeling how stiff your body has become from sitting on the floor and sleeping on something that isn’t your bed. 

“Oh, darling. You look so weak. Couldn’t I take you to your bed?” 

Recoiling from her touch, you look around the room and towards the door, seeing that you weren’t moved far. The room where the doctors had been working on Mingyu was just across the hall. “No. Mingyu…” 

Brushing her fingers over your head, your mother nods and purses her lips when you refuse to leave. She knew you would. You were always stubborn and strong-willed. She wondered if your new husband had met this side of you and if he had known this side of you if he would have accepted the cost of your dowry. No doubt you were beautiful and lovely in many ways, but your stubbornness could cause issues in a marriage that your mother worried about. “Mingyu is out of surgery, Y/N. About an hour ago. He’s in his room, resting.” 

He had made it. Pushing her hand away, you sit up fully and try to slide from your mother, only to feel her hand wrap around your arm to stop you. “Mother, please. I want to go see him. I need to see him for myself.” 

“And I understand that, Y/N, but, I—I just, consider how this looks? I know that you two were close back home. Perhaps too close. Don’t make your husband regret his hospitality.” 

Shrugging her hand from your arm, you stand, giving her a look of contempt as she returns the look with more concern underlying. “I am checking on my friend. If Jihoon wants to be upset about that, so be it.” 

It was late afternoon now. You could feel the weight of the day resting on your shoulders as you made your way through the palace and towards Mingyu’s room. You knew your mother wasn’t wrong, but you hadn’t been lying. To you, there was nothing about what you were doing that was wrong. You had sat outside of the room where he had been in surgery most of the day until someone had moved you, so why would it be a shock to anyone that you would want to see him once he was out? 

Carefully pushing open his door, you glance around the dimly lit room as a frown quickly settles on your lips when you see Mingyu in his bed with the covers tucked under his arms. Bandages cover his chest and one of his shoulders, blood seeping through even as he sleeps with his brows furrowed so deeply. It broke you to see the man you knew to be so strong, so completely broken in front of you. 

You don’t worry about shutting the door all the way; instead, you move towards the bed and take Mingyu’s hand in yours, being careful not to jostle him in any way as new tears gather in your eyes and quickly fall on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I should have never asked you to come. You’d be safe and back home. I—” The words get caught in your throat on a sob as Mingyu’s nose wrinkles and he sighs in his sleep, giving you the first real sign that he is possibly going to be okay. 

Jihoon had finally found time to look for you again. He had found you sleeping against the wall after forcing himself to participate in a few meetings and decided to move you to the sofa, but now you weren’t there. He knew that Mingyu’s surgery had gone well; he was projected to recover to some degree, resembling being completely healed in a few months. Jihoon had been told that it was even possible that he would be well enough to travel in a week if his body took over healing as it should. 

Now Jihoon found himself in search of you, already knowing where you would be. He couldn’t blame you for wanting to see Mingyu. Even with as much as it made his chest feel heavy, he knew he would let you stay with him for as long as you wanted if that made you happy. Jihoon had done enough to disappoint you and to ruin your life in ways that you didn’t even understand yet. 

Hearing your sobs, Jihoon pauses outside of Mingyu’s door and looks down at the floor, watching the light shift on the floor in front of him through the cracked door. He hated that he was getting used to the sound of you crying. That wasn’t something anyone should grow accustomed to. 

“I hate this so much. Why were you even outside? You are so stupid, Mingyu.” You didn’t want to blame Mingyu or Jihoon for this. You wanted to blame whatever it was that attacked Mingyu and you wanted to blame yourself. “I’m so stupid.” 

"No, you aren’t.” 

You knew that Mingyu hadn’t spoken. The most he had done was sigh and shift some in his sleep. Furrowing your brows, you wipe your cheeks and turn towards the door, watching as Jihoon moves further into the room with a frown on his face. Perhaps your mother had been right. You shouldn’t have visited Mingyu; it had upset Jihoon. Whispering his name, you slide your hand from Mingyu’s and sniff back your tears, uncertain what to do as Jihoon gets closer, his eyes moving to the bed and over Mingyu before they move back to you. 

“I’m not here to rush you or make you leave, Y/N. I just—I was coming to check on you. You weren’t where I left you.” 

Letting out the breath you hadn’t realized you were even holding, you nod and settle back by Mingyu’s side, sliding your hand back into his as Jihoon wanders in the room near you. He had been the one to move you to the couch. You weren’t sure how that hadn’t dawned on you earlier. It makes sense. He had tried to feed you earlier; of course he’d want you somewhere at least a bit more comfortable. “I’m sorry, Jihoon.” 

“You don’t owe me anything. I wish you’d eat and rest, of course, but I won’t force it.” Quickly meeting your eyes before he moves to the window to look out over the courtyard as the sun starts to set, Jihoon takes a slow, deep breath and lets it out. “If—if you’d let me, I will get you something and bring it here even. Or if you will finally lay down, I’ll bring it to your room, or have it brought there so you don’t even have to see me.” Glancing over his shoulder at you, Jihoon sees Mingyu and the blood that is starting to stain the sheets draped over him and it’s a reminder that he did that. He’s the one who hurt your best friend. “I—I’m sorry this happened.” 

The way that Jihoon spoke made you feel like the tide was rising and that time was against him and you. It was as if you didn’t say something or save him that you might have to watch him drown as he swam out too far all while you watched from the shore. “It’s not your fault. You brought him back. You saved him—” 

“Y/N!” 

Sitting up straight, when Jihoon raises his voice, panic lacing it, you look from him to Mingyu as he winces in his sleep, causing you and Jihoon to pause until he settles once again. 

“I didn’t—’m sorry, fuck. I—I should just go.” 

The water was rising and you had a choice to make. You whine softly, closing your fingers tighter around Mingyu's. As you watch Jihoon walk towards the door, you suddenly stand up, dropping Mingyu’s hand and reaching for Jihoon's instead. Barely catching his fingers with yours, you once again whine Jihoon’s name. Coming to a stop, his head dropping as you take a step closer and sliding your hand fully into his. 

“I’ll eat in my room, but only if you join me.” You can see the apprehension in Jihoon’s eyes and how he glances towards the window, seeing how dark it’s gotten. “Please, Jihoon.” Wincing at your pleading, he meets your eyes and nods. 

“Okay.” Jihoon found it difficult to tell you no after disappointing you so often and seeing that heartbroken look in your eyes. The darkness terrified him, but there was no way to tell you that he was afraid to spend any time with you while the moon was in the sky. If he told you that he’d have to explain why, and then he would have to explain why Mingyu was laying in this bed still unconscious, so Jihoon didn’t tell you no. Instead, he let you lull him and the beast with your soft smile as he gave into his temptation and brushed his fingers over your cheek, feeling your warm skin under his touch. “I’ll be there soon.” 

You knew exactly why you had doubts about Jihoon keeping his promise to join you for dinner in your room, but as you sat at your window watching the moon rise, you tried not to let that doubt get the best of you. You were doing your very best not to let your mind wander back to Mingyu laying alone in his room covered in bandages and instead you did something you hadn’t done in a long time—you prayed. 

You weren’t even sure who you were praying to. There were many gods, goddesses, and deities in general that people believed in, but with your silent prayer for Mingyu’s recovery and Jihoon’s strength going forward, you send your words to whomever might be listening. You pray for yourself. Your own strength and ability to do what must be done as a wife and queen—that you might be worthy of Jihoon. 

“Are you sure?” 

Not dignifying Soonyoung’s question with an response, Jihoon shakes his head and gives one look to your door before meeting his butler’s eyes. He knew why Soonyoung was concerned. He wasn’t the only one sharing those concerns. Junhui had his own reservations when he was asked to prepare the late dinner. Wonwoo had shared gentle reminders of earlier conversations and his mother had simply given her blessing, hoping that the night might be fruitful. 

Fruitful. Jihoon knew what his mother meant, but how could she even be thinking of something like that right now? He wasn’t trying to bed you. That was the farthest thing from his mind at the moment. In fact, that was the farthest thing from his mind in general. It wasn’t that he didn’t see you in that manner. He’d be a fool to look at you and not lust after you. You were divine in his eyes and now you were his wife. It made it even harder not to give into lingering glances but today you were dealing with the stress of everything that had happened with Mingyu. Jihoon was going to your room to comfort you and to eat. Nothing more. 

The hushed voices and soft knock at your door bring you out of your whispered prayers and right back to the present. Jihoon had kept his promise. Why did that terrify you almost as much as him breaking it? Moving to your feet, you swallow hard, feeling your breath getting caught in your throat before clearing it so that you can finally speak, though it sounds strained. “Co—come in.” 

You had looked exactly the same before he had left you to get dinner ready, and yet you were taking Jihoon’s breath away as he stepped out of Soonyoung’s way, letting him push the tray into the room. Jihoon knew he was staring but at least your attention was taken up as you rushed forward, cooing over Soonyoung and the dinner. God, you really were too good for Jihoon. How he ever got lucky enough for you to end up in Aetherial Grove was a miracle. The idea of it made his stomach twist with anxiety even as butterflies overwhelmed him. He was so scared that he might hurt you in a way he wouldn’t be able to fix. 

“This looks delicious. It’s too much.” Sighing, you whine under your breath and reach for the tray as Soonyoung sighs at you, moving your hand away from it. “I can—” 

“Madame…” 

“Stop calling me that. You call him Jihoon. Do the same for me; call me by my name, please.” 

Lifting his eyes to Jihoon, Soonyoung watches the prince finally move into the room and towards the table as he places the dishes on it for you both to share. 

“If that’s what she wants, I’m okay with it, Soonyoung. We can handle the rest of this. Go rest.” 

The apprehension in Soonyoung’s eyes puzzles you at first. You wonder if he isn’t sure to take what Jihoon is saying seriously or if he isn’t sure if he wants to leave dinner alone without a servant present, but then the man puts on a dazzling smile and you can’t seem to figure out which one it was. You find yourself instead smiling back at him as he bows at the waist and hums softly, ready to excuse himself. 

“Alright. If either of you needs me or anyone else, you know how to get in touch. Goodnight, Y/N. Jihoon.” 

Nodding along with his words, Jihoon doesn’t pay anymore attention to Soonyoung as he leaves the room. His eyes are on you as you stand next to the table and he realizes this is his first dinner alone with you. If the circumstances were different, it might seem intimate or romantic, but tonight Jihoon pushes those thoughts aside and offers you a soft smile before moving to pull out your chair, letting you sit down first. “I’m happy that you decided to eat, Y/N and I—I’m glad you wanted me here.” 

Finding him to be forever the enigma, you smile along with Jihoon’s words, feeling your cheeks heating up. “I’m just glad you accepted. I honestly… Well, I just don’t think I want to be alone right now. I’d rather be with you.” 

Jihoon had been ready to move the last of the plates to the table when you had spoken, but he hadn’t been ready for your words. Letting out a breath, he smiles with his back turned to you, putting the plate back down on the tray to steady himself before trying again and this time moving it with ease to the middle of the table, still avoiding your eyes directly. “Then I—I’ll stay with you. However long you need me to tonight.” 

Two courses into the impromptu dinner, you pout into your wine glass as Jihoon leans back in his chair with his own wine glass resting on his fingers. It’s impossible for you not to admit to yourself that you have been struck with at least a bit of luck when it comes to your marriage. It might not be perfect, but you had seen worse pairings in arranged marriages before. Beautiful women paired with men their father’s age who expected them to be in bed ready for them every night. Handsome men who were stuck with wives who would sneak off with the stable boy not even after a year of marriage and yet you could look at Lee Jihoon for the rest of your life. 

“Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have—did I get something on my face?” Shifting in his chair, Jihoon lifts his free hand to rub at his lips, causing you to smile into a laugh that he finds infectious. “What? No, why are you laughing at me? Mon ange…” 

When had he started calling you that? Placing your fingers against your lips, you smile against them and turn your face away from Jihoon, trying to hide how shy he makes you feel. “Jihoon…” 

You were driving him crazy. No other woman had ever made Jihoon feel like this. Perhaps he could chalk it up to never getting the chance to know them, but even that didn’t feel like the answer. It all felt like it was leading up to you. You were made to be his. Some sort of cruel destiny where he might truly meet the love of his life and never fully get to love her the way he wanted to. “What is it?” 

This was insane; clearly you were insane or perhaps you had drank too much wine if the tension in the room had gotten so thick that you were once again looking at Jihoon with desire on your mind. So much had happened in just two days and it would be so selfish of you to attempt to act on your feelings while your best friend lay recovering in a room across the palace—and yet you find yourself staring at Jihoon, wondering if his promise was true. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise. I just—you are so handsome. It almost breaks my heart.” 

Run away. You should run away and never look back. Jihoon’s brain is screaming at him as he watches you from across the table, your eyes fixed on him in a way he’s never seen before. You didn’t know what you were saying. You were drinking and lost in the moment—or you were simply a woman in a room with her husband after her wedding. 

Letting out a deep breath at your compliment, Jihoon’s lips pull up slightly in a smile before he shakes his head. He wasn’t disagreeing with you, but he knew that there was a deeply ugly part of him that you had seen on more than one occasion and you had yet to meet it fully. He prayed you never would. If he had to confine himself to a cell, he would rather that be his life than you ever suffer that side of him. 

“I never want to break your heart, though I fear I have with my selfishness on many occasions already.” 

“It’s not important, Jiho—” 

“It is, Y/N. I’m sorry for my behavior. I’m incredibly lucky to have such a beautiful wife, and not only that, but a beautiful, caring, and understanding wife who wears her heart on her sleeve. You are stunning inside and out, darling.” 

Once again looking away from Jihoon, you look up at the ceiling, trying to keep the tears gathering on your eyes from falling. He wasn’t wrong about some of the things he had said. He had broken your heart many times already, but his words were doing a very good job at patching some of those cracks. 

The moment the first tear slips down your cheek, Jihoon whispers your name and slides from his chair so he can move around the table to kneel on one knee in front of your chair. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m so bad at this—at relationships. I’m sorry—” 

You had been kissed twice in your life. Once by Mingyu and then by Jihoon on your wedding day. Out of those two kisses, your wedding kiss had taken your breath away and made you realize that the one you and Mingyu shared had been between kids trying to figure out their way in the world. Your third kiss almost made you forget that you had ever kissed anyone besides Jihoon ever. You knew it was bold of you to kiss him and not let him have that opportunity, but between Jihoon’s words and having him in front of you, the moment had taken you over. 

Wrapping his fingers around your wrist as you rest your hand against his cheek, Jihoon furrows his brows tightly. He hadn’t expected you to kiss him, but he wasn’t going to pull away or push you away. At first he wasn’t sure what to do except return the kiss lightly, but then you sighed so softly and Jihoon’s mind almost exploded, sending a shiver through his body and right to his stomach, causing it to tighten as lust rushes through him. 

He knew that you didn’t know what you were doing to him. There was a chance that you didn’t know what you were doing at all. You were merely following your instincts, and there was no way that Jihoon was going to tell you they were wrong. He was fighting with himself to deepen the kiss, to let his teeth nip at your lips, to let his tongue taste your skin. You were set in front of him like a pure white rose and Jihoon felt like he needed to protect you and ruin you at the same time. “Shit—” Muttering against your lips, Jihoon tightens his grip on your wrist when you are the one who nips at his lips, sending another wave of lust through him. “Wait. Y/N…” 

You didn’t want to wait. This was what was supposed to happen on your wedding night. You had waited for Jihoon all night long until your body gave out and you had finally fallen asleep. Now you had him in front of you, your lips on his and he was telling you to wait? Whining on his lips, you grip at Jihoon’s shirt with your free hand, hearing him groan quietly, a sound that has you wanting to close your thighs tighter for any sense of release. “No, Jihoon. Please? Why?” 

Reaching for the arm of your chair, Jihoon misses the first time landing on your leg through your dress, sending panic through him when you smile against his lips. This was too much; he was barely holding himself back and now you were begging him. Tightening his fingers around the wooden arm of the chair, Jihoon groans again, tilting his head as he finally takes over the kiss, feeling your lips part so he can brush his tongue against yours. 

It felt like you were getting what you wanted. You had never kissed anyone like this before. You could taste Jihoon as his tongue glided along yours, his hand sliding from your wrist so he could cup your face, holding you in place. There was a familiar feeling between your thighs that you had only spoken to your married cousins and mother about. You weren’t completely naive. You knew what it felt like to be aroused, but you had never been this aroused in your entire life. You knew that if Jihoon reached between your legs, he would find you dripping from just his kiss. 

Groaning into the kiss, Jihoon’s hands shake slightly as he tries to keep himself in check. It would be so easy to pick you up and lay you on the ground under him. He could push your dress up and find what was his—pushing the thought from his head, Jihoon furrows his brows, slowly breaking the kiss, leaving gentle kisses on your cheeks. He was painfully hard in his pants but it wasn’t something that he would subject you to—his sweet, beautiful bride. 

“Wha—no. Jihoon?” Out of breath, you pout even as Jihoon presses his lips softly against your pout before leaning back on his knees to catch his own breath. It was clear he was done kissing you. Had you done something wrong? Did you not kiss well enough? Was it too obvious that you didn’t have as much experience? “What did I do wrong?” 

Closing his eyes to your question, Jihoon curses himself for letting the kiss go as far as it did. He wanted to give you what you so clearly wanted, but he also didn’t want you to hate him. Jihoon was terrified of what he might do to you if he let himself get in bed with you. He could already feel the hair standing up on the back of his neck, the beast curious with his current mood. The more awake the beast got, the more aggressive Jihoon was, and what if he couldn’t stop himself? The thought scared him more than you being a bit upset about not getting what you wanted. “Nothing, mon ange. You’re perfect. We have the rest of our lives; no need to rush.” 

Rush? Who was rushing what? You wouldn’t be fertile for the rest of your life. Jihoon knew that as well as you did. It wasn’t the main thing on your mind but the idea of not providing a royal heir loomed over your head like a waiting guillotine, knowing that the entire kingdom would be watching and waiting. “Oh, sure, but—” 

“We should get you to bed. It’s been a dreadfully long day for you.” Jihoon could almost see the gears turning in your head. He was afraid of what you were thinking about so he didn’t ask; instead, he moved to his feet and offered you his hand to lead you to your bedroom door. “Will you be okay?” 

What if you said no? Jihoon had promised to stay with you as long as you wanted. Furrowing your brows, you lift your fingers to your tingling lips, feeling confused by his actions and words after he had kissed you the way he had. “I suppose, but—” 

“Then I’ll leave you to sleep, darling.” Brushing his lips against the corner of your lips, Jihoon hums softly against your skin, squeezing your hand gently before letting go of you completely and turning away. “Goodnight.” 

Your eyes burn at Jihoon’s back the entire walk to your door. He knew you were upset. He had made a promise and in his own way he had broken it. Sighing as he leans against the door having a barrier between you and him, Jihoon closes his eyes and furrows his brow, feeling not only his cock throbbing in his pants but the rumble of the beast laughing at him inside of his head. 

13

“I’m fine, Y/N... Stop fretting over me. Seriously! I can lift a spoon.” 

It had been almost a week since Mingyu had been attacked in the forest. You had spent hours at a time every single day aiding in his recovery, watching him get stronger. Now you couldn’t stop the smile that sat on your lips as Mingyu scoffed at you, lifting his own spoon up to his lips as you sat on the end of his bed watching him eat. “You look so much better. Your color has returned and I thought I’d never see you smile again, Mingyu. I—I’m so sorry this happened.” 

Swallowing the bite of soup in his mouth, Mingyu furrows his brows and shakes his head at your words. You had said something similar, at least a dozen times every day over the week. It wasn’t your fault. He knew that much. He couldn’t remember all the details of his attack, but he knew that you hadn’t been there and you weren’t even remotely connected to it. “I swear to god, Y/N, if you don’t stop saying that to me, I’m going to pour my soup on you. I’m the one that went out in the forest.” 

Even though you know it’s an empty threat, you lift your hands to safe guard yourself from Mingyu’s soup, watching him smile as he takes another small bite before leaning back against the headboard of his bed. He was going back home soon. Your parents had already left a few days before and now Mingyu’s father was due to be at the palace in a day’s time to help Mingyu on his trip back to Leressair. You were going to miss him. You had enjoyed having a companion around, a piece of home. 

“It’s not like it’s your fault either. You didn’t attack yourself, but I still don’t understand why you went out there. Seems reckless, even for you.” 

Laughing, clearly unamused at your jab at his actions, Mingyu shakes his head and shrugs. “I don’t remember really. I mean bits and pieces, but not enough to really mean anything. Just that it was a bear and it was huge.” Seeing the concerned and terrified look on your face, Mingyu reaches to squeeze your fingers, rolling your eyes and adding. “And then your brave husband found me and saved my life. So now I am indebted to him for the rest of it, I suppose.” 

You did feel a sense of pride that Jihoon had been the one to find and rescue Mingyu. There had been a tension between the two of them that no longer seemed to exist after the incident and while you wished that it had never happened, you were much happier seeing them exist as something closer to acquaintances than enemies. “Oh, for the rest of this life and the next.” 

“I’ll accept this one. I don’t need anything after.” 

Taking a deep breath at hearing Jihoon’s voice, you watch Mingyu’s eyes shift towards his door before he lowers his head respectfully. 

“Monseigneur..” 

“How are you feeling today?” It was a question out of genuine concern. Jihoon had found himself almost as often as you watching Mingyu as he slept. He would watch the younger man’s chest rise and fall almost like a new father watching their child sleep, making sure that the next breath was coming. While neither you nor Mingyu knew his true reasoning, Jihoon’s regret for the situation was apparent in his actions. 

“Much better. I’m up often and many of the wounds are healing as the doctors hoped. Thank you for getting me to them so quickly, Monseigneur.” 

Lifting his hand, Jihoon dismisses Mingyu’s gratitude, not out of disrespect but because it’s not needed or wanted. He did what he had to. Not only as the soon-to-be crowned ruler of the kingdom, but also as the person responsible for Mingyu’s current condition. “Just pleased to see you looking healthier, and please just call me Jihoon.” 

You had tried to stay silent while Jihoon and Mingyu spoke but with Jihoon’s last request, you can’t stop the soft breath you release with a smile. That meant more to you than either one of them understood. 

“Uh, I understand that your father will be joining us here at the palace tomorrow. That is also the day of the coronation. I hope that you both will attend. Not for myself, but for Y/N.” 

Again, Jihoon had you speechless and staring at him with tears on the rims of your eyes. Did he know how much that gesture meant to you? Even if Mingyu said no, just the point that Jihoon had made that effort had your heart tight in your chest. 

“We would be honored, Monse—Jihoon. I’ve told her since she was young that she’d make one hell of a queen, so I would be a fool not to see the moment firsthand.” 

“Stop it…” Whining under your breath, without much thought, you push Mingyu’s arm, causing him to wince in pain. “Oh! Oh no!” Shifting on the bed, you carefully look over Mingyu’s bandages as he leans his head back, laughing. 

Jihoon moves closer, running his fingers through his hair and letting out a deep sigh. “If you live to see tomorrow.” Taking a step back as he teases you, Jihoon laughs when you whine his name, pouting up at him. “I’m sorry, darling. You are just too easy to tease. He’s fine.” 

14

You hadn’t thought that anything could possibly be more nervewracking than your wedding day, but that was until the day of the coronation. In reality, you didn’t matter nearly as much as Jihoon and yet you knew that there would be front and center with him accepting a duty that you would be expected to fulfill the rest of your life. 

Jihoon wasn’t faring much better and though he had been groomed for this day his entire life, he still felt like everyone was going to see through the mask. He had wondered multiple times throughout the morning if he was going to be able to handle the stress of the day. He could feel his anxiety rising in his chest, the roaring in his ears that told him that he wasn’t built for this—it all went silent when you said his name and took his hand. 

“Are you alright, Jihoon?” He had that same stoic look on his face and yet you could almost see the panic in his eyes as you stood behind Jihoon in the wings of the same church where the two of you had been married. There was a loud droning from the crowd of people waiting to see the new king be crowned, but it didn’t matter once you and Jihoon’s eyes met. 

“I—” Jihoon knew he could lie and tell you yes. He could put on a brave face even in front of you, but you were his wife and something in him told him that this was something he didn’t need to lie to you about. “Not really. I’m terrified, Y/N. I’m afraid I’m going to make a fool of myself, of you, and of my family.” 

That was unexpected. Though you and Jihoon had grown closer, he wasn’t an open book. He rarely shared his insecurities with you or showed any weakness at all. In this moment, he truly looked like your husband asking for help from his wife. “You aren’t going to make a fool out of anyone, Jihoon. You were born for this.” 

You can see Jihoon’s look of doubt and how he wants to argue with you but when you step in front of him, lifting your hand to brush his hair from his forehead, he stops. “It may not feel like it right now but you are a king and just because they are going to anoint you and add a crown doesn’t mean that you instantly are going to make a mistake.” 

You were good at this—making Jihoon feel less like a failure and like he was a real person. For his entire life, Jihoon had heard the same words that he was born for this but no one had truly expanded on it. You were the first person to make him actually feel like maybe those words were even close to true. “Maybe, but—but what if I do?” 

God, had you always been this beautiful? Of course you had; Jihoon knew that, but as you stood in front of him, your soft fingers moving to his jacket to smooth it down over his chest, he swore you really were an angel. Jihoon knew that any moment now the archbishop would begin the ceremony and you both would have to face the kingdom, but for now he was happy to just look at you, feeling his nerves settle. 

“Then we face it together.” 

It had just become another day when Jihoon was realizing how lucky he was to have you in his life. You didn’t seem real. He remembered every face and name of the women who had come to Aetherial Grove before you, but somehow you were making it better without even knowing it. Leaning to brush his lips against yours, Jihoon smiles at the small, surprised but happy sound you make before you return the kiss. He was falling in love with you more and more every day. 

“Pardon the intrusion, Monseigneur... Madame. It’s time.” 

You had felt anxious, afraid, and overwhelmed before the coronation had begun, but as you stood watching Jihoon being anointed and accepting his vows as king, you only felt pride. You had watched with stars in your eyes as the archbishop placed the crown on Jihoon’s head with a smile and spoke his final words, completing the ceremony.

“May the King live forever.” 

Jihoon felt the weight of the crown on his head. He had looked at it many times, be it sitting atop his father’s head or put away for safekeeping, but he never thought it would actually be where it sits now. Taking a deep breath, Jihoon closes his eyes, feeling the archbishop place one final kiss on the rings placed on his hand before his eyes turn to you. Your part of the ceremony was shorter and less significant, but to Jihoon it meant more. 

It was clear to those who knew you that you were nervous once again as the archbishop anointed you and guided you through your shorter vows. Jihoon tried to remain the stoic king he was supposed to be, but when the crown that his mother had worn for so many years was placed on your head, he felt such overwhelming pride. You were his wife and his queen. 

Taking your hand, Jihoon squeezes it gently, whispering his praises for how well you handled the ceremony before leading you to sit down in front of the congregation as the ceremony truly comes to an end. Not only does the weight of the coronation slowly start to ease from your body with each person leaving, but also when the crown is taken from your head and put away, reminding you that it isn’t something you have to bear every day. You would be the queen for the rest of your life but you wouldn’t be weighed down by that crown at every turn and you would have Jihoon by your side every step of the way. 

“Madame La Reine…” 

Narrowing your eyes at Mingyu’s voice, you can’t help how your smile pulls at your lips even as you try to look annoyed at his teasing. He looked even better than he had a day before, though he found himself leaning on his father more than he would have liked. 

“Stop that. I’m still me.” 

Mingyu’s grin makes you feel homesick for the briefest moment before you meet Jihoon’s eyes as he glances at you from over his mother’s shoulder. You were home and that man was your home. 

“Sorry, I can’t help it. You looked so regal with the crown and the jewels. I almost didn’t recognize you, Dove.” 

Mingyu’s father was slightly smaller than him, but his presence was always larger. He had been like a second father to you for almost your entire life from the moment that he and your father had become close friends. “Mingyu, manners. She may not want to be called her title, but perhaps the childhood names aren’t—” 

“It’s fine, I promise. I like the name. It reminds me that I’m the same girl from Thornwood no matter where I end up.” 

"Well, you’ll always be Dove to me.” 

You could see the sadness in Mingyu’s eyes. You weren’t sure what it was stemming from but it was clear as day as he shifted from one foot to the other with a soft sigh. 

“I—we’re leaving for Leressair. I just wanted to be able to congratulate you and say goodbye before we did.” 

There it was and now you felt the same sadness rush through you like a shockwave as you looked up at Mingyu. You knew he had to go. There were things to be done in Leressair just as there were things to be done in Aetherial Grove. Time didn’t stop just because you wanted it to. “Oh… So soon. I’ll miss you. Will you contact me? I want to know everything about how things are going and how you are feeling. Will you let me know if you need anything?” 

Mingyu knew this spiral. You would talk quicker and not let anyone else get a word in until the air in the room was all but used up. It was as if you thought if there was no space for anyone else to say that nothing could change or happen. You had done the same thing when you had left Thornwood. “Y/N… I’ll miss you too. May I hug you? Or would that be inappropriate?” 

There weren’t many people left in the church now and those who did remain knew who you were to Mingyu. They were the ones who lived in the palace and they were the ones who had helped care for him as he recovered over the last week. You didn’t care if they thought it was inappropriate or not as tears sat on the rims of your eyes and you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around Mingyu’s waist, resting your cheek on his chest, feeling his cheek against your head. 

“I’ll write as often as I can, but Y/N... I’m going to be fine. I’m stronger than you think.” 

Furrowing his brows, Jihoon sighs as his mother continues her conversation, noticing that her son had stopped really listening to her. He was paying more attention to what was happening behind her, which had her curious. Glancing behind her, Jihoon’s mother sighs under her breath as you step back from hugging Mingyu and wipe tears from your cheeks. You were too close to that man and Jihoon allowed it, though she knew why. He was feeling guilty for what had happened, though he shouldn’t. 

“Mon fils, are you listening to me? Would you rather see the duke off yourself? It seems your wife is doing a fine job of it.” 

Jihoon didn’t like the words that his mother was using as she spoke about you. You weren’t doing anything wrong. Jihoon wasn’t upset with you; he was concerned about you. Seeing you cry for any reason at all had Jihoon’s chest tightening and his stomach bubbling with anxiety. “What? No—no, maman. She’s—what are you talking about? She’s saying goodbye. Leave it alone. I don’t want to talk about this anymore anyway.” 

Of course he didn’t. Jihoon never wanted to talk about the difficult things and having an heir was a difficult thing. “I’m not doing anything to her, Jihoon, but this conversation can’t be over. You need to listen to me and seriously consider my words. You are king now and the kingdom is going to start speculating a due date for your queen. They don’t need a reason. They only need to know that you two were married to assume that you have made an heir.” 

That was a ridiculous notion. You weren’t pregnant. Jihoon hadn’t taken you to bed and it was no one's business—except it was. His mother was right. He was the king of Aetherial Grove and you were his queen. You had spoken to him about duty before and now his mother was doing the same. 

“Mon fils… I’m not trying to presume your—how you and Y/N spend your time, but we have to make sure that she is fertil—” 

“Maman! Enough. I’ll take care of it. I understand.”

15

“She insists, Y/N.” 

Sighing as you watch your things being packed up and moved out of your current rooms. Jieun was attempting to make the transition easier, but you had just gotten comfortable in your space and now Jihoon’s mother was adamant you were to take the proper room as queen. 

“You’ll be much more comfortable in a larger area, Y/N. I have so much less stuff now.” 

You hadn’t realized that she was in the room. You always tried to at least appear grateful or happy around Jihoon’s mother, but sometimes it was difficult. Forcing a bit of a smile, you turn towards her and take a steady breath before letting it out slowly into your words. “I only worry about your comfort, Mad—” 

“Please call me anything else. My name or maman, like Jihoon does. How will I stand it when you have children running about the palace and you are still calling me Madame?” 

Children. That had been on her mind often as of late. She had made it known just as often. Clearing your throat, you force a small laugh, lifting your hands as if to say she’s right, because she always was. “Of course, maman.” You choose the latter, to call her mother, hoping it might have the desired effect and it does. Jihoon’s mother’s face softens, a small coo slipping from her lips as she moves towards you, lifting her hands to cup your face. 

“Beautiful, sweet girl. I’m so very proud of you. Now… go. Get settled in your new rooms so that you can make yourself ready for your husband.” 

You knew that your face had gone hot under her hands, but you just laughed awkwardly before stepping back and looking down at your hands. It was clear to everyone in the room what she had meant but you had doubts that Jihoon would come to your room. It had been three weeks since you had gotten married and he had yet to show up for that reason. “Mm, yes. I’ll go... Do—do that. Have a good evening.” 

Jihoon’s heart was in his throat. He had put this off for as long as he could. He had listened to his mother’s nagging for weeks at this point, along with the constant questions at meetings as to if things had been “fruitful” with the queen. The word fruitful was beginning to lose its meaning. It was beginning to make Jihoon feel sick every time it was uttered. 

It wasn’t as if Jihoon had not found himself at your door more than once over the last few weeks. He had thought of you often—too often, hearing the sweet sounds you had made when he had just simply kissed you. Those memories led Jihoon right to your door, where he stood with his pants tight and his heart beating hard in his chest. Each and every time he would go back to his room out of fear of what might happen, but today the nagging had gotten to be too much. His mother had even moved you into the queen’s rooms, giving him fewer walls of separation between you and him. 

This was a horrible idea. Jihoon could almost always tell when he was getting close to shifting. It wasn’t going to happen tonight, but it was so close he could almost taste you in the air. Every sense was heightened and he felt on edge as he walked to your door, leaning his forehead against it before knocking. 

You were already dressed for sleep when you heard the knock at your door. The first instinct you have is that perhaps Jieun forgot to do something or to tell you something, but then Jihoon says your name. The floor is cold under your feet as you make your way to the door. Slipping your robe over your shoulders, you put your hand on your chest, feeling your heart beating so hard and loud that you are afraid that Jihoon might hear it. 

Cracking the door at first, you meet Jihoon’s eyes, a shy smile on your lips as you whisper a hello before pulling the door open so he can come in if he wants to. You don’t want to presume that you know why Jihoon is at your room after dark, but you have hope. “Do—do you want to come in?” 

Everything about you made Jihoon want to both run away and also stay exactly where he was. You were the picture of perfection in your white dressing gown and deep red robe hanging from one shoulder. Jihoon could see how nervous you were that he was there, but his own nerves matched, if not tenfold. “Um, yes, if you don’t mind.” 

Moving into your room, Jihoon sighs softly, glancing around. He had spent plenty of time in these rooms with his mother but they had looked completely different. You had managed to make the space your own and somehow that comforted Jihoon. Everything about you comforted him. 

“Is everything okay? You don’t normally visit me so lat—” 

“No, I know I don’t. I just—” His brows furrowing as he pushes his thumb into his palm, Jihoon scoffs, trying to think how to go about this. How did one approach bedding their wife when it was a duty to do so? Shaking the thought from his head, Jihoon smiles and meets your eyes, reaching for your hand and brushing his thumb along the back of your hand as you tilt your head curiously. “I’m not very good at this.” 

Your heart had been beating loudly before; now it was threatening to beat out of your chest as Jihoon looked at you the way he did and when he stepped towards you. This was happening? You were scared but excited. Even though you were inexperienced, you could still feel the arousal beginning to burn in your lower abdomen. You just hoped that you wouldn’t mess this up. 

Such a sweet and innocent look in your eyes that made Jihoon want to die on the spot. Someone like you shouldn’t be around him, especially when he wasn’t completely himself. When he was so close to shifting, his inhibitions were lower, he was more aggressive, and he found himself needing or at least wishing for someone in his bed. For the last year Jihoon had stopped giving into the beast and seeking out women he would never see again, but now you were standing in front of him with those doe-like eyes, not knowing your husband was a predator.  

“You are so beautiful, mon ange. Can I kiss you?” 

Jihoon had said he wasn’t very good at this, and yet you were practically whimpering as you told him yes to a simple kiss. You’d take anything because the heat of his eyes on you was like standing next to an open flame. You needed him to help you get through this and right now he looked like a lighthouse guiding you home. “Yes, please. Kiss me.” 

You shouldn’t sound so sweet and desperate. God, you really didn’t know what you were doing to him. Cupping your face in his hand, Jihoon brushes your cheek with his thumb before delicately placing a kiss on your pretty lips and listening to your whine. It wasn’t enough; he knew it wouldn’t be. It hadn’t been enough for him. “Shh—don’t talk right now.” 

The words confuse you, but you nod, feeling Jihoon’s lips find yours once more. Maybe this was how it went. You weren’t supposed to speak to your husband while you were in bed, but the deeper his kisses got, the more urgent they got, and you struggled to stay silent. Whines and half-spoken words slip from your breath as Jihoon’s hand finds your waist, pulling you close to him and letting you feel how warm his body had gotten. 

Jihoon almost felt as if he had a fever. He needed to get some of his clothes off; he could already feel his cock beginning to strain against his pants as you whined his name. Placing his finger against your lips, Jihoon meets your wide eyes as he uses his free hand to slide your robe down your arms, letting it fall to the ground at your feet. “Try not to talk, mon ange. I need you to listen to me.” Every time you spoke, it was like a red hot poker being stuck against his skin. The beast was very much awake and you had caught not only Jihoon’s interest but it’s interest as well. 

“‘M trying, Jihoon.” 

He knew you were. Your brows were knitted together so tightly and with every brush of his lips against bits of your exposed skin, you were almost choking on your moans to keep them silent. “I know. You’re doing well, baby. Come here.” 

A gasp slips from your lips when Jihoon’s hands slide over your backside and he squats down just enough to hoist you up. Surprised, you wrap your arms around his neck and cross your ankles around his back as he walks towards your bedroom door with his eyes fixed on yours. Not only had he shocked you by picking you up, but Jihoon had called you baby. He had your heart swooning and the butterflies in your stomach dancing by the time he laid you on your bed and laid over you, his lips finding yours again. 

Your lips were soft and even your muffled moans were like music to Jihoon’s ears as he nipped at your lips, feeling you arch your back, pushing your breasts towards him. Leaning back to look down at you, Jihoon smirks as he carefully unties the top of your dressing gown, watching you turn your head away from him shyly. Such a pure, perfect little flower he had under him—he had to keep himself in check. 

“Is this okay? If I see you?” 

Nodding with your head still off to the side, you whine when Jihoon’s thumb and forefinger grip your chin, gently turning your head back to the center so he can look at your face. 

“Don’t look away from me. You are so fucking beautiful, Y/N. You don’t have to hide anything that is mine.” 

That possessive nature wasn’t a natural thing for Jihoon. Of course he wanted you all to himself and he would fight for you, but he didn’t possess you. The beast brought something deep out of him and when he looked at you and smelled how sweet you were, it made Jihoon’s mouth water with desire. You were his—his wife.

“You are mine, right?” Gently tugging your gown down your arm, leaving just the top of your breasts exposed, Jihoon groans when you whine. “Aren’t you?” 

Warm breath fans over your neck and along the top of your chest before Jihoon’s lips walk in gentle kisses over every bit of your exposed skin as he waits for you to answer. Not wanting to break his rule about speaking, you nod as your fingers grip the blanket under you tightly, trying to keep yourself grounded. You had never felt like this in your life. No one had ever made you feel this desired or aroused until you met Lee Jihoon. 

Glancing up at you, Jihoon grins when you nod, staying silent. You were a good girl, trying to listen to what you were told and thank God for that. He was hanging on by a thread. “My pretty wife..." Muttering the words mostly to himself as he eases your gown further down your body, exposing more of your skin to him, Jihoon furrows his brows to just how perfect you are. Every curve, mole, scar, and blemish is like a work of art in front of him waiting to be explored. 

“Ah—Jihoon.” Pressing your head back against the blankets, you moan his name when Jihoon’s lips brush over your nipple, causing chillbumps to erupt along your skin. You hadn’t meant to speak but the feeling had surprised you so much that it had slipped from your lips before you realized. 

Nipping at the bud, Jihoon growls under his breath hearing you let out a choked sobbing moan as you try to pull back from his teeth. “Said to be quiet. I need for you to shu—” Stopping himself, Jihoon rests his forehead on your breast and takes a deep breath, bringing himself back down. “Please, baby? Try for me.”

Tears were sitting on the rims of your eyes out of fear of disappointing Jihoon. You were afraid he would leave you wanting because you couldn’t listen to him and follow one simple request, but again you nod as his thumb gently massages into your hips over your bunched-up gown.  

“Lift your hips. Good girl.” Jihoon felt as if he could grip the gown in his hands in half as he looked at you naked in front of him. He wanted to bury his cock inside of you so deep that you’d have an imprint of him left inside of you for weeks—that you’d crave him as much as he was craving you right now, but Jihoon wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t as much of an animal as the beast was trying to make him be. You truly seem as pure as he imagined as you shyly placed your hand over the center of your legs and bit your lip out of nerves. 

Sliding off the bed, Jihoon drops your gown to the floor and lets your watch as he rids himself of his shirt, letting your eyes slowly take in whats in front of you. “I am going to ask you a question and you can speak, okay, darling?” Waiting for you to nod, Jihoon sighs as he glances down at his pants undoing them, feeling your eyes on him still as he speaks. “I want the truth and I want you to know I won’t be upset or surprised either way you answer.” 

Fear makes its way through your mind as you wait for Jihoon’s question and as you watch him get undressed. You weren’t sure what was making you more nervous, not knowing what he might ask or seeing him completely. With your voice small, you nod and whisper, "Okay.” 

Jihoon knew the answer before he even asked it; his thumbs pushed into the top of his pants, but he needed to hear you say it. “Will I be your first?” There was a small nagging part of him that wondered if Mingyu had gotten to you first, if sometime in your past with him the man had managed to talk you into letting him— 

“Yes, Jihoon.” 

Of course you wouldn’t have let anyone talk you into anything. You were perfect. Sighing out a deep breath, Jihoon nods approvingly before pushing his pants down, letting them fall to the floor. Perhaps he should have gone slower and made sure you were ready, but Jihoon watches as your eyes widen before you turn your head away as if to give your husband privacy to be naked. 

“Mon ange… Look at me. I’m yours as much as you are mine.” 

It wasn’t that simple. You had seen Mingyu shirtless before and even that had sent your head into a tailspin, but seeing all of Jihoon and knowing that—that would be going inside of you—was almost too much to handle. Glancing towards him, you quickly look up at the ceiling as Jihoon laughs quietly, moving towards the bed, sliding his hand along your thigh, feeling the chillbumps once again covering your skin. 

“You are truly perfect. Here… move this.” Guiding your hand from between your legs, Jihoon groans under his breath, realizing it might have been a mistake. You were drenched with arousal and Jihoon could feel the hair beginning to stand up on the back of his neck even as he pressed a kiss to your fingertips, collecting the slick left on them before licking his lips clean. God, you tasted like a dream. He had to have you. He’d die if he didn’t. “Need you to stay quiet again for me, baby.” 

Why did you have to be quiet? How were you going to be quiet? Jihoon was kissing your leg and not just that; he was kissing the inside of your thigh, getting so close to your pussy—to where you needed him the most. Closing your fingers around the blanket, you point your toes and cry out in surprise when you feel Jihoon’s tongue run between your folds for the first time. You hadn’t meant to make a sound but the feeling had been so shocking and it had felt so good, you didn’t know what to do. 

Groaning to your taste, Jihoon pulls back from between your legs just enough to glance up at you, hearing your yelp. “Don’t.” He knew it was a lot to ask of you, especially when he buries his face right back into your pussy, letting his tongue circle your throbbing clit. He needed this to survive now, only this—only you and your body—that was what the beast was telling him as he growled loudly against your folds, his hands gripping your legs tightly, keeping you in place even as you squirmed. 

“Ah—” Gritting your teeth, you try even harder to stay quiet. You alternate between biting your cheeks to biting your lips to finally using your own hand to cover your mouth as you whine loudly behind it. There was a pressure building inside of you that you weren’t going to be able to stop and Jihoon didn’t seem to be stopping until he got what he wanted. Closing your thighs around Jihoon’s head, you lift your hips towards his mouth when you feel the pressure finally release. 

Easing your legs apart, Jihoon licks his lips, moving his eyes along your body as you try to calm down from your orgasm. He wasn’t done with you. He didn’t even want to take a break. Logic told him to take his time, to give you time, but animal instinct told him to take—and it was stronger than his logic as the moon shined high in the sky. 

“Taste so fucking good. Keep your legs open for me.” Using his thumbs to spread your folds, Jihoon spits onto them, watching you wiggle almost uncomfortably as he turns his right hand palm up before easing one finger into your tight hole, feeling you instantly clench down around it. 

You weren’t ready to keep going. You felt exhausted and your legs were shaking so hard that you felt like you wouldn’t even be able to walk if you wanted to. Whining Jihoon’s name and feeling his finger pushing into you, you reach for his wrist with one hand and grip the bedding under you with the other. “Wait—hurts.” 

Hearing you speak, Jihoon rolls his eyes and rests his head against your thigh, looking at your fingers resting on his wrist. He didn’t register what you had said, only that you were speaking— no, you were whining. “I told you not to speak. Didn’t I?” You push your feet down on the bed, a soft sob slipping from your lips and Jihoon eases a second finger into you, marvelling at how your pretty little pussy sucks him in. He can’t help but imagine it around his cock, feeling it throbbing against the bed, leaking profusely. 

It should feel good. That was what you had been told by every one of your cousins. Your husband should want to listen to how to make you feel good, especially the first time, so why was yours telling you to be quiet as his fingers painfully stretched you before you were ready? Tightening your hand around Jihoon’s wrist as tears run down your cheeks, you say his name louder, lifting your hips in an attempt to get away from him, only to feel him push you back down harshly. 

“What the fuck do you think—” With his thumb digging into your hip, Jihoon meets your eyes, seeing the fear and pain in them as tears drip off your cheeks. Carefully, he eases his fingers out of you and glances between your legs, making sure he hasn’t hurt you in any way, before sliding back on the bed, running his hand over his lips, shocked by himself. 

“I’m sorry, Jihoon. I just need a few minutes and then I can try again. It just felt—” 

“I need to go.” 

Sitting up in your bed, you watch horrified as Jihoon quickly pulls his clothes back on, keeping his eyes down from you. 

“What? No! Jihoon, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to mess it up. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never done this before.” 

God, Jihoon hated himself. He hated himself more than he had ever hated anyone or anything hearing you struggle to speak through your sobs. He knew he was breaking your heart again, but to him, that was better than hurting you or forcing something on you. 

“It’s not that, Y/N! I just—I have to go!” 

What had you done that was so wrong that Jihoon couldn’t even look at you as he left your room? Had you messed up that badly? Falling back on the pillows, hearing the door to your room slam shut, you draw your legs up towards your stomach and let go, sobbing loudly, not caring who or what might hear you as grief rips through you. You had Jihoon. You finally felt like his wife. You felt desired by him and now you felt discarded and completely alone again. 

16

You had only fallen asleep due to exhaustion. Now you were wandering the palace, feeling like everyone’s eyes were on you. It was like everyone knew that you had failed to not only fulfill your duty as Jihoon’s wife but as queen. The only person you had yet to see was Jihoon. It was like he was avoiding you. Quickly, you find out that you weren’t wrong in your suspicions. 

“I don’t want to deal with this bullshit today, Soonyoung! Tell Wonwoo to cancel it. I’m not doin—” Staring at you in the doorway to his study, Jihoon cuts off his own words, swallowing hard at the look on your face. He could see how exhausted you seemed to be and how swollen your eyes were even from across the room. You had been crying again. He couldn’t do this. Not today. “I’m busy, Y/N.” 

“You’re always busy, but couldn’t I have—” 

“Must you always insert yourself where you aren’t wanted or needed?” 

Visibly taken aback by Jihoon’s words, you put your hand on your chest, feeling your heart shatter. “This isn’t fair.” Your words are quiet, matching the stillness of the room as Jihoon stares at you and Soonyoung stands uncomfortably by his desk, unsure what to say or do. “Please talk to me for five minutes, Jihoon. You owe me that.” 

Lifting his hand to dismiss Soonyoung, Jihoon leans back in his chair and runs his fingers through his hair, hearing the rumbling in his ears as you walk into the room past Soonyoung, letting him close the door behind him. It was a horrible idea for him to be alone with you. It was already later in the afternoon and Jihoon had already argued with nearly every single person he had come into contact with today. He didn’t need you to be another. “I really don’t have time for this today.” 

He never had time for you. That was what your brain and heart were telling you. This was how the rest of your life was going to be. Your life with Jihoon had been a series of extreme ups and downs and you were the lowest you had ever been at this moment. Wiping under your eyes, you nod, moving closer to his desk, knowing he would probably only give you exactly the five minutes you requested. “Then I thank you for your generosity in allowing me to speak to you. I just need you to explain to me what’s wrong with me, Jihoon. Why do I disgust you so much that you would treat me like you do and leave me like you did? I need to understand what I can do to change and be who you want me to be, because I fear you are stuck with me and all I can do is apologize for that.” 

Your words take the air from Jihoon’s lungs and leave him speechless at first. He knew you were unhappy and upset after what had happened last night, but the idea that you thought that he found you disgusting made Jihoon’s mouth feel dry like a desert that hadn’t seen rain in centuries. “You don’t have to change a thing. There’s nothing wrong with—” 

“That’s obviously not true. If that were true, you would have stayed last night, and we would have... Things would not have ended like they did. Jihoon, you wouldn’t even look at me when you left.” 

Jihoon could feel the frustration rising in him. It wasn’t your fault that he was so quick to anger but why couldn’t you just let this go? Why did you have to push this today? If you could give him just one more day to get this out of his system, he’d be calmer, but no, here you were cutting him off and raising your voice. “I’m not dealing with this shit today, Y/N. I don’t have to and I won’t.” 

Shocked by Jihoon’s response, you take a step closer to his desk, watching him recoil further into his chair. “Are you kidding me? You don’t think that you owe me—” 

“I don’t owe you anything! I–fuck! Go to your room. It’s getting late and you know the rules.” 

Surely Jihoon had to be kidding. There was no way that he thought that he could get away with talking to you like this today after everything the two of you had been through over the past few months. This sounded more like the Jihoon that had ruined your bracelet after your engagement party. “No! I don’t have to just obey when you speak, Jihoon!” 

Standing up quickly from his seat, Jihoon barely flinches when the wooden chair hits the wall with a crash that causes you to gasp and take a step back. “Yes, you do. Did you forget your vows, my sweet wife? To love, honor, and obey. So fucking obey and go to your goddamn room and lock the door for the night. I don’t want to see you until tomorrow.” 

When you don’t move quickly enough for Jihoon, your mouth opening and closing in disbelief, he sighs loudly, moving around his desk to grab your arm, feeling you struggle against his grip as he leads you towards the door opening as you protest. 

“Let me go, Jihoon! God, you are a monster!” 

Making you walk towards your room, Jihoon growls under his breath as his eyes start to shift to golden. “You have no fucking idea, darling.” Seething, Jihoon tugs open your door and pushes you inside, letting you stumble as you try to turn around to stop him before he slams the door in your face. “Lock it!” Standing still, Jihoon stares at your door until he hears the lock click into place and only then does he turn back down the hall towards the front of the palace, feeling the night calling to him.

You were confused and pissed off by how Jihoon had treated you. Rubbing your hand along your bicep, you wince in pain, feeling the bruise forming under the skin from how hard he had gripped your arm, forcing you into your room just a few short hours ago. Now the sun was setting and you were feeling less afraid and more annoyed. 

Fuck Jihoon. Fuck his stupid rules. The room felt small despite it’s size and you felt like you were suffocating. Looking at the door, you nod firmly as you make up your mind, turning the lock to disengage it before pulling the door open quickly, half expecting Jihoon to be angrily waiting on the other side. Instead, you find no one, just a dimly lit hallway like always. “He’s ridiculous.” 

It doesn’t cross your mind what had happened to Mingyu. None of the ghost stories or animal attacks so much as even visit your thoughts as you tug your robe around your dressing gown and walk confidently into the hall with one goal in mind—you were going to go outside. You were going to enjoy the night air for the first time in months. 

It had been so long since you had seen the stars from more than your bedroom window. Stepping out onto the courtyard, you smile up at the sky as you take in a deep breath of fresh air, taking a left into the gardens, intending to take a short walk. You were being rebellious but you weren’t planning on being recklessly stupid. You weren’t going to leave the palace grounds. 

The flowers and trees looked different under the moonlight. They felt different under your fingertips somehow too. Perhaps that was the subtle dew that was settling on them as the nightair shifted into something a bit colder, causing you to hold your robe a bit tighter around yourself. You loved how quiet it was out here. There were no echoing voices from the palace. You weren’t hearing Jihoon’s voice screaming in your head; instead, there was just the gentle sound of the wind and crickets. Or there had been crickets. 

Tilting your head, you try to strain your ears to listen for the sounds of the bugs when a sudden exhale from just outside the wall startles you, making you jump and cover your mouth to keep from screaming. It didn’t sound human, but it did sound large and it was moving. 

Keeping your body low, though you know whatever is on the other side of the wall can’t see you, you listen to the deep breaths of the creature and follow it along the line of the wall towards the large golden gate. You know you should stop where you are; logic is screaming for you to stay hidden but your curiosity takes over when you catch sight of the large bear just outside of the courtyard gates. 

You had never seen a bear so large in your life. Its fur was dark and the pattern was unusual to you for a bear. It didn’t seem like any sort of bear that you had ever read about or been told about—this was something new. Taking a step out towards the gate, you think the bear is far enough away from the gate that perhaps you can watch it head back towards the forest, but your shoe catches a pebble and its head turns, alarmed by the sound, and catches your eyes. Golden? You could see them from here almost clearly. You were transfixed and terrified, stuck in place until the bear rushed the gate, hitting it so hard that you realized what you were doing and took a step back with a gasp only to loose your footing and fall backwards on your butt.

“Oh my god…” 

When you speak, the bear seems to focus on your face, a look of recognition in it’s eyes before it growls, scratching at the ground near your leg through the gate. Kicking your legs to get away from the claws you whine when you feel your gown get tugged, pulling you back towards where you were trying to escape, drawing your eyes down to where the bear’s claws were digging into the ground and your gown. “No, no! Please!” 

Tears stream down your cheeks as you try to pull yourself free, but then searing pain tears through your thigh when the bear’s claws tear through your gown, skin, and muscle. Screaming out of fear and pain, you lay back on the ground, feeling hands on your waist as someone pulls you away from the gate until the snarling of the bear is so distant that you can barely hear it anymore. 

“Madame!” You looked pale, blood was seeping from the wound on your thigh quickly and Wonwoo was starting to panic. “Fuck!” Pulling you into his arms, the steward is able to get you inside the house and on to the same floor where they had laid Mingyu the morning Jihoon had found him. 

“What happened?!” 

“You know what happened! Look at her leg, Jieun. Soonyoung get the doctor, now!” 

17

Some nights that Jihoon would shift felt more like a nightmare than others. Last night had to be the worst nightmare of Jihoon’s life—except it hadn’t been a dream. Rubbing his fingers over the silk in his hand, Jihoon sits up in a panic, putting his free hand on his chest, struggling to breathe, remembering your frantic screams of pain as Wonwoo managed to get you away from him. What the fuck had he done? 

Jumping to his feet, Jihoon groans to the pain in his head and body as he pushes through it, starting the run back towards the palace, feeling the rocks biting into his feet. Normally he would wait for Soonyoung to find him and to give him clothes but he didn’t care today. You were hurt or possibly worse. Jihoon had to find you and make sure that you were okay. He had to fix this. How the fuck could he fix this? 

“Jihoon!” Sliding off the back of his horse, Soonyoung shakes his head, pulling the bundle of clothes from the back of the saddle, as he watches Jihoon run past him naked and panicking. He had seen all sides of his best friend before. The anger, the sadness, and the panic, but never had he seen him be willing to run through the forest completely naked. “Jihoon, stop!” 

Hearing Soonyoung’s voice, Jihoon turns back towards him and runs to him, grabbing his shirt as he tries to keep his emotions in check, quickly failing as the panic slips through. “Is she alive?” 

“Yes, yes! I’ll get you back to her, but put on some clothes first. You can’t just run to the palace like this. You—” Sighing seeing the desperate look in Jihoon’s eyes, Soonyoung grips Jihoon’s shoulder reassuringly. “You’re the king. Pull yourself together.” 

Jihoon wasn’t sure how he was supposed to keep himself together. The entire ride back to the palace Soonyoung reminded him to remain calm on multiple occasions until they reached the stable and he was able to go search for you. It was clear that the others in the palace were on high alert. This was different from any other time that Jihoon had attacked or killed anyone. It wasn’t even that it was you; it was that you were the queen. 

“Where is she?” 

Wonwoo knew that Jihoon would be back soon. He could see that the man looked worse for wear, but he always did after a night in the forest. He would prefer if he bathed and took care of himself before going to see you, but the look in Jihoon’s eyes told him that wasn’t going to happen. “In her room with the doctor. Sire!” When Jihoon doesn’t stop, his steps quick towards the hallway that would lead him to you, Wonwoo sighs, “Jihoon!” 

Tears were already sitting on the rims of Jihoon’s eyes when he turned around to meet Wonwoo. He didn’t want to talk to anyone else before he saw you. He needed to see you or else he was going to die right there on the spot. His heart would give out from guilt and grief. “What!” 

“She was asking for you all night. I told her that you were out. I couldn’t explain where.” 

Leaning his head back to try to keep the tears from spilling over, Jihoon nods and sniffs hard, knowing that he had hurt you in so many ways. He wasn’t even there when you needed him the most, when you were asking for him while you were scared and in pain. He was a failure and a monster. Just like you had called him.  

You had been in and out of consciousness over the last few hours since the attack. You weren’t feeling much of the pain from the medicine, which was also helping you to sleep. Even now as the doctor changed out your bandages, his brows furrowed at the deep gashes he had stitched closed, you barely flinched, and you didn’t notice Jihoon moving into the room, his eyes glossing over at the sight of you. 

“Is—will she be okay?” 

The doctor hadn’t expected anyone else to be in the room, so when Jihoon spoke, the older man sighs, lifting his hand to his chest to calm himself down before looking towards him and lowering his head in respect. “Yes, sire. The butler was able to get me to her quickly and I stopped the bleeding. There will be scarring, but the queen will be fine as long as we keep infection from settling in the wounds.” 

Nodding along with his words, Jihoon moves closer as the doctor finishes up his task, moving from your bedside, allowing Jihoon to take his place at your side. You looked so small and fragile as you slept. Jihoon felt like his heart was being crushed as he looked over your sweet face and then down at your thigh, where blood was already beginning to seep through the bandages that the doctor had just replaced. 

All of the emotions that Jihoon had been trying to keep at bay come to the surface with that blood, knowing that he did this to you. You were going to be in pain because of him. Tears stream down Jihoon’s face as he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against his hand, his elbow on his knee just letting you rest. He didn’t want to disturb you—he didn’t want to do anything to cause you discomfort ever again. 

“Jihoon?” 

Your voice brings Jihoon back to the moment and causes his shoulders to shake as he chokes back a sob hearing how weak you sound. Sniffing back his tears, Jihoon licks the tears from his lips and opens his eyes to meet yours before taking your hand and squeezing it gently, unsure what to even say. 

“Where were you? I—” Wincing as you try to move in the bed wanting to sit up, you fall back down on your pillows, feeling Jihoon helping you get back to where you were, his fingers brushing over your cheek. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I—I don’t even…” How was he going to lie to you again? He couldn’t tell you that he did this. How could he? “I was called away last minute and I was out—” 

“What? That makes no sense.” Shaking your head, you sniff back your own tears, knowing he is lying to you. “Jihoon, I was alone and afraid. I just—please don’t lie to me.” 

Taking a deep breath, Jihoon tries to think of what to say next, his eyes moving from your face to your leg and back multiple times. You find yourself wondering if he is disgusted by it and what scars will remain. Reaching for the sheet near your leg, you pull it over your bandages and lower your head in shame, causing Jihoon’s resolve to break. 

“Fuck—Y/N. I—” Choking on his own sob, Jihoon shakes his head, moving to his feet even as you reach for him, starting to feel concerned and confused by his reaction. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never let something like this happen to you again. I swear.” 

“You couldn’t have prevented—” Watching Jihoon turn and move out of your bedroom, you force yourself to sit up despite the pain, wanting to stop him even though you are unable. “Jihoon!” 

Even hearing you yell his name sends Jihoon down a darker spiral, his fingers tugging at his hair as he leans against your closed door, the tears dripping off his cheeks and on to his shirt. 

“Sire?” 

Wonwoo… Closing his eyes at hearing Wonwoo’s voice, Jihoon knocks his head back against the wooden door as the thought comes to him of what he has to do and who would help him do it. If anyone in this palace would listen to him, it was Wonwoo. 

“I need you to help me with something.” 

“Okay, what—” 

“And Y/N… she doesn’t need to know.” 

18

It had been a week and a half since the attack and everyone in the palace was acting off. They were being too nice to you. You knew that you were queen, but this went beyond that. It went beyond being injured... something was wrong and Jihoon was nowhere to be found. 

“Wonwoo?” 

You were back again. Humming along with your questioning voice, Wonwoo gestures along with what he wants a few of the other servants to do, barely giving you a second glance even as you stand in front of him. 

“Where is he?” 

“I told you, Madame, he is away on business.” 

He had told you many times over the past week and every single time it smelled like shit. Jihoon didn’t go places. He didn’t do business outside of Aetherial Grove. 

“Which kingdom again?” 

“Multiple kingdoms, Madam. Is there anything else? Jieun can see to it. Excuse me.” 

All of Jihoon’s things were still in his room. How and why would he leave without a single item? There was something wrong and you weren’t going to just take this lying down. There was something you were missing; you just had to find it. 

There were so many places in the palace that you had yet to see that you discovered in your search for clues on where Jihoon had really gone. There were multiple staircases that you had yet to go up or down. Some led to rooms you had seen by other avenues and others took you by surprise when you discovered another study overlooking the garden. But it was the staircase that led down past the servants quarters that shocked you the most. 

From the outside, looking in, the palace of Aetherial Grove was grand and tall. It never dawned on you that anything menacing might lie inside the intricate golden gates and beneath her marble floors. What you found was dark and secluding as you stayed in the middle of the aisle among the empty cells of the dungeon. 

While it made you feel better that the dungeon wasn’t overflowing with people begging you to be freed, it still made you feel oppressed as you wrapped your arms around yourself, searching deeper and deeper and wondering who might have been there at one point. Thornwood did not have a dungeon; there had never been a need for one. Your mother had read you old stories of kingdom’s with dragons and princesses locked away in their dungeons, and now as you walked around one, you shuddered at the thought. 

It seemed to go on forever in the dim light. The cells as dark as the walls, you were about to give up and return to the upper floors of the palace when shuffling from a cell to your right startles you. It had to be a trick of your mind and nothing more, but as you got closer, you could hear panicked breaths behind the thick iron cell door.

“He—hello? Is there someone in there?” 

Covering his head with his hands, Jihoon knows he has to be imagining you. It wouldn’t be the first time since he had made Wonwoo put him in the dungeon that he had started to hallucinate. Shaking his head, muttering no, no, no, he laughs a bit manically under his breath as he glances up towards the small, barred window, seeing fingers gripping the iron. “Stop it…” 

Jihoon’s voice sends a shiver down your spine and for a moment you stare at the door in front of you like it’s not even there. It feels impossible to hear him in a place like this and not only that but to hear him sound like that—so weak and scared. “Oh my god! Jihoon?” 

Tugging at the handle of the cell door, you feel warm tears run down your cheeks when it won’t budge. Why was he locked inside of a cell? This was insane. He was the king of this palace for godsakes. “Jihoon! I can’t—the door won’t—it’s locked!” 

You were actually there? No, there was no way. Moving to his feet, Jihoon winces to the light through the bars when he sees your eyes as you rise to your toes, trying to see inside the cell. You were so beautiful. It was painful to see you. “Go away, Y/N.” 

Shaking your head, you tug at the door again in vain, not understanding Jihoon’s words. It didn’t make sense to you. “I—I don’t understand! I can’t go away. I won’t! I have to get someone to get you out of here. Who put you here?!” 

The laughter starts low and soft until finally Jihoon can’t hold it back. It was all ridiculous to him now. He hated himself so fucking much and he loved you just as much only to have a solid iron wall between the two of you now. That was the only way you were safe, and even then, Jihoon knew he could break it down if he tried hard enough—if the beast tried hard enough. “Who put you here?!” 

Taken aback when Jihoon mimics your words and the tone of your voice, you stare into his cell, trying to see him better. With limited light making it’s way into the cell, you could only see bits and pieces of him, but it was enough to tell he was naked and filthy. There was dirt and... was that blood? No, you were letting your fear get the better of you. 

“What’s wrong, Jihoon?” Pushing your fingers back through the bars, you sob out the words watching your husband move closer to the door, feeling a chill run down your spine seeing him closer. He didn’t look like himself at all. Jihoon was always well put together, but now his hair was matted with dirt and there was a look on his face you didn’t recognize—and his eyes. His eyes were so different. Why did those eyes look so familiar? Those golden eyes?

Sliding his fingers over yours, Jihoon’s eyes take in every bit of you that he can, knowing that he might never see you again. He thinks back to seeing you laying in bed, the blood seeping through the bandages as you whined in your sleep before waking up and asking him things he couldn’t answer. “Please leave me. Do this for me.”

You could hear the sorrow in Jihoon’s voice that it was breaking you in pieces. Why would he want to stay here? This wasn’t something he could ask of you. Shaking your head, you start to argue with him when Jihoon’s voice becomes more frantic, his fingers holding yours tightly behind the door. 

“Please! Please?! Y/N, can’t you do this one thing for me? Let me die down here where I can’t hurt you!” 

Trying to pull your hand away from Jihoon as you sob, you try to say his name when you feel an arm wrap around your waist and another around your wrist, easing you back from the cell door. 

“Let go of her, Sire... now.” 

Growling from inside the cell makes your blood run cold, but Jihoon’s fingers slide from yours and Wonwoo is able to bring your hand down from the door and to your stomach, where he holds it to you tightly. 

“It’s time to go back upstairs, Madame.” 

Why was Wonwoo always part of things like this? Trying to pull from his grasp, you whine his name, finding his grip too strong as he turns with you in his arms, walking back the way you had come. Behind you, you hear Jihoon’s growling soften into a whimper of your name as you lean your head back against Wonwoo’s chest, begging the man to let you go so you can go back for your husband. 

“I can’t. Please walk or I’ll have to carry you.” 

“I hate you. You did this, didn’t you? Why did you lock him in there?!” 

Sighing to the tone of your voice when you scream at him, Wonwoo bends his knees and pulls you into his arms much like he had the night he had saved you from the beast. Even though you push at his chest and struggle to get loose from him, you find yourself unable to grow wearier with each step up towards the light. 

“Because he asked me to, Madame.” 

19

Over the next few days, you find yourself getting lost in the palace as you attempt to find the staircase to the dungeon again. You had known where it was. You had seen Jihoon and felt his hand on yours, and yet by the time that you had made it upstairs with Wonwoo, it was as if exhaustion had clouded your mind, causing you to become confused and disoriented. 

You knew better than to ask Wonwoo for his help. He was keeping a closer eye on you, ever looming at every step you took and always directing you in the direction of your parlor or the library for a distraction. He was always reminding you that Jihoon was away on business. He was always lying to you, even though he knew that you knew the truth. 

It wasn’t until the fourth day that you managed to get Soonyoung’s facade to crack. You had watched him wander aimlessly around the palace only to look at you and start to say something before turning in the other direction. Something was on his mind and you knew what it was. He hated the idea of Jihoon in the dungeon as much as you did; he had to. That was his best friend. 

“Stop walking away from me.” 

Shaking his head as he continues walking away from you, Soonyoung furrows his brows, feeling his stomach twist with anxiety as you continue to follow with a limp in your step. “I’m not, madame... I’m just—I’m trying to get something done.” 

“Stop lying to me, Soonyoung! Stop making me chase you.” 

You were out of breath and Soonyoung felt horrible, but it wasn’t until he heard you wince in pain and heard the sound of you hitting the floor that he stopped in his tracks, running back towards you. Moving his eyes quickly over your face and down your body, Soonyoung feels the anxiety in him turning to panic as his hand hovers over your leg before he gives in and meets your eyes. “Are you hurt? Do I need to get the doctor? Is it your leg?” 

Dropping your act, you let out a slow, calming breath, grabbing Soonyoung’s hand and keeping him close to you. “I’m fine; I don’t want a doctor. I want my husband.” 

Opening his mouth in awe, Soonyoung is genuinely impressed by your willingness to go so far as to feign reinjuring yourself. You were a strong-willed woman and even more strong-willed since you became queen. Swallowing hard, Soonyoung shakes his head, looking down at the floor in front of you as you tell him what you want. He starts to tell you the same thing everyone else has when you grab his chin and make him meet your eyes. 

“I just—I want to take him food. Help me get back down there, please? I just want to see him for a few minutes. You can do this much for me.” 

Soonyoung knew this was a horrible idea as he walked in front of you, leading you down into the dungeon. Wonwoo would kill him and then blame it on someone else if this went poorly. Everyone had been warned not to let you come back down to the cells and yet here Soonyoung was doing just that and leading you right to Jihoon. “Ten minutes, Y/N... Anymore and Wonwoo will come looking for you.” 

You watch as Soonyoung looks inside Jihoon’s cell with his brows furrowed before he unlocks the cell door and steps back, letting you pull the door open. What you find is very different from what you had expected. Jihoon had seemed delusional and manic the last time you had seen him; now, while he seemed confused and afraid, he was lucid. 

Tears instantly fill your eyes at the sight of him as you move into the cell and put the plate of food on the bench. Moving to Jihoon, you throw your arms around his neck, feeling him carefully hold on to your waist. What you don’t see are Jihoon’s eyes locked on Soonyoung's, full of confusion and anger, before he buries his face against your neck, enjoying the moment knowing he has to let you go. 

“Why are you here, mon ange?” 

He really was different. This was your Jihoon now. Shaking your head, you sit beside him and carefully inspect him, lifting your hand to brush your fingers over his cheek, feeling Jihoon lean into your touch. “Miss you so much. Why—I—I brought you food.” Turning back to the plate, you put it on your lap and watch Jihoon’s smile turn sad as he nods gratefully. 

“I eat, darling. I don’t—I’m not starving.” He missed you terribly. This was making it worse. He had realized he loved you and now he was keeping himself from you. You were sitting right next to him, teasing him with the possibility of having his wife in his life, and Jihoon couldn’t take it. “You can’t be down here. Soonyoung, you need—” 

“Please, Jihoon. End this. Come upstairs and back to me? I’ll do anything. I’m sorry for whatever I did—” 

“You didn’t do anything, Y/N. I did. I—you don’t get it.” 

You didn’t and yet, as always, Jihoon wasn’t explaining it. “Then explain it to me. I need my husband. I cannot and will not live my life like this with you living in a cell.” 

You had every right to be angry with Jihoon. That was better than blindly trusting him. Looking towards the door, Jihoon sighs. Following his eyes, you see how the door is bent and scratched. That hadn’t been there before. It didn’t make any sense. How had Jihoon done that to a solid iron door? He seemed so normal and calm now compared to how he had been before. Did you even really want to know the answer to any of the questions you were asking yourself? 

“Or—just come home. You seem so much better.” 

“I do feel better, for now.” Jihoon wasn’t lying. He was a couple days out from shifting at this point and this was when he felt the best he could. He was on top of the world and could accomplish anything, but soon he would be right back where he was. You had visited him right before he shifted last time. You had put yourself in danger once again unnecessarily and that was what terrified Jihoon. You didn’t listen. “But you always—you didn’t stay inside that night, Y/N.” 

“I’ll stay inside! Forever!” Grabbing Jihoon’s hand, you blink through tears and pull his hand to your lips as you beg him to end this. “I swear it. Please?” 

Jihoon feels his chest tightening as you kiss his knuckles and as your tears hit his skin. He knows he should say no and stay where he is. No one, especially you, can be hurt or killed while he is locked away, but then you meet his eyes and plead with him once more and Jihoon’s resolve breaks. “Okay, mon ange.” 

20

There was ignorance and then there was blissful ignorance. For a week you had attempted to be blissfully ignorant, enjoying the presence of Jihoon back in the palace. Things had gone back to normal as much as they could, though you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that was growing inside of you. 

So much about your life in Aetherial Grove didn’t make sense. Jihoon didn’t make sense and how everyone acted around him didn’t make sense. They treated him as if he were made of glass, so fragile that one wrong word and he might break. You were the only person to not treat him this way and many times you found yourself being chastised for doing so and being reminded that the king has a fragile temperament. 

Even with all of the looming anxiety and building tension in the palace, you had kept your word to Jihoon and stayed inside each and every night for close to two weeks. Not once in those two weeks did he come to your bed or make an effort to be closer to you than he already was and you found yourself growing more and more weary as the days crept by, wondering if this was the life you were resigned to. 

It wasn’t until Jihoon had kissed you gently one evening and whispered his goodnight wishes to you earlier than any other night that week that you found yourself feeling defiant. You had promised not to go outside, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t wander the palace after dark. You could go to Jihoon’s room and speak to him about how you were feeling—surely this would be allowed. 

So that was where you found yourself, standing in front of Jihoon’s open door, finding it empty. He had said he was tired and that he was going to bed not ten minutes ago and yet there was no one to be found. Sighing under your breath, you tug your robe around you tighter and furrow your brows as you start to go back towards your room when you hear the sounds of the heavy front doors shutting. Why would anyone be going outside at this time of the night? You weren’t allowed to, so surely no one else was either. 

Following the sound, you let your hand hover over the door before finally pushing it open and shivering instantly to the cold night air, stepping out into the darkness feeling a pang of guilt in your stomach. You were breaking your promise, but something wasn’t right. There was someone at the gates and they were open. Moving towards them, you start to speak when you find yourself horrified and shocked as you watch Soonyoung easing the gate closed as Jihoon falls to the ground just outside of it, his skin ripping as something bursts through the muscle. What was happening? Why wasn’t Soonyoung helping him? 

With your hand on your stomach, you try to run with your leg beginning to burn and Jihoon’s name on your lips when you find yourself collapsing as Jihoon’s body starts to change in front of your eyes. Limbs break and between his screams, he growls like an animal. Fur takes the place of his skin and quickly he becomes something you had seen once before when it had attacked you. 

Turning back towards the palace, his head bursting with tension and anxiety, Soonyoung stops in his tracks just a few feet from the gate when he sees you sitting on your knees in front of him. Terror takes the place of his anxiety as Soonyoung runs towards you, pulling you to your feet as Jihoon snarls at the gate, pushing against it, seeing you both there. “Y/N! You can’t be out here! You promised!” 

With the wind biting at your face, tears drip off your cheeks and onto your gown as you stare at Jihoon’s golden eyes as he tries to push in the gate, finding it impossible. You push at Soonyoung’s chest as he tries to lift you, your eyes locked on Jihoon, until hands hold either side of your face, making you look at Soonyoung. “We have to go inside! The gate is strong but if he tries harder, it won’t hold.” 

“Is that….” You knew the answer to your question and yet it didn’t seem real as Soonyoung pulled you to your feet, feeling you collapse only a few feet from the palace doors. "Soonyoung, is that Jihoon?! Did he—Mingyu? Me?!” 

Shaking his head, Soonyoung wants to tell you no. He wants to make you get up and tell you that it’s all a bad dream but he can’t so instead he stays silent and gestures towards the door. 

“Tell me!” 

“Soonyoung, go inside. I’ll tell her.” 

Lifting your eyes toward the doors as light spreads out along the courtyard, you and Soonyoung stop everything to meet the eyes of Jihoon’s mother, seeing a solemn look on her face. You watch as Soonyoung starts to argue only for her to lift her hand and for her to offer it to you to take. 

“I’ll explain it all.”

21

The ground is hard under Jihoon and yet his body doesn’t feel nearly as cold as it usually does when he wakes up early in the mornings. He can hear the birds chirping and the trees shifting with the gentle wind. If it weren’t for the rocks under his body and the ache in his muscles, it would almost be peaceful—welcomed. 

Jihoon could remember seeing Soonyoung dragging you back to the palace the night before. He hadn’t attacked you; thank God for that, but you had lied to him. That would be something he would have to deal with once he got back to the palace, but for the time being, Jihoon lay quietly, feeling the sun heating up the blanket draped over his body. 

Then it dawns on him that there is a blanket covering him. Not once has he ever woken up to something like this. Soonyoung would often be waiting for him with clothes and sometimes even something warm to eat or drink, but he had never gotten close enough to cover him as he slept. Someone had. 

Lifting his head, Jihoon searches around him and that’s when he sees you sitting with your back against a tree, your eyes moving over a book resting on your lap. Why the fuck were you here? Panicked Jihoon takes a sharp breath, sitting up almost too quickly, feeling the blood rushing to his head. There was no reason for you to be out in the forest—no reason for you to be near him like this... unless you knew. 

Muttering your name under his breath, Jihoon notices the clothes folded next to him and whines, realizing how much you seemed to prepare for this moment. You seemed to have been waiting for a while. Even now hearing him panic behind you, the only sign that you knew he was awake was the way you turned your head further, offering him more privacy. 

Tugging the pants over his legs, Jihoon looks from you and back down to the ground as he stumbles, trying to hurry as he attempts to walk and dress at the same time. Fear was taking hold of him; it was coursing through his veins like never before and by the time that he was dressed, he found himself falling to his knees in front of you with tears in his eyes and shaking his head. 

“I—I’m so sorry, mon ange. I’m—” Swallowing hard as he meets your eyes, Jihoon loses the composure he had, the tears streaming down his cheeks once you close your book. “I’m a monster, Y/N. You don’t deserve this shit. You—fuck… I hurt yo—” 

Jihoon wants to explain it all and make you understand how sorry and dangerous he is but all his words jumble together. None of it seems to matter to you as you lift your hand, resting it against his cheek, your thumb brushing the tears from it as you shush him, shaking your head along with his words. 

Leaning into your touch, Jihoon lets out a shaky sob, cupping your hand his own and bringing it to his lips to kiss your palm when you don’t speak. He was terrified of what you might say, but you say nothing and yet he can feel it all as you simply sit with him in the moment. 

Hand in hand, you and Jihoon finally make your way back to the palace. You feel his thumb brush the back of your hand as he takes deep breaths to keep himself steadfast, knowing it’s not just your eyes on him anymore. Now you understand him. You understand it all. While it doesn’t make any of what had happened to you or any other woman that came to Aetherial Grove right, you still understand it, and it’s not Jihoon’s fault. 

He didn’t choose this curse. He wasn’t the person who was at fault and yet he was the one who bore it. You had sat watching him sleep that morning and decided that he wouldn’t bear it alone. 

“I’m just going to get cleaned up, darling, and then we can talk a bit more.” 

Standing at the door to Jihoon’s room, you smile at him as he lifts your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to each one before he starts to turn to leave you. “Jihoon.” 

You hadn’t spoken much to Jihoon since he had woken up and yet that was okay. There was something in your comforting silence that made Jihoon feel at peace. Hearing his name on your lips now was almost a welcomed surprise that had him half concerned and intrigued as Jihoon brushed his fingers over your cheek, humming questioningly as your eyes searched his face. 

“Can I stay? Let me help you.” 

Innocent and his. Parting his lips to let out a soft breath, Jihoon tries to think of how to speak but you don’t let him dwell on it. You take his hand in yours and open the door to his room, leading him in on your own. 

There was always a bath ready for Jihoon by the time he was back from the forest; today wasn't the exception. Stripping off the clothes you had brought him one by one, Jihoon furrows his brows and tries to muffle a pained groan as he feels the tension in his back muscles knowing you aren’t too far away. 

From where you were, you could see Jihoon out of the corner of your eye as you kept your eyes down once again, attempting to give your husband his privacy until he was in the water. You had seen him naked the night he had come to your room and briefly before you covered him with the blanket, but still you felt your cheeks heat up at the thought. 

Hearing the water break and shift, you take in a deep breath, listening to Jihoon’s sighs of relief before finally lifting your eyes and moving towards him as he watches you. His eyes had been intense before but knowing what you know now, somehow they felt different. You weren’t necessarily scared of him and you didn’t pity him, but there was something about him that kept you on your toes. 

Jihoon could see the shy look on your face as you swallowed your breath sitting on the side of the tub, keeping your eyes averted from looking down into the water. He was your husband and still you were so sweet and innocent you were afraid to look. Perhaps that was his fault—no, he knew it was. 

Sighing softly as he watches you lather your hands with soap, Jihoon anticipates your touch only to feel a shiver run through his body when you finally do touch him. Your hands are gentle and soft, matching how delicate you really are as you work the soap into his skin along the top of his shoulders. “You don’t have to help me with this.” Even though Jihoon speaks, his words saying one thing, he closes his eyes, relishing in the feeling of you, causing you to smile softly. 

“I want to. You’re my husband and I—” Rubbing your lips together, you swallow your words, tilting your head as Jihoon leans his head back, letting your hand slide over his chest, dragging the lather with it. You know what you want to say—how you feel about Jihoon, but it terrifies you almost as much as watching him shift or as much as feeling the arousal bubbling in your stomach as you help him bathe. You know you are being selfish. 

Furrowing his brows hearing you stop talking, your words unspoken, Jihoon opens his eyes and looks up at your pretty face, watching your eyes avoid his in place of looking at your hand as you work. “And?” 

Trying to smile and distract Jihoon from wanting to know more, you shake your head, reaching for the soap once again before shrugging. You sigh out a breath, trying to keep your attention on the task at hand, feeling yourself shaking slightly as your fingers work close to the waterline, feeling Jihoon’s muscles tense under your touch. 

“Fuck—” Biting his lips, Jihoon sucks in a breath, knowing you aren’t trying to seduce him even as you spread the lather over his stomach, your fingers dipping below the water. “Baby—” Leaning his head back, Jihoon reaches for your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours carefully, keeping it in place as he feels his cock twitching under the water, getting harder from just your innocent touch. 

It’s only when Jihoon stops you and you watch him take in deep breaths to try to calm himself that you realize your error and your eyes shift to the bathwater. “I’m sorry. Do—I can fix it.” 

Scoffing under his breath, Jihoon licks his lips and shakes his head, wondering to himself if you’d even know how to fix it. Would his sweet angelic wife know what to do with his cock all on her own? God, it was horrible for him to want to know, especially after everything that you had been through because of him. “It’s okay, mon ange. It’ll go away in a bit.” 

Feeling Jihoon’s fingers pat yours over his stomach, you pout to yourself as he keeps his eyes closed. You know deep down that he is trying to be kind and keep your innocence, but you find yourself offended by it and feel like a challenge is placed in front of you. Humming under your breath, you work your hand free from Jihoon’s feeling his stomach suck in under your touch as he mutters your name when your touch timidly goes lower. Perhaps you didn’t have all the practice, but you weren’t going to be put in your room and told to lock the door now that you knew what you knew. You were going to know everything. 

“Ah—wait!” Hissing out a breath, Jihoon’s eyes open widely to look between your face and down to the water as you wrap your fingers around his cock and stroke him once, holding him tightly. Holding the tub with one hand, he puts his other around your hand, loosening your grip slightly as you meet his eyes before guiding you. “Shit—like that, okay?” 

Adjusting with Jihoon’s help, you nod, your lip caught between your teeth as you feel his cock throb in your hand as you run your hand over it slowly. You can't help but be intrigued by the feeling and enjoying the weight of it in your hand as you feel the arousal pooling between your legs, causing you to whimper out a yes in response to Jihoon’s directions. 

“Feels good, darling. You are so beautiful. I—shit… You are too pretty to touch me, you know that?” Furrowing his brows, Jihoon groans your name like a prayer, helping you speed up your hand as he lifts his hips, chasing the feeling of his high. 

This felt completely different from when Jihoon had come to your room. It was more than the fact that it was you touching him; it was that you knew him better. You trusted him more. You loved his man and you wanted to make him feel good. Watching his mouth part in a groan, you furrow your brows and hold back a soft moan of your own when Jihoon falls over the edge. 

Tightening his grip around yours, Jihoon whines, letting you overstimulate him for a few seconds before he moves both your hand and his from his cock, letting it rest against his thigh. It had been so long since he had experienced something like that with someone else, but the fact that it was you—Jihoon’s mind was racing and his cock wasn’t fully softening. He had heard your pretty moans as you stroked him through his climax and now he couldn’t help but let himself wonder how wet you might be. 

The silence is almost deafening for a few seconds until Jihoon meets your eyes as he presses his thumb gently into your palm, drawing a small circle, causing your thighs to clench. You knew that you wanted him, but you were scared to ask. Luckily, your eyes said enough and Jihoon didn’t want to keep you waiting. 

Water soaks through your dress as Jihoon’s body presses against yours with your back against his bed. You whine to the feeling of his lips moving along your neck as his fingers impatiently work to undo ties and buttons before you hear and feel the fabric tear at your shoulder. “Jihoon—” 

“‘M sorry… Fuck, I’m sorry. I’ll get you more. I’ll buy you a thousand dresses and all the things you want, but I have to get you out of this fucking dress right now.” 

You could hear the desperation in Jihoon’s voice as he rutted his hips against your leg over the skirt of your dress, his fingers tearing at ruined sleeves so that his lips had more access to your skin. Leaning up on your elbows, you whine Jihoon’s name, feeling his tongue lap at your skin even as his fingers tug your dress carefully down to your waist, leaving your chest exposed to him. 

“You sound so pretty, baby.” He had been afraid to let you speak before when he was in your bed. The beast was listening too closely and he was not only a fool but a coward. Now as he relished in the sounds of your whimpers and moans, Jihoon willed the beast back, determined to enjoy you and every single sound you made for him in his bed. “God, I love you so fucking much.” 

Jihoon hadn’t meant to confess to you like that. His head was swimming with adoration for you along with lust as he worshipped your body, leaving kisses along your chest. You were his everything, all that would ever matter. The moment the words leave his mouth, Jihoon hears you suck in a breath and your body trembles under him, drawing his eyes upward.  

Those had been the words that you had wanted to say to Jihoon earlier—that you loved him. You were scared to say them. You were afraid that he would never love you and that you’d never been good enough for him and yet he said them to you first. Closing your eyes tightly, you feel the tears rising in your eyes as you try to keep them back but it’s impossible as you shake with a soft sob overwhelmed by sensations and emotions. 

Moving up the bed, Jihoon shakes his head, cupping your cheek in his palm as he looks down at you concerned as tears run from the corner of your eyes. He worries at first that you are hurt or that he’s upset you, but then he sees your smile and it almost breaks him. “Baby—”

“I love you, Jihoon.” 

God, he loved those words on your lips. They scared the shit out of him, but they were like hearing a true angel speak. Jihoon never deemed himself worthy of love. He didn’t think that he was worthy of his parents’ love or that of his friends, but when it came to you, he thought he’d never in his entire life earn those words. Something about those three little words changed Jihoon, but for now he simply kissed your smile and then each of your cheeks wiping the tears from your face. “You’re my heart, Y/N. I swear I won’t make you regret those words.”

Sighing happily, you run your fingers through Jihoon’s damp hair as his lips begin to once again move along your jaw and down your neck. You felt in your heart that he wasn’t lying to you. For the first time, it truly felt like you had your husband in your arms and he was taking his time and making you his. 

Carefully working the rest of your dress from your body, Jihoon winces, seeing how badly he really ruined the dress before he drops it into the floor as you laugh under your breath at his reaction. “I’m serious, a thousand, ten thousand more dresses just like it.” 

You want to say something—a smart comeback about how he should get you dresses for the damage done to that one, but any care you have for that dress leaves your head as you watch Jihoon’s fingers run along your thigh, urging you to spread your legs. You find yourself suddenly nervous once again as Jihoon meets your eyes and takes a deep breath when he moves them between your legs, seeing just how wet you are. 

“I—I don’t think I properly apologized for how things happened last time. That isn’t how anyone should treat you, but especially not your husband.” Watching you furrow your brows and start to shake your head, Jihoon lifts his free hand to stop you as he massages your inner thigh with his other hand. “It’s not an excuse, and I will never use it as one—I simply want to explain so that we are cautious in the future. When I am close t–to shifting like I was that evening, I am—” 

You watch Jihoon struggle with his words, having to take in deep breaths. You wonder if he’s ever explained something like this to someone else before realizing he hasn’t, that he’s never let himself get so close to someone. Moving to sit up, you slide closer to Jihoon, letting him rest between your legs as you run your fingers over his face, feeling him lean into your touch. “I’m listening and I’m not going anywhere, Jihoon. I love you.” 

He didn’t deserve you. God, how did you exist? Smiling, Jihoon turns towards your palm, kissing it gently before muttering that he loves you too and letting out a breath before continuing. “The beast makes me angry—aggressive and stupid. It would be wise if we were more careful about things like this if I’m close to shifting. Does that make sense?” 

Meeting Jihoon’s eyes, you run your thumb over his cheekbone as you nod, almost trying to memorize the color of his dark brown eyes as you think back to the golden of the beast’s eyes. “Yes, but I trust you. I also don’t want you to ever lock yourself away again, Jihoon. We do this together, forever. Do you understand? Don’t ever keep this from me again.” 

The thought of that terrified Jihoon more than anything. He was so afraid that he might hurt you or worse. You were more important to him than anything else in his life and he had a feeling that the beast knew that. The beast enjoyed taking things from him—or at least that’s what it felt like. Swallowing hard, Jihoon reluctantly nods, agreeing before leaning to meet your lips in a tender kiss, feeling you smile against it. 

Humming softly into the kiss, Jihoon’s tongue sliding along yours, you let him ease you back on to the bed, feeling the pillow under your head. Legs tangle with one another as his hand slides along your side, along your hip, and down to your knee before Jihoon pulls it up to his hip so he can nudge his cock between your legs. 

“Ah…” Excitement and arousal wash over you. Leaning your head back, you open your eyes, meeting Jihoon’s, biting your lip, wondering when he is going to finally put himself into you, only for confusion to the place of your excitement as he eases back. “No… wait? Jihoon, I thought—” 

“We are, baby. You aren’t ready. You said I’m your first.” Speaking between kisses along your jaw and neck, Jihoon lowers his eyes between your legs as he takes a steading breath, preparing himself more than you before he brushes his fingers over your wet folds. “I’d rather die than hurt you again, mon ange. Keep your leg up for me and if anything hurts, tell me.” 

Holding tightly to his bicep, you whine Jihoon’s name when you feel his index finger slowly ease into you. The feeling is familiar but unlike last time, there is no pain. This time you find yourself clenching around Jihoon’s finger. “Mmm…” 

Smirking to himself, Jihoon nods to your reaction before carefully pushing his finger in deeper, feeling your hand tighten on his bicep as you moan. He pictures you in your bed making those noises and wonders if you’ve put your own small fingers inside yourself like this, knowing they’d never reach as deep as he can. “Good? How about this?” Curling his finger back towards his palm, Jihoon watches as you arch your back, your mouth falling open with a breath. “Beautiful.” 

You wanted more. This was what you had expected and what your cousins had told you that you might expect in the bedroom with a husband. You knew that some marriages weren’t blessed with sex lives to be envied; at this moment, you felt like yours was. There was no way that there could be anything better than this. There was no way there was anyone better than Jihoon. 

“I’m going to add another finger, darling.” 

Bracing yourself, brows furrowed, you nod only to moan Jihoon’s name, feeling yourself stretch around his index and middle fingers. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t touched yourself before. You had made yourself orgasm several times in your life, but never had you felt this good. Never had you felt yourself stretched around fingers like you were now and that only brought you back to what you knew would come next as you felt Jihoon’s cock brush against your thigh. It was much thicker than two of his fingers. How would you ever handle that? 

“You are doing so well. So pretty.” Using his thumb, Jihoon draws small circles on your clit, watching you lift your hips as you feel the pressure beginning to build in your stomach. He had watched women cum before; he had even seen you do it once before, but there was something special about this. He was seeing you with clear eyes and you were divine. “You can let go. Cum for me, baby.” 

Your nails dig into Jihoon’s skin and yet he doesn’t flinch or seem angry with you as deep red marks appear on his skin when you cum around his fingers. Gasping his name, you push your hips down over his fingers and ride out your orgasm, daring to meet his eyes before throwing your head back with a breathy moan. 

Kissing the corner of your lips, Jihoon eases his fingers from you, feeling you clenching around them as he does. Despite his cock twitching and leaking on to your leg, he doesn’t rush you this time; instead, Jihoon brushes his fingers over your head and whispers softly against your skin as you come down from your orgasm. “You’re perfect. Love you so much, Y/N... Take your time, baby. Shh… I’m not going anywhere. Have all the time in the world.”

Though you didn’t want to wait, you could feel your thighs shaking as you fought to catch your breath. Any fears you had that Jihoon would rush out the door, leaving you alone and wanting were distant, as you felt like you were drowning in him now. Every word and brush of his lips against your skin or lips had not only made you feel like you were able to take your time but also more confident. Finally, once you couldn’t stand the growing arousal in you taking back over, you whined Jihoon’s name, feeling his lips pull up into a smile against your cheek as his fingers brushed over your lower stomach. 

“Hm, what is it, baby? Why are you whining for me?” Jihoon knew that you were still his innocent flower, his perfect little angel of a wife and while every bone in his body was begging him to take you and ruin you for anyone else—he had to hear you ask for it. Holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Jihoon meets your pretty eyes as he feels your leg run along the outside of his thigh, your wet pussy pressing against his thigh, causing a groan to bubble up in his throat that he just barely manages to keep silent as he waits for you to speak. “What do you want from your husband?” 

The confidence that you had managed to build was waning, but you could see the look in Jihoon’s eyes and you somehow knew that he was going to make you follow through with his words. Glancing downward, you let your bottom lip jut out slightly, causing Jihoon to laugh under his breath as he watches you until you do finally speak. “I want—Jihoon, please? Take me.” 

You were being so sweet and soft. Your cute bottom lip sticking out at your pouted, but then you said those words and all amusement left Jihoon just like the breath in his lungs. He wanted to take you. While he never wanted to possess you like the beast did, there was a sense of pride that you were his wife and in his bed. He was lucky enough to have this claim to you and he’d be a fool not to act on it. 

Groaning under his breath, Jihoon nods before nipping at your jaw and hearing your breath get caught in your throat. The sounds leaving your mouth spur him on and have his hands once again trace the curves of your body, learning very dip and valley as he settles himself back between your legs. “Fuck—you’re… God, you’re so—” Shaking his head, unable to think straight, Jihoon practically whines, feeling your soft folds against his cock as he holds himself steady. “Please tell me you love me again.” 

Feeling the head of his cock bump against your clit, you gasp out Jihoon’s name before he grips your ass with his free hand, pulling your hips closer to him and lining himself up with you, waiting for you to do as he asked. It wasn’t a command or difficult task; it was asking you to do something as simple as breathing. “I love you, Jihoon, so much.” 

Neither of you were really prepared for how you would feel when Jihoon’s cock began to ease into you for the first time. You had never felt such an intense stretch like it in your entire life, and Jihoon was barely hanging on by a thread as he felt you clench down around him like a vice every single inch for what seemed like hours. He wasn’t going to rush you, but as he tried to allow you the time to adjust and get used to the feeling of him inside of you, Jihoon felt like he was going to explode. 

“Babe—baby… You are so tight. You have to try to relax for me, okay? Shh…” Brushing his thumb along your cheek, Jihoon meets your eyes, watching you nod along with his words as you make your best attempt to relax, allowing him to finally breathe when his hips settle against yours. “Fuck, there you go. Such a good girl. You okay? You let me know when you’re ready.” 

“Okay, oh my god.” You had been right when you wondered how you would fit all of Jihoon inside of you. Even as he lay between your legs and you felt yourself tightening around him, you were having a hard time comprehending it. 

The pain at first had been overwhelming, but now you were beginning to feel restless even as Jihoon’s fingers caress your skin and draw small invisible shapes along your chest and breasts to distract you. None of it is enough to stop you from wanting more and instinct kicks in, causing you to lift your hips, letting you watch a look of pleasure cross over Jihoon’s face as his eyes close and his lips part with a groan as you use your body like you had your hand earlier. “Please?” 

Anything you wanted. Jihoon would give you the moon and the stars. He would climb to the top of the palace and stand on the roof to pluck them out of the sky and bring them down one by one for you if you asked him to. Doing this—making love to his wife—Jihoon was more than happy to do. 

Lacing his fingers with yours, Jihoon presses your hand to the bed with the first swallow thrust of his hips, watching your mouth fall open with a choked moan. There was no way he was going to last long, but he’d rather die than cum without feeling you let go around his cock. He had denied himself for so long—he had denied you—that this was more than about just fucking you; it was about the pleasure he was determined to give you and to make you remember that he was the only one who’d ever make you feel this way. 

“Ji–Jihoon…” Tears fall over the rims of your eyes as Jihoon’s hips meet yours harder, his head buried in the crook of your neck. You had dreamt of pleasure like this but never thought it would be real until this moment—until Lee Jihoon. Digging your nails into his lower back, you press your head back into the pillow, gasping out a moan and arching your back, feeling the familiar pressure building with each of Jihoon’s deep thrusts. “Kiss me? Please kiss me, Jihoon.” 

The moon and the stars. Tightening his fingers on yours, Jihoon kisses your neck and groans your name before walking his kisses up to your lips, claiming them once again when you ask for something. He could feel himself barreling over the edge, his climax teetering on a precarious edge, but still determined to feel you first, Jihoon shifts his body closer to you, listening to you whine loudly against his lips as he pushes your leg up towards your stomach so he can bury his cock into you hard. “Come on, mon ange. Give it to me...” 

Jihoon sounds desperate and breathless against your lips; his thrusts are sharp and irregular as he gets exactly what he wants when you fall apart for him. Gasping for a deep breath, you find it impossible when your orgasm rips through you, causing your thighs to shake around Jihoon’s body. Resting his forehead against yours, Jihoon groans your name, feeling himself unable to hold back cumming hard into your warm pussy as you milk him dry. 

Both of you are silent beside your breaths for a few moments. Your bodies are tangled and unmoving as cum begins to seep from you and to the bed under you, making you feel sticky. It is Jihoon that moves and speaks first when he kisses your cheek and then your lips, unwilling to separate from you even as his cock softens inside of you, allowing more of his cum to escape. “My beautiful wife.”

Laughing under your breath, you turn your face from Jihoon’s kisses, feeling your cheeks burning at his attention even as he turns you back towards him, capturing your lips for a longer kiss and letting you sigh into it. You find yourself happy and sad all at once, your bottom lip once again sticking out slightly, making Jihoon lean back to look down at you before finally slipping himself from you and moving to your side, pulling you into his arms. 

“Why are you sad? What did I do?” 

Quickly shaking your head, you turn on your side, pulling one leg over Jihoon's, enjoying the feeling of his fingers on your skin. “Nothing, I’m not—it’s not sadness, Jihoon. It’s—I’m not sure what it is. Regret?” Seeing Jihoon furrowing his brows, you pat his chest and sit up slightly, trying to correct yourself. “No, no, wait. Not like that. Regret that we didn’t figure this out sooner. How much of our relationship we have already missed out on because of—something you can’t be a fault for.” 

Wrapping his fingers around yours, Jihoon brings them to his lips, kissing them and speaking against them slightly muffled even as he sighs into his words. “You’re the only person who has ever truly made me feel like perhaps the curse isn’t my fault. I’ve always felt I earned it—” 

“Jihoon—” 

“Let me finish, mon ange.” Kissing your fingertips again, Jihoon smiles against them. “I know I was born like this and that the curse was put on my parents. I logically know that. That has never mattered until I met you. Every other woman has—well, you know.” Sighing, Jihoon laughs almost in disbelief at his own words as he shakes his head, putting your hand on his chest over his heart. “You make me feel like perhaps I’m not even cursed at all. How could I be if I have you?” 

Jihoon’s words cause your chest to tighten and for tears to sit on the rims of your eyes as you feel his heart beat steadily in his chest. You can’t imagine a life without him—a cursed life or not. “You aren’t, my love. You are just Jihoon. You are just my husband.” 

For the first time in Jihoon’s life, he believes those words in his heart and the rumbling is silent as you kiss him, whispering that you love him against his lips. 

22

Four days of ignorant bliss. It had been a honeymoon phase. 

Jihoon had spent days and nights in your arms, but now he could feel the hair standing on the back of his neck even as you laid your head in his lap reading your book. He knows he should tell you that he is going to shift, but the shame overwhelms him. 

Promises had been made about this. He had told you that the two of you would deal with things together, but how could he do that when he looks at your now and sees the scars on your thigh? He can see the way his claws ripped through your perfect skin and left such angry marks? No—Jihoon has to keep you safe. 

Jihoon waits until you are asleep. His fingers tremble as he brushes your hair from your beautiful face before he lifts you and lays you back in bed and he listens to the angry rumble in the back of his head. The beast is angry with him. Why was it so angry? Why was the beast longing after you? That terrified Jihoon. He had to get away from you. 

Stumbling out of the room, Jihoon groans under his breath in pain, making his way towards the front of the palace to the doors when someone stands in his way at the doors. Lifting his golden eyes to Wonwoo, Jihoon sighs out a ragged breath and gestures to the door. “Open it and move, Wonwoo. I don’t want to hurt you or anyone else. I couldn’t live with myself. Please.” 

“No, sire.” 

Confused, Jihoon puts a hand to his stomach, feeling his muscles beginning to tear from the inside out. Letting out a pained groan, Jihoon takes a step forward, trying to get to the door himself, only to feel Wonwoo’s hand on his shoulder pushing him back with surprising strength. “Fucking move, Wonwoo! You know I don’t have—I don’t have time! Why are you doing this to me?!”  

“Why did you lie to her?” 

Falling towards Wonwoo, Jihoon coughs, tasting blood in his mouth from the muscles shifting internally. Though he is still confused, he pushes past the steward harder, managing to open the door and fall to the ground at the steps and Wonwoo’s feet as the man looks down at him. “Wha—what the fuck are you—” Lying? He hadn’t told you that he was going to shift. Had Wonwoo been spying on the two of you? Furious, Jihoon glares at Wonwoo before letting out a painful growl as his back arches, the bones snapping. 

“You lied to her, Jihoon. You had made so much progress—you were changing.” 

Scratching at the marble under his fingers, Jihoon spits the blood from his mouth and turns his head back up to Wonwoo. “What the fuck? Are you spying on us?” 

“You’re smarter than that, Jihoon. Think—” 

“Jihoon!” You had woken up to the sounds of pained yowling and only one thing had made sense. With tears in your eyes, you run towards the door,, seeing Jihoon lying across the steps in the middle of shifting, fear evident in his eyes as he looks around, shocked and confused. 

“No—Wonwoo, send her—” Looking for Wonwoo, Jihoon is stunned to not see him standing over him anymore; he only sees you as you rush forward, falling to your knees in front of him This was the worst thing that could happen. He was dangerous during his shift and the beast would kill you; he couldn’t trust himself and yet you were looking at him like you always did. You weren’t afraid of him; why weren’t you afraid? “Y/N, please go away! Baby, please!” 

Shaking your head, you sob Jihoon’s name, moving closer even as his body breaks and reforms in front of you. You knew that you should be afraid, but you couldn’t. You had promised to take care of him and you weren’t going to go back on it. “No! I love you. I won’t leave. I’m here, Jihoon. I trust you!” 

Jihoon cries out in pain, his fingers breaking one by one before claws begin to take their place. He meets your eyes, able to shake his head before everything goes to black and nothing is left but the beast. Blowing out a deep breath into a growl, Jihoon opens his eyes and scratches at the floor under him, feeling the marble cracking until he meets your eyes. You should be terrified. You should be screaming, but you aren’t. 

“I’m here. I’m—Jihoon, I’m not afraid of you and I’m not leaving. I love you.” 

The words seem foreign and impossible, but even as something fights him, telling him that you are lying to him, Jihoon keeps his eyes on you, listening to you tell him that you love him over and over again as you lift your hand, putting it against his face. He could so easily kill you. Tear you limb from limb, but he can’t and he won’t. Falling down in front of you, Jihoon lets out a loud breath, resting his large head in your lap, feeling your shaky hands run over the thick fur.  

At first, Jihoon falling into your lap scares you. You worry for a moment that he might get up and capture you in his large jaws, but after a few moments, you begin to wonder if he’s fallen asleep as you run your fingers over his head, listening to him breathe steadily. Tears drip from your cheeks and down on to the top of Jihoon’s head, soaking into the fur before you manage to lift your free hand, wiping them away, feeling relief wash over you. 

“You lulled man and beast, madame.” 

Furrowing your brows to hear a voice so close and having not heard any footsteps, you look up surprised to see Wonwoo standing against the doorframe with a slight smirk on his lips. You were used to seeing him in the same suit every day. He was a man of routine and he rarely surprised you, but tonight he looked completely different. He looked almost ethereal in his long black cape and his eyes full of mirth. 

“Wh—I? What? What are you doing out here?” 

Undoing his cape, Wonwoo grins at you as you feel the weight in your lap lessen, drawing your eyes down to Jihoon and causing your mouth to fall open in shock. Where the beast had been just moments before now lay your husband, his eyes fluttering as if he were simply dreaming, his body shivering from the cold. 

“I’ve grown weary, madame. Here, allow me.” Leaning to put the cape over Jihoon like a blanket, Wonwoo meets your eyes and you notice the subtle golden color to them before he stands back to his normal height to look up at the night sky. “You’ve done so much in your short time in Aetherial Grove.” 

Still confused, you watch Wonwoo closely while trying to keep Jihoon covered, feeling his fingers holding your dressing gown tightly at your thigh as he dreams. “What do you mean? Who—What—” 

Smiling to himself at your half-asked questions, Wonwoo glances towards you and nods. “Who and what indeed. A smart queen for an unselfish king. Quite the pairing.” You watch as Wonwoo lifts his hands and turns towards you and Jihoon, a playful look on his face. “When our dear king does wake, tell him that I am grateful for his generosity and that he allowed me to stay for as long as I wanted.” 

As if realizing something, you open your mouth, seeing Wonwoo’s eyes almost sparkle at your recognition. “You—” 

Bowing at his waist, Wonwoo meets your eyes and sighs. “Farewell, madame. Blessings on the king and his queen for many years to come.” Turning to walk away, you hear him laugh under his breath before he whispers just loud enough for you to hear. “Perhaps I’ll visit again one day.” 

Stunned and uncertain what to say or do, you watch Wonwoo as he moves towards the golden gates. You wait for him to push them open only to watch as he seems to vanish just before reaching them, just a shimmer of gold dissipating into the air where he once was. 

In your lap, Jihoon groans under his breath, shifting under the cloak, finally managing to open his eyes, looking up at you. The confusion is clear on his face, but as he blinks, looking around as if expecting something to happen, you can almost see something becoming clear to him. 

“How?” 

Lifting your hand to your lips and realizing that the curse is truly broken, you can’t stop the sob before it leaves you. Jihoon, still confused, looks at the cloak around him before moving closer to you, trying to keep you warmer as you try to speak between sobs, trying to explain what had happened even though you know it doesn’t make sense.  

Though Jihoon doesn’t completely understand, he pushes the tears from your cheeks and nods along, letting it sink in. Wonwoo had been in his life for as long as he could remember. His father had never explained where the steward had come from, and Jihoon had never asked. He remembered his father and Wonwoo having a difficult relationship as well as a close friendship, but now as you tried to explain who he really was, it all began to sink in. 

His father had been a selfish king and in his own way, so had Jihoon. He had thought by keeping everything to himself that he was protecting everyone around him—he had been protecting you, when in fact he had been hurting you more. It took letting someone in and letting them stay to break the curse. Just like letting Wonwoo stay until he was ready to go. 

In the end, it all led Jihoon to you and now he would never let you go. 

His wife. His queen. His heart. 

READ THE BONUS ON PATREON

© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed.

[dadsbongos]

5 times laios almost says he loves you + 1 time he does

2 k words / warnings - momentary lead up to smut (foreplay/roleplay), modern au w fantasy elements

summary - laios wants to tell you he loves you, but keeps getting interrupted.

~~~

When Laios was a kid, he'd imagined a tri-headed beast crossbred from reptiles, mammals, and birds attacking all his problems. Recently, that image has been… tweaked…

Now when he's afflicted by demeaning nightmares or stiff social situations, the power he summons to crush all which is dark sided is, surprisingly, a human.

A mere person.

His partner.

Every time you appear in his dream, Laios wakes up in a massively good mood. Whenever Laios pictures you over the unpleasant sight of strangers, he can suddenly bear unwelcome conversation. Whenever Laios so much as spots you, his whole day elevates -- swirling into something brighter and sweeter. Misery to melon juice, he’s absolute goo as soon as you’re in the room.

And everybody except him knows what his deal is. Similarly, they know it’ll take a miserably long while before he can spit it out.

the time where you’re naked

“I wanna learn human anatomy, can you pose nude for me?”

You choke on your water, trying to laugh off the awkward question with a couple chest-pats, “Can't you just look at porn for that stuff? I don't mind, you know?”

“Nah, I wanna draw you.”

“Oh! Uh, okay…” you cross the floor, drawing the curtains to your living room before stiffly beginning to disrobe, “Like… right now?”

“Mhm,” Laios nods excitedly.

“‘kay then.”

Sweat practically oozes down Laios’ forehead, shoulders knotted towards his jaw as he obsessively studies each roll and dip along your body. Trying to copy you down on sketch paper that’s now marred with charcoal and eraser strokes. Drawing has never been something Laios cared to prove himself for, he knows what he’s skilled with and doesn’t fret over what he isn’t. Until now, now he feels the utmost need to prove himself.

To prove how devoted he is to perfecting your body on paper because how else will his adoration be known?

Because trust: he does adore your body. So pretty. And tender. And so very welcoming to him, just like you. Laios adores your personality more than your body -- you’re nice and funny and understanding and, most importantly, you like him. You seriously like him. His rants about monsters, his social ineptitude, his shameless nature: you’re verily into all of it.

And, in turn, he’s into you. He’s so into you it makes him want to choke himself in excitement whenever you lock eyes.

He’s so into you he thinks he loves you.

Laios pauses mid stroke on your thigh: it’s a little skinnier than the fleshy counterpart. So he erases again and lets the realization fizz over him slowly.

He definitely loves you. Unfortunately the sudden thought makes him so emotional he’s tearing up.

the time you’re on a date

Flickering overhead fluorescents are hideously unflattering to customers and staff alike at the diner. Not you, though. Somehow you make them work, even though everytime Laios catches his reflection in a window he looks absolutely ghoulish. The pale wash of sickly light almost makes you seem like a varnished painting.

You’re not even aware of his obsessing, too busy scanning the menu, “I’m looking at the breakfast for dinner options, but I dunno what I want…”

Laios wants you, and he figures the best way to get it out is just saying it.

“I lo- !” he’s silenced by a woman cheerfully greeting the both of you.

Her broad grin tackles him like a personal slight.

“So, what can I get started for you guys?”

Laios swallows his frustration with a wash of chilled water, letting the rhythm of your voice soothe him. Now the mood is ruined. Too stuffy with this onlooker.

Oh, well, he sighs quietly before ordering his own dish; paying no mind to how the server silently questions his moody demeanor.

There’s always more chances.

the time where you’re naked pt. 2

When you’re genuinely asleep, your lashes consistently flutter against your cheeks with each jerk beneath your eyelids. Your lips are parted to let air puff between, and usually you’ll curl your arms towards your chest -- which Laios finds so cute it makes him want to bite you. Sweetly, of course. Not enough to draw blood, unless you say he can.

Either way, he’s fully aware you’re not really sleeping. Which he considers preferable since the secondary act of roleplay doesn’t work if you aren’t awake.

Suddenly, you roll onto your stomach and stretch along the bed -- perking your ass up with a faux drowsy mumble. Laios can register you’re trying to spur him on, a more emotional exhaustion gnawing your spirit the longer he goes without touching you.

Laios has never been able to fanatically explain Incubi mating before he met you (well: he skimmed through it with Kabru, but that didn’t feel impactful), and furthermore, he’s never been able to act it out. Nobody before you seemed the type to accept his interest in portraying a sleeping body about to be bred by an Incubus.

Nobody before you is even worth remembering, Laios steps forward with fingers trailing up the bed and teasing your ankle. Mouth opening, he’s gearing up to confess when suddenly a voice not his own breaks the scene first:

“Laios, please,” you mutter, pouting so adorably he feels like his chest is about to explode, “I don’t wanna be mean, but I need you to hurry it up.”

“Now we have to restart,” Laios steps back until he’s pressed against the bedroom door, “Okay, I’ll go faster this time,” then he grins, “That’ll be even more realistic if I rush in! You’re so smart!”

By the time Laios re-enters the room, his confliction of pure love has been stifled in favor of lust.

the time you’re out with friends

Earplugs are snug in Laios’ ears, cushy and pressing against every crevice of his ear, as he slouches into the booth across from Senshi. He’s sliding a mug of beer from hand-to-hand, leaving a condensation trail along the shiny veneer of the table. Beside him is a gaping hole he laments, belonging to you, as does the margarita saucer. Melting ice chips and an olive Laios promised to eat are the only remnants of your drink.

Otherwise, it all seems to be pumping through you like hot blood. A beaming grin alight on your face as you and Chilchuck bounce around each other on the dance floor. You’re holding hands in the cramped throng of guests so as to not lose each other, and Laios shocked Marcille by not getting the least bit jealous.

“I trust them,” he reasoned, “It’s not like I’m the only person allowed to touch their hands now.”

Not that he’d like to be, either. Laios thinks everyone should touch your hand at least once: it’s soft and warm and you’ve got the perfect grip strength. Just holding your hand makes Laios want to be a better, more upstanding citizen that votes and volunteers. That sort of inspiring spirit is something he couldn’t dream of caging.

You’re like a human morphine injection confounded with pure sunlight, and Laios is already a baked sucker.

“Don’t wanna join?” Senshi slides along the black leather seat until he’s squeezed out from their booth, “You won’t be so young forever, you know? Best to take advantage while you can.”

Laios can barely make out what his friend says, combining muffled gibberish with the shape his lips made and praying he’s assumed correct, “I like just watching them.”

Senshi’s gaze follows Laios’ pointing, he nods slowly and pitters off with another few mumbles.

Laios cannot handle anything outside the safety of your group’s booth. Music too loud and air too hot the further he crawls along the dance floor, so he leaves that to you. And Chilchuck. But mostly you.

Life has many opportunities for him to sway with you to music: in your shared apartment, at friends’ weddings, and fairs. He can handle not taking this particular once to dance with you, and besides just watching is enough.

He whispers affection into the club, naturally you catch none of what he says.

the time where you’re naked pt. 3

Your nails scratch over Laios’ scalp, rinsing bubbles from between sandy strands of hair. His head is tilted, neck beginning to ache from the angle as you finish scrubbing his hair clean. Fingers snatch him by the chin, forcing his head back until water is trailing down his spine and shaking out his head with finality.

“There,” you push onto your toes to kiss his cheek, making him hurry to stabilize you by snagging your hips, “All clean!”

“Thanks,” Laios fails to release you, instead letting you spin in his hands towards the wall for your body wash -- the brand he bought you for your birthday once and you always kept going back to.

“If you’re gonna keep groping me, wash my back, yeah?”

“I’m not groping,” Laios protests weakly, frowning at the perverse accusation. Though he doesn’t pause before uncapping your soap and squirting a heap into his palm, then yours when you hold your hand out expectantly.

You scale down your legs, from the inside of your thighs to your shins as Laios lathers your back. He shifts a step aside to let water coax soap foam down the curve of your spine. Then he’s stepping back entirely, eyes lingering inappropriately. If he was able to die staring at you, then he’d take that certainty in a heartbeat.

Now, right? Now is the perfect time for him to get it all out there. Nobody else is in your apartment. It's domestic and quiet and so, so peaceful.

“Hey,” he calls over the thrumming showerhead, and you hum sweetly in reply, “I lo- !” he bravely takes another step, a lost bar of soap slotting perfectly under the arch of his foot, “Fuck!”

“Huh?” you turn in time to gasp as Laios tumbles forward. Yanking down the shower curtain in a feeble attempt to catch himself before his skull thuds loudly against the tile wall, “Oh my God, Laios!”

His body collapses against the wall before limply sinking into the shallow tub. Your petrified face blurring out in favor of deep,

rich

black.

+1 - the time Laios had a head injury

“Can you see straight? How many fingers am I holding up?”

Laios smiles at your flagrant concern, enveloping your shaky hand with his own and bringing it toward his thigh -- still damp from the shower and barely covered by the boxers you hastily dressed him with, “I can see fine. Let’s leave the doctors to do the testing stuff.”

“I thought you were done for! I was so scared,” you don’t fare much better than Laios in the clothing department: shorts he knows are his wrapped around your waist, and shirts clinging uncomfortably to both your wet bodies.

“Aw,” he coos, leaning closer to peck your cheek, “I wouldn’t go down from a hit like that. My head’s a lot sturdier than some shower wall.”

“I know, but still! How terrifying, you just- !” you slap a hand against your thigh, “Boom!”

“Well, you got me to the hospital pretty fast,” Laios squeezes his hand around yours, “So even if I was dying -- which I wasn’t -- I definitely would’ve lived with how fast you were going.”

“I almost didn’t dress us, and then I spent the whole time you were asleep wondering if I got you killed by wasting the time.”

“Like I said, I wouldn’t die like that,” he shrugs, “I can’t die before I tell you I love you.”

“Huh?!”

“I love you, by the way,” he sighs, a hand splayed over his chest with apparent relief, “Now I can die.”

You laugh, head throwing back in glee before you can catch your breath, then patting his thigh with a smile, “No, you can’t die. Because I love you too, so you can’t just die on me.”

Laios’ cheeks flush, he nods curtly, “Cool.”

“Cool?”

“I spent so long trying to get it out that I never planned what to say when you told me you loved me back.”

Laios is so cute you want to bite him in half, and you’re unbelievably relieved to hear he feels the same.

[fairyhaos]

yeoubi. // chwe hansol

여우비 (yeo-u-bi) : noun. literally “fox rain” — when sunlight filters through rainfall, creating a golden shower.

PAIRING : vernon x f!reader

INFO : east asian historical fantasy(ish. i kinda made up my own mythology), fox demon!vernon, silver!vernon, immortal!witch!yn, fluff, magic, strangers to lovers

WORD COUNT : 22.3k+

WARNINGS : blood mention, injuries, slight discrimination against yokai, cursing

NOTES : for the @camandemstudios winter with you collab! i had so so so much fun writing yeoubi and it's genuinely one of the best things ive done this year. writing a fantasy au soft vernon fic was never something that i thought i needed to write, but now i have, and i love him and i love this and i hope everyone loves yeoubi just as much as i do too <3

SYNOPSIS : living as a magic, immortal healer in a rural, human mountain village means most of your existence has been rather peaceful. that is, until one cold winter when an injured yokai stumbles into your life; and though everyone else is terrified of him, you take him in, nurse him back to health, and show the others that some demons aren’t that scary after all. (...and maybe, just maybe, you end up falling for the pretty fox yokai too.)

For the first time in years, the river freezes over.

During winter, it’s often a lot harder for you to notice things like this, as the cold dulls your senses and numbs your fingers, so you’re only informed of this fact when the village children come to your cottage in the morning, their high-pitched voices blending with the mismatched beats of their fists knocking against your door.

“Miss Witch! Miss Witch! There’s something wrong with the river!”

“The river is all solid, Miss Witch!”

“Miss Witch, we can’t play in the river! Can you fix it for us, Miss Witch?”

Blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you open the door with a groggy smile, squinting down at the children on your doorstep.

“Hello, little kids. What are you doing here?”

“Miss Witch!” one of the children chirps. “Good morning!”

Despite being half-asleep, you can’t help but laugh a little at their chipperness. The children are, undeniably, your favourite people in this entire village.

“Good morning,” you say, bemused. “How may I help you?”

Their voices rise in volume again, all of them clamouring to be heard over each other. It can’t be any later than five in the morning, and your fingertips prickle with the cold grey of the mist as you blink down at them, surprised at their energy.

A girl tugs at the end of your blanket, wide-eyed. “Miss Witch, the river is all hard. We don’t know what’s going on.”

“Ah,” you say gently. “I see.” Crouching down so you’re at eye level with the kids, you ask, “If the river is hard, solid, and cold, what do you think that means?”

The children blink at you. 

“What else is hard, solid, and cold?”

One of them brightens. “Ice!”

“Exactly,” you say, smiling. “The river has turned into ice. It’s nothing to worry about, but it does mean it’s very, very cold right now, so why aren’t any of you wearing any hats or scarves, hm?” 

You ruffle the hair of the nearest child, and she shakes her head, giggling. “We were helping the grown-ups, of course! Something happened at the river, an’ they told us to go away.”

“So we came to you,” another boy pipes up. “They said something’s wrong!”

You tilt your head. Whilst it’s certainly been several decades since the river last froze over, it’s no reason for the villagers to worry that much about it. It’s also not something that your magic can fix, or something that needs to be fixed, so—

“Y/N!”

You look up at the call, and see a man in the distance, jogging down the pathway towards your cottage. It’s still far too dark to see clearly, but you smile at the familiar voice.

“Soonyoung,” you call back. “Good morning! Are you here to tell me about the frozen river, too? Don’t worry, it’s completely normal and not dangerous at all.”

His reply, if he has any at all, goes unheard as one of the children suddenly cries out, as if he’s had an epiphany.

You look down at him, amused. “What’s wrong?”

“I just remembered, something else happened at the river,” he says brightly. His remark makes some of the other children perk up too, as if they also remembered this other thing that had happened.

The kids are all at the age where something like a leaf falling onto their heads would be remarkably significant, so as you wait for Soonyoung to come closer and deliver the actual news, you decide to humour them, smiling and tilting your head interestedly. “Oh, really? What was it?”

 “There’s a man in the frozen river, Miss Witch!”

“A—” The smile turns to stone on your face. “A what?”

“Not a man,” Soonyoung says. He’s finally reached your doorstep now, and you notice that his usual easy smile is nowhere to be seen. He frowns down at the children, displeased. “What are you all doing here? We told you to go home, not to Y/N.”

“They thought I could help,” you say placatingly. “It’s okay. And if there’s a man stuck in the river, you might need my help after all.”

“Not a man,” Soonyoung repeats, his face darkening. “It’s not a man.”

You raise an eyebrow at the graveness in his tone. “Well, then you certainly do need my help, it seems. What is it?”

Soonyoung sighs. His exhale clouds the air, and your fingers prickle even more at his next words, like invisible icicles piercing through your skin.

“It’s a demon.”

───────────── ‘✽, 

You are not exactly a human.

Certainly, you look and dress like one—and you have to eat and sleep like one too, otherwise terrible things happen to your energy levels—but that doesn’t mean you are human. There are some things which make you slightly different.

One of those things being that you live forever.

“What do you mean you don’t know if it’s hostile?” Soonyoung demands, struggling to match your strides as you hurry towards the river. “Of course it’s hostile. It’s a fucking demon!”

“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you come to realise that some yokai aren’t hostile,” you respond, frosted-over leaves crunching under your feet. Soonyoung squawks back something unintelligible, too out of breath to make an argument. 

After encouraging the children to return back to their homes and sleep—since it really is five in the morning, and none of them should be awake—you and Soonyoung began making your way to where the rest of the villagers were. 

The river flows down from the mountain that the village is located near. The further up you go, the more dangerous the terrain becomes, and you pause on a jagged rock to frown down at Soonyoung, who’s gasping as he tries to keep up.

“Did you really find the yokai over here? Why were any of you up here in the first place?”

“We didn’t,” Soonyoung said hoarsely. “I’ve been trying to tell you for ages. The demon was found near the edge of the woods.”

“Oh.” You blink. The two of you had marched past the woods a decent while ago. “Okay.” And then you float down from the rock, lightly hopping over frozen patches of land, past Soonyoung again. “Come on, let’s turn back, then.”

Soonyoung sighs, turns around, and begins his clumsy, human descent. “You could at least use your magic to help me down too, you know.”

And that’s the other different thing about you. Magic. It’s such a flimsy, weak word for what you can do, but it’s also the best way to describe it. There are certain things about you, certain things you’re capable of in the way that no human can ever truly be.

Without even looking back, you wave a hand, and a glowing stream of wind nudges Soonyoung’s feet towards the easiest path down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And hurry up before those villagers aggravate the yokai even more.”

Demons, or more traditionally, yokai, aren’t something you’ve encountered in countless decades. As technology and weapons developed, and the human population expanded, many yokai simply faded out of existence, unable to sustain themselves in the less wild, less natural environment that humans created. Others were smart enough to recognise they now had less of an advantage over humans, and tended to stay away from densely populated areas, preferring to target any lone travellers who ventured too far into their territory.

Yokai values and morals are vastly different to humans, and they are so incomprehensible to mortals that yokai gained a reputation for being vindictive, vicious, vile, and all other negative ‘v’ words. That doesn’t necessarily make them so, however, and over your lifetime, you’ve encountered some who don't quite fit the stereotype that humans are all too eager to place on them.

It takes you and Soonyoung long enough to get to the river that the sky has lightened ever so slightly, but the lacey edges of morning mist are still blurring the edges of your sight, and you can only barely see what the villagers are looking at, especially with them all crowding around and pushing against each other to get closer to the river.

You crane your neck, standing on tiptoe, before huffing. Scratch that, you can’t see anything.

“Move out of my way, please,” you say sharply, adding a little volume magic to your voice so that it carries over the whole crowd. 

Most of them instantly look back at that and clock your presence, eyes widening. Some of them begin rushing towards you, looking almost like their children as they begin talking over each other all at once.

“Y/N, there’s a demon—”

“Absolutely vile creature, is there any way—”

“—river’s all frozen, how did it even get here—”

“Okay, okay, okay!” you interrupt, adding even more volume to your voice to be heard. “Minah, yes, I know there’s a demon. Soonyoung told me. And no, Joongseok, we don’t know if it’s truly vile yet. And Woongri, yokai often work with magic, so it could’ve gotten here in a variety of ways. But if you want me to do something, you have to let me through. Yes?”

You’re tired, and cold, and dealing with stressed adults is not the best way to start the day, so you're more blunt than is perhaps necessary, but it gets your point across. The villagers look sufficiently contrite and finally shuffle to the side, making way for you to get through. Seungcheol, the village leader, nudges his way through the crowd until he’s by your side, face solemn.

“Good morning,” he says. “Sorry about the chaos.”

“Good morning,” you say back, voice now normal volume once again. “It’s okay. Everyone’s scared. You don’t call me at ungodly hours unless it’s serious, so I don’t mind.”

Seungcheol nods, looking both grave and apologetic. “We only ever want you to use your magic for good.”

It’s a terribly human thing to say, and you  smile dryly. “Of course. What can I help you with this time?”

“Well… You can help with that.” Seungcheol points to a mound of warped ice a little ways down the river. “How can we get rid of it?”

You squint in the direction Seungcheol’s pointing at, peering through the tendrils of mist, and then gasp. Half-buried into the ice of the river, you can make out a blurry, pale-coloured figure clothed in pale silk. Dark liquid pools in all directions surrounding the motionless body, and anyone can tell the yokai is very badly hurt. 

“It’s already bleeding half to death, so it shouldn’t be too hard to finish— wait, Y/N!”

Ignoring Seungcheol’s shouts, you step onto the frozen surface of the river and rush towards the yokai, and your blood runs cold as you take in the sight before you.

The yokai is a fox demon, you notice, with white ears and soft silver hair and a gorgeous white tail, which is partially being crushed by a river’s worth of ice. He’s waist-deep in the frozen water, and a thick layer of more ice has begun to form around the yokai’s torso from where he’s slumped against the surface of the river at an almost unnatural angle, causing his poor tail to be twisted and buried both in the river and the new ice.

“Oh, darling,” you whisper, kneeling down beside him, tracing a finger across the yokai’s cheek. Your finger comes away stained dark with blood, and you swallow thickly, heart constricting.

The crushing ice isn’t the end of the damage: there’s blood pouring from seemingly unknown sources, matted into the fox demon’s hair and streaking down his neck. He must have been in some sort of fight before getting stuck in the river. 

Gently, you thumb over the yokai’s cheek, taking in the pale skin and delicate eyelashes. This fox demon is devastatingly pretty, and seeing him so badly injured makes your heart hurt even more.

Something rustles near the riverbank, and you look back to see some of the children hiding amongst the leaves, peering curiously at you as you kneel next to the yokai. Further up the river, Seungcheol is approaching you, wanting to know your thoughts on the demon, and his eyes widen as he also notices the children in the bushes.

“What are you doing here?” he says in their direction, the disapproval clear in his tone. “It’s dangerous! You shouldn’t be looking at this. Where are your parents? Didn’t Soonyoung tell you to go home?”

“But we wanna see Miss Witch,” one boy says, eyes wide. “Please, can’t we stay?”

You frown and open your mouth, preparing to reprimand them, but then the yokai makes a soft, pained sound beside you, and you instantly return your attention to him, bending down even closer to his face.

Seungcheol cries out, this time in your direction as you lean towards the yokai. “Y/N, what are you doing? Stay back!”

You ignore him, reaching out a hand to brush matted hair out of the yokai’s eyes. “Hello? Hello, can you hear me?”

The yokai scrunches his eyes up, whimpering in pain. The moment he’d returned to consciousness, he’d started shivering intensely, struck by the cold of the river. 

“Hello?” you repeat, gentle. You move your hand away from the yokai’s face, directing it towards the ice surrounding his back instead. Silently reciting an incantation, the ice begins to glow orange under your palm, slowly beginning to melt away. “Can you tell me your name?”

The yokai shivers, mumbles something unintelligible. Then he looks up at you, golden irises shuddering in fear, every movement of his face telling you it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. 

One of the children lets out a shriek, and you whip your head up in alarm. They don’t look hurt, but the yokai notices the sound too, raising his head to look at them with wide, unsettling eyes, and the children shriek again, all of them frozen in fear. You can kind of understand why: the fox demon is covered in blood, and anyone unacquainted with the supernatural would find his slitted golden eyes petrifying. 

But before you can say anything, do anything to reassure them, the ice around his back makes a cracking sound as it melts under your hand, and the yokai’s mouth drops open in pain. He coughs, splattering blood over the ice, more of the black liquid dripping from the corners of his lips as he starts writhing and scratching against the river, hauling himself up onto his elbows, eyes fixed on the children in the distance, and all hell breaks loose.

The children are screaming, ear-piercingly loud, and Seungcheol is screaming too, and the yokai starts writhing even harder, yipping and gasping like a distressed fox, his hands sticky with his own blood as he tries to push against the ice. 

“No, it’s okay— don’t do that—Cheol, let me think!” 

It’s obvious Seungcheol wants you to kill the demon, especially with the way he’s screeching at you right now, but the yokai looks so pitiful, ears shaking, eyes wide, still bleeding from gashes all over his body.

“Think about what?” Seungcheol yells, children cowering behind his legs, and he shields their eyes from the river. “Y/N, please, you have to get rid of it!”

You look at him, and then down at the helpless yokai beside you, and really, it takes you less than a second to decide what to do.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, getting to your feet. Seungcheol tenses, sensing something wrong in your tone as you look down at the yokai again, leaning down with your hand outstretched. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Your fingers come into contact with the yokai’s forehead, and there’s a golden glow before his eyes flutter shut and he freezes up, before collapsing against the ice.

Hidden safely behind the village leader, the children stop screaming. Seungcheol also doesn’t make a sound, still staring wide-eyed at you, and now the yokai is no longer moving, the early morning air is frozen still once more. You look back at Seungcheol, and he blinks, his face unreadable.

“Please tell me you killed that thing.”

You smile weakly, dried-up demon blood on your fingertips. At your feet, the yokai’s shoulders move up and down ever so slightly with every shallow breath he takes, unconscious.

───────────── ‘✽, 

“Bad idea,” Seungcheol admonishes loudly from outside your window, and even though there’s a whole wall and a thick pane of glass separating him from you, his disapproval is crystal clear. “This is a bad idea. Y/N, let me in. We have to talk about this.”

You don’t look up from the boiling pot on the stove, simply lifting a hand and giving Seungcheol the finger.

“How dare— Y/N, you cannot let that thing live. It’s a danger to us. Especially the children! Y/N, think of the children, please, it could hurt the children.”

Seungcheol raps against the glass insistently, but you ignore him, humming to yourself as you ladle some of the boiling concoction into a wooden bowl. Gently, you blow on the steam, inspecting the lilac colour of the liquid before nodding, pleased, and heading over to the yokai asleep on your couch. 

It’s been some hours since that moment on the frozen river, where you’d decided to save the yokai trapped in the ice rather than kill him. None of the humans agreed with your decision, however, so you’d had to make the tiring trek down the mountain yourself, a heavy, unconscious yokai in tow. That’s partly the reason you’re so tired right now, arms aching as you set the bowl down on the coffee table, where you’ve laid out bandages and various dried bags of poultices and face towels to help clean up the yokai. 

Said yokai is still unconscious and bleeding all over the fabric of your sofa, the golden threads of magic you’d used to briefly staunch his wounds already beginning to fray open once more. You sigh, settling down beside him, and begin inspecting the more serious injuries on his forehead and down his arms.

“What happened to you, hm?” you say softly, ignoring Seungcheol still rapping against your window. “Why are you so hurt?”

Living as the only magic user-slash-competent doctor in a rural village means that you have plenty of experience in patching up the particularly nasty injuries that the villagers sustain, and your hands are careful and practised as you dip a towel into the warm, disinfectant potion you’d made, swiping it over the yokai’s skin. He’s injured practically everywhere: deep gashes are scored along his arms, his hands, and there’s one slashed across his chest. Not to mention his definitely-broken tail, the still-bleeding head wound and, judging by the way blood had been pouring from his mouth out on the lake, some internal injuries you can’t see. 

You wince, taking a towel into your hands. “Sorry,” you say, heart twinging in sympathy for the yokai. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. But don’t worry, I’m here to help.”

Ideally, you’d run a bath first and scrub the yokai clean of all the grime and blood before getting to tending his wounds. But he’s a fox demon—ridiculously tall and with a fluffy tail and delicate ears, so he won’t fit in your tiny tub and it’ll end up being more troublesome than anything else.

So, you’ve resorted to magic, dipping a cloth in the potion you've made to melt and dissolve all the dirt into thin air.

The wounds are all worryingly deep, most notably the still-bleeding one on his forehead, and if he were human, you’d be concerned that he’ll suffer a serious concussion afterwards, along with an inability to use his hands for a long while. But as it is, the ancient demon-magic that he’s made of will mean that he’ll heal pretty quickly, and there should be no grave threat to his life.

Hopefully. As long as he doesn’t develop an infection from the open wounds. 

You finish cleaning up the blood and then wipe down his face with a cool cloth, frowning slightly at how his skin still feels unusually hot. Infections will make his healing process much longer and much more arduous. The poor yokai looks like he’s already been through more than enough, so you really hope the fever dies down soon.

Seungcheol is still yelling at you from your window when you finish your preliminary clean-up, and you sigh heavily, beginning to develop a headache from how annoying he's being. So you walk over to the window, wrench it open, and jab a bloodstained finger in his direction.

“Seungcheol. Kindly, please, fuck off.”

Seungcheol blinks, both startled by your abrupt confrontation and a little affronted, but before he can say anything, you carry on. 

“Currently, this yokai is injured, and it’s my job to take care of injured people, regardless of who they are, so you can take any thoughts of me killing him and shove them up your ass. It’s not happening, and it’s never happening, and you’re also disturbing my patient with the racket you’re creating, so please go away.”

If it were anyone else talking to him like this, Seungcheol would have blown up with anger a solid thirty seconds ago—as it is, he simply stares at you, still looking affronted, before he sighs, and all of the energy drains out of him. He knows how headstrong you are, and when you get like this, he knows there’s no way he can sway you. He’ll have to wait until you’re no longer brimming with obstinacy to get his thoughts across.

His gaze drops from yours to your bloody finger, and then he sighs again, folding his hands behind his back.

“Give the demon my wishes for his speedy recovery,” he says at last. “But we still have to talk about this later, Y/N. Okay?”

You huff, and lower your hands. “Fine. Later.” With a resolute swish of magic, you shut the window once again and turn your back on Seungcheol to return to your patient.

As village leader, you can understand why Seungcheol may have concerns regarding a yokai entering a human village, but that doesn’t mean you like how he has no qualms with telling you to just kill it in an instant. Discrimination against magical creatures is half the reason they’re so hostile to humans, anyway, and you’d know firsthand how painful it is to be targeted and attacked purely for being who you are.

It’s not like you ever asked to be magic. And yet, people end up hating you for it.

You look down at the unconscious yokai, with his silver-white fur and gentle eyelashes and those heart-wrenching injuries. Then, wordlessly, you pick up one of the poultices and get to work.

───────────── ‘✽, 

Hansol wakes up to the strong, warm smell of chrysanthemum.

It’s an unusual scent to wake up to, and his ears prick up, alarmed—only for him to cry out a few seconds later, upon realising the action sends a sharp bolt of pain throughout his entire body.

“Oh!” 

A voice sounds from somewhere above his head, and he startles even more, trying to open his eyes and locate the sound, before realising he can’t see.

He cries out again, panicking at the pitch black that surrounds him, flailing around before realising that that action also causes him debilitating pain, and he begins panicking even more. How did he end up here? What happened? All he remembers is being chased through the forest and then tripping and crashing into a river, and then hard ice and the cold water and the throbbing in his head and then— and then—

Something damp and heavy gets lifted from his eyes and he gasps, freezing up as bright white light almost blinds him.

“Sorry, sorry,” the voice from before says, sounding terribly apologetic. “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you before doing that.” 

Hansol scrunches his eyes, and then squints, vision all blurry from having been unconscious and now being blinded by bright light. He can’t see who’s speaking, but whoever they are, they carry on, the words steadily flowing out faster and faster as the person rambles. He can barely keep up with the onslaught of noise, twitching confusedly and trying to see what’s going on. The world feels like it’s spinning. He’s pretty sure the world isn’t meant to spin this fast.

“That was probably really scary when you woke up, huh? I’m so sorry. The towel slipped from your forehead and covered your eyes, and I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I didn’t expect you to wake up now, but I guess that’s a good thing, ‘cause you’ve been out for a whole day, and any longer and we’re veering into coma territory, which would mean that you were really, really hurt. Which is, like, definitely not good, you know? But you did wake up, thank goodness, so that means there’s a chance you’ll get better very soon. Plus, your fever isn’t that bad anymore, so it seems you really are on the road to recovery, which is all very—oh, wait. Sorry. It’s still too bright, isn’t it?”

Another wave of chrysanthemum hits Hansol’s senses and a hand comes up to his face, creating a shadow over his eyes so he’s no longer squinting furiously up at the disembodied voice.

“Sorry,” the voice says, apologising yet again. “Is that better?”

Hansol blinks, slowly opening his eyes fully to look up, and then, the whole world abruptly stops spinning as he finds himself looking at the most beautiful being in the entire history of the universe. He doesn’t say a word, mouth falling open in shock.

You smile down at him, made anxious by his silence. “Hello,” you say, hand still shielding his eyes from the brunt of the winter light. “My name is Y/N. What’s yours?”

Hansol squeaks, a small, high-pitched sound that instantly floods him with mortification when it accidentally slips past his lips, and he screws his eyes shut and curls into himself, knocking your hand away hurriedly in his rush to hide his face. He tries to bury himself into the couch, shaking. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you say, gently, worried you've scared him. “I promise. I want to help.” Perched on the edge of the couch, you lean over and slowly lower the yokai’s hands from his face, coaxing him to look at you again. “Can you please tell me your name?”

You smile, again, and Hansol feels a little faint as he looks up at you. His vision is still slightly blurry from his eyes being shut for so long, and the way you’re backlit by the light makes you look like you’re glowing, a gentle halo of silver light surrounding your form. That, coupled with the way you have the prettiest smile he’s ever seen, is making him feel all dizzy. And a bit warm. The air feels like it’s suffocating him, actually, but all of that is made irrelevant by how pretty he thinks your smile is.

There’s a possibility he’s still in the process of getting rid of his fever, because he blinks slowly, focused, and when he opens his mouth to speak, the next words spill unbidden from his lips.

“My name is Hansol,” he says, “and I think you’re the prettiest person alive.”

Your eyes widen at his words, a flush rapidly creeping up your cheeks. Hansol looks at you, worried that you’ll suddenly hate him for what he’s just said, but you just laugh, flattered, and bring your hand up to his forehead. The touch is cool against his skin, like a soothing balm.

“Thank you, Hansol,” you say. “Your fever seems to still be pretty high, if you’re saying stuff like this, huh? I’m currently brewing some chrysanthemum tea, and I think it’ll be a good idea for you to have some too.”

Hansol blinks slowly again. “Chrysanthemum tea,” he muses. He looks up at you. “That must be why you smell so warm and pretty.”

You laugh again, flustered, subconsciously brushing his hair back from his forehead and cupping his cheek, your fingers feather-light. “Perhaps. So would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Hansol says. “I’ll have anything… you… give m…” His eyelids and ears slowly droop, and before he can even finish his sentence, he drifts back off to unconsciousness once again, head leaning into your hand.

Open-mouthed, pink-cheeked, you look down at the one-more unconscious yokai in your hands. 

“Wow,” you breathe out. And then you smile. “You’re adorable.”

───────────── ‘✽, 

Over the next few days, the yokai—Hansol—constantly drifts in and out of consciousness, his fever fluctuating in intensity the entire time.

It’s difficult to pull coherent sentences out of him, and anything he says is a mixture of your name, his name, and also how pretty he thinks you are.

You chalk it up to his fever.

His demon-magic must have taken a serious blow from the extent of his injuries, as it takes him a lot longer than you’d like for him to finally shake off the infection. A whole excruciating week goes by, and you almost cry with relief when, as you get up to check his temperature in the middle of the night, you find that his fever has finally broken, and he’s able to breathe easily once more.

When the weak sun finally peeks out from over the horizon, you enter your spare room to check on Hansol. Sometime after his first bout of consciousness, you’d gathered enough energy to move him from your couch to the spare bedroom in your cottage. It had taken a lot of work, and a lot of magic—weakened by the stress of taking care of a dying fox demon and trying to fend off any curious and judgy villagers, it takes a lot of energy for you to do anything strenuous lately—but you managed. And it certainly seemed to help, as he slept a lot better in an actual bed.

Humming absentmindedly to yourself, you make your way over to the guest room, fingers dancing and causing golden threads of magic to tidy up the state of your house as you go along. 

To your surprise, the yokai is wide awake when you enter the room, and he startles when you noisily open the door and step inside. The moment you make eye contact with Hansol, you freeze, the song dying off your lips at the same time as your magic drops a partially-fluffed up cushion in the living room.

“Um.” You blink, hanging off the door handle, staring at the yokai picking his bandages in bed in the middle of your guest room. “Good morning?”

Hansol doesn’t respond, continuing to stare at you, wide-eyed.

You cough, feeling terribly awkward, attempting to adjust your stance and take your hand off the doorknob in the most natural way possible. “Hello. I’m, uh, Y/N. How are you feeling?”

There’s another beat. Then Hansol finally opens his mouth, only to completely ignore your question to say, “You’re the one who smells like chrysanthemums.”

“I— Sorry, what?” You blink, taken aback by the abrupt and unrelated question, before nodding. “Oh, yeah. I guess you remember the chrysanthemum tea I made you?” You smile slightly. “I can’t believe you remember that. That was when you were the most unwell.”

“Oh.” Hansol’s ears twitch, and he continues to look at you with his golden eyes, somewhere between bewildered and amazed. (Amazed by what, you aren’t entirely sure.) “I do remember, though. I remember you.”

You blink rapidly, trying to push down the blush that threatens to rise up your face. Having a handsome yokai stare at you with such focus, saying that he remembers you even when he was deep in the throes of a fever is such a heart-fluttering thing to experience early in the morning. You aren’t nearly awake enough for this conversation. If you aren’t careful, you could accidentally fall in love right then and there.

“That’s nice,” you croak, and then shake yourself. You have a job to do. Hansol’s a patient under your care, and you need to check his condition. “Um. Sorry. But, uh, I do have to check if you can remember anything else,” you say, slipping into healer mode as you step further into the room, walking towards the bed. “Do you remember your name?”

Hansol nods, intently following your movements as you draw closer. “My name is Hansol,” he says.

You smile, relieved by the coherency of his answer. The fact that the yokai remembers his own name is a very good sign. “Yes, you are. Do you remember how you got here?”

“Yes,” Hansol says obediently. “I was in a river. Trapped in the ice. And you… saved me.”

That makes you smile a little wider. “I took care of your wounds, yes! It’s really good you’re finally awake and able to answer questions, ‘cause it’s a sure sign there’s no lasting internal damage. I do have to check your bandages, though, so… may I?”

You make a gesture towards Hansol’s bandaged arms, and the yokai obliges, raising his arms to let you see. 

You take Hansol’s hand in your own, preparing to lift his arm up higher—but the moment your palms brush, you gasp, fingers tightening around the yokai’s at the sudden sensation. Hansol, too, lets out a small noise of surprise, looking up at you.

The yokai’s hands are firm, strong, and perfectly healthy, but they also thrum with magic. You can feel every spark and fizzle of the magic as it dances under his skin, spinning and zipping back and forth like a cloud of hyperactive fireflies. Like the magic can talk, and when it noticed the magic that lives inside you, it seems to yip with recognition, spinning itself around in excitement in the yokai’s hands.

“It’s so strong,” you say, amazed. “I didn’t realise magic could be this powerful.”

Hansol’s also staring up at you, similarly in awe. “You’re magic too?” he asks, looking like he’s never fathomed such a thing is possible. “You’re like me?”

You laugh slightly, made a little giddy by the feeling of how alive the magic is under Hansol’s skin. “Not exactly,” you say, releasing Hansol’s hand to finally reach for the bandages, feeling around to see whether his skin is still tender underneath. “I don’t have the ears or the tail, do I?”

Hansol’s ears flick. You’re decidedly focused solely on the yokai’s bandages, but you can feel Hansol looking at you intently as you work. 

“But you’re very pretty,” Hansol says. “Are you sure?”

Fuck. Hansol has to stop saying things like that, because they’re very bad for your poor heart. Very bad.

“I’m sure,” you say with a smile, straightening up once again. “I think all your wounds are healing nicely. Now your magic’s come back to its full strength, it’ll help you heal the rest of the way in no time.”

You can’t help but reach for Hansol’s hand again, once more feeling pleasantly surprised by the light zap of magic when your hands touch. Now you can feel the thrum of it under Hansol’s skin, it’s easy to realise how unwell the yokai was before, when his hands had been deathly cold with no fizz of magic in them at all. You’re just endlessly relieved that you can feel that fizz once again.

Hansol looks down at your intertwined hands, and then up at you, a smile lifting up the corners of his lips. “Thank you,” he says, so very sincere that it melts your heart. “Thank you for looking after me.”

You can’t help but smile back, squeezing Hansol’s hand once. “Of course. It’s my pleasure. Really.”

Hansol smiles even wider, ears twitching pleasedly, and you once again have to try and valiantly fight away your blush. Fuck. This yokai really needs to stop making you blush so easily, and fast, else you’re going to start having problems.

───────────── ‘✽, 

It turns out, the blushing thing ends up being the least of your problems, because later that day, Hansol tries to leave.

Sometime after bringing Hansol a breakfast of soup and chrysanthemum tea (since he really seemed to like the tea), you’re drying away the breakfast dishes when a blast of cold air slices through the cottage, and you look over to see Hansol holding open the front door, looking like he’s about to step out.

“H—wait! Hansol, what are you doing?”

The yokai looks over at you, still holding the front door, confused. The bottom half of his tail is still bandaged, making it difficult for him to move it around, but it still sways from side to side unsurely as he blinks at you.

“I’m leaving,” Hansol says, like it’s obvious. “You took care of me. And I’m now better. So I’m going to go.”

You gape, jaw almost dropping to the floor at the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.

“Like hell you are,” you say, marching over to the front door and firmly shutting it with your still-soapy hands, and then ushering Hansol back to the guest room and into bed. “You are very far from being better, Hansol. Your tail is still all bandaged up! I’m not letting you leave until you’re back to full health, so don’t you dare think for a second that you get to go before then.”

Hansol makes a noise of confusion as you fussily tuck him back into bed, fluffing up the pillows behind his head and arranging the covers around him. “What? Why would you let me stay?”

“Why wouldn’t I let you stay?” you counter, patting down the duvet and absentmindedly brushing away the strands of hair that fall in his eyes. “I want to take care of you. I want you to get better. I can’t exactly do that if you go off into the woods all by yourself and get up to heaven knows what, can I?”

Perched on the edge of the bed, you smile and pat his head. 

“I’m not letting you out of my sight for a long while yet, mister,” you say, the faux-scolding adding a light playfulness to your tone. “You’re going to stay with me and get better until I say so.”

Hansol looks up at you, tilts his head, and scrunches his nose just slightly as he smiles, shy. “So you’ll let me stay as long as I like?”

“Obviously,” you say, smiling back. “However long it takes you to heal, and then some, if you want. Of course, unless you have somewhere else to go.”

The yokai hesitates, ears flicking unsurely. “Not really,” he admits, lowering his gaze. “I’ve never actually had anywhere real to stay.” He looks back up at you again, golden eyes glinting hopefully. “So if it’s okay…”

“Oh, of course you can stay here,” you rush to reassure him. And then you pause, deflating a little. “Although…This is a human village, so they don’t really like… your kind. It might make life a bit difficult, but since you’re with me, they shouldn’t bother you too much. Though I understand if that makes you hesitant to stay.”

Hansol shakes his head, smiling slightly. “That’s okay. I like it here, so I don’t mind staying with just you.” 

“I’m glad,” you say sincerely. “Seriously, you can stay here for however long you want.”

Hansol ducks his head shyly. “Thank you. Genuinely, thank you.”

You awkwardly pat his hand where it lays on the covers, a little embarrassed in the face of his obvious gratitude, and instruct him to rest up before exiting the room. You’re glad that the brief misunderstanding had been cleared up, because you don’t want Hansol to feel anything less than welcomed. Being a yokai, he won’t have received similar acts of kindness in the wild, and as a magical being yourself, you know how that can feel. No one deserves to feel unwanted, least of all an injured yokai who’d obviously been hurt intentionally before you found him.

Unfortunately, though, the trials of Hansol’s first weeks of consciousness do not end there. Some days later, at some point during the afternoon, Seungcheol comes knocking on your door.

You hadn’t intended on inviting Seungcheol in. But afternoons are always a miserable time during winter, when the sky darkens far too early for anyone’s liking, and it’s difficult to find one’s way through the cold, barely-lit paths. That’s why you often get people coming to your door during the late afternoon, lost or confused or panicked because they’ve lost their way, and your cottage, shimmering with gold magic and warm lights is the only beacon they recognise.

So that’s the only reason why, when Seungcheol turns up, you accidentally open the door for him. Not that you have anything against the village leader, but—Hansol’s only been awake for a week at this point, and you don’t have the mental capacity to deal with a talk about getting rid of him.

Unfortunately, when Seungcheol already has one foot in a door, he will not go. Literally.

“Get your foot out of my door,” you say exasperatedly, struggling to push the door shut as Seungcheol pushes back. His foot is still wedged in the doorway.

“Let me in,” Seungcheol says. 

“No. You’re gonna tell me to hurt the yokai again.”

“I’m going to tell you to get him out of here.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Seungcheol says, finally giving up on the little game and pushing his way through the door like it’s no difficulty at all, making you let out an indignant hey!. “We need to talk about this, Y/N. You cannot harbour a demon in our village without discussing this with anyone. He needs to go.”

“He’s hurt,” you say. “He can’t go anywhere! And he won’t hurt anyone, I promise.”

“You can’t know that.” Seungcheol furrows his brow, his tone grave. “He’s a demon, Y/N. You don’t know what he’s capable of. You can’t keep him here.”

“Yes I can,” you insist, “because he’s a fucking real-life being with feelings, not this scary, evil harbinger of doom that you’re making him out to be, and I know this, because he’s been here with me, in my own home, and he’s quite possibly the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

Over the last several days, Hansol has been healing rapidly, so much so that most of his bandages have been removed and he practically glows with magic every time you see him. It’s incredibly relieving to see, and it’s also allowed you to get to know him better: sometimes unintentionally, as a natural side effect of living with him now, but also, sometimes quite on purpose. Because he’s pretty, and he’s interesting, and you want to know who he is.

Turns out, one of the key things about Hansol is he’s the most adorable being you’ve ever met.

He’s adorable, in an awkward sort of way, from the way he hovers hesitantly in doorways to the way his tail always fluffs up with contentment when he feels the tendrils of your magic brush across the room.

Unlike yokai, who simply have ancient magic embedded in them from birth, you are born of magic and made entirely of magic, so the stuff practically spills out of you wherever you go. The magic can’t only be felt from under your skin, but extends out and away from your being. You’re not used to having guests in the cottage, so you weren’t aware of the extent of how much you let your magic run free when in the safety of your home, until you noticed how Hansol reacted. He always blinks in surprise, lifting his hand palm-up, fingers curling inwards, as if your magic is some elusive silk strand that constantly evades his grasp. It’s as if he can truly feel it, and he always seems to like it.

“Can you actually feel my magic?” you ask one day, and he looks up from his hand, surprised. His tail is all fluffy and big, lazily waving from side to side and creating static against the decorative pillows on your couch. You’re sitting on an armchair next to him, smiling at him amusedly from over the book of hexes you’re reading. He doesn’t even seem to notice what his tail is doing, too occupied with the invisible tendrils between his fingers.

“Yeah,” Hansol says after a moment, closing his hand and resting them both back in his lap, a little awkward. “It feels warm. Nice.”

“Really?” 

You can’t help but smile at that, oddly flattered. To you, your magic is just… yours. It doesn’t feel like anything in particular, nothing more than a familiar tingle in your hands and a weight against your skin. Though you like describing it as gold, in reality, your magic doesn’t have any colour or any real tangibility to it apart from a fleeting pressure. The idea of it being “gold” is just how you feel about it. It never occurred to you that others could feel it, let alone feel differently about it—living amongst humans, your magic has always subconsciously curled tighter around your arms when you interact with the villagers, not wanting to weird them out with your abnormality or make them feel intimidated by you.

Hansol nods, tail swishing once more. The static has caused all his white fur to stand on end, making him look even more fluffy and adorable. “Yeah,” he says again. “It’s so much calmer than the way my magic feels. It’s really cool.”

He’s looking at you earnestly, as if expecting you to totally agree that your magic is “calmer” than his. And even though you’ve only felt his magic twice before, you nod along in agreement anyway, and Hansol nods back, satisfied with your assent. Then he lowers his gaze back to his lap, opens his hand again, and goes back to playing with your magic.

An endeared laugh bubbles up into your throat, and you smile at the top of Hansol’s head before turning back to your book. Goodness, Hansol is so ridiculously cute.

That interaction only happened some days ago, and whenever Hansol smiles at you or stiltedly asks if he can help you around the house, the surge of affection comes back even harder. So you cannot stand Seungcheol standing here, right now, frowning at you like you’re being unreasonable in your decision to treat Hansol like a normal being.

Seungcheol continues to frown, and you simply stare defiantly back, arms crossed. You don’t let him walk further into the cottage, and a stare-off commences there in the front hallway, neither of you willing to back down.

That is, until there’s a loud crash from further inside the house, and both of you flinch in alarm.

“What was that?” Seungcheol asks, and you look back to where the sound had come from. Connected to the living room, behind a door disguised as an unassuming bookshelf is your own personal library, filled with all the tomes and books on magic and alchemy you’ve collected over the centuries. That’s where the sound’s originated from, which is definitely a cause for concern, but you don’t say so, lest Seungcheol uses this to fuel his argument against Hansol.

“Probably nothing,” you say, though you still glance over in the direction of the library. “You know my cottage. Everything’s old and falling apart.”

Seungcheol looks at you suspiciously. “That’s a lie. You always keep everything in perfect condition.” He begins to move past you. “I bet it’s that demon, isn’t it?”

“No, I—” You try to stop Seungcheol from investigating, but it’s a futile effort. “Cheol, come on, you shouldn’t go see him, he’s still unwell and you could end up distressing him—”

Hurriedly, you trot after Seungcheol through the bookshelf door and into the library, only to end up slamming face-first into his back when he stops abruptly, stunned at the sight before him.

You’re quite proud of your library. It’s an open secret that the bookshelf in your living room leads to it, which is cool all by itself, but your library is also made of magic. What appears as a normal, small study behind the bookshelf turns into a large and sprawling library with high ceilings and mahogany shelves and rows upon rows of books when you step inside. 

You’d allowed Hansol access to the library when he’d asked what was behind the bookshelf, and as far as you know, he’s been peacefully situated there the entire day. But, as you peer over Seungcheol’s shoulder to see why he’s suddenly stopped, you realise you can’t see the yokai at all.

In the middle of the floor, there’s a large… fort of books. A book fort. With four walls built of books piled on top of each other, complete with battlements made of upright books and towers with open books as turrets, it’s actually quite amazing to see. The only drawback is how some of the walls are falling down, books tumbling from where they’re piled up. 

Also the large spread of ice coming from under the fort, that’s very slowly continuing to pool further and further outwards.

Seungcheol blinks. “Uh… Y/N… you wouldn’t happen to be doing this, would you?”

You shake your head. “Weather magic is my weak point.”

Suddenly, two white ears and a head pop up from behind one of the crumbling walls, and Hansol’s eyes widen when he realises you’re here with a guest.

“Oh!” He ducks his head down, and then straightens once more so he can fully see over the walls of the fort. “Hello. I was just building a castle. One of the walls fell down, ‘cause I sneezed, but I can fix it.”

The tip of his nose is slightly dusted with glittering frost, but he doesn’t even seem to notice that or the ice that’s creeping across the wooden floor. His eyes are shining as he looks at you, infinitely more relaxed than when you’d first seen him, and he inclines his head respectfully in Seungcheol’s direction, looking as humble and polite as possible even when half his face is covered by his book fort. 

“Hello to you too. It’s nice to meet you.”

You’re not sure what Seungcheol is most flabbergasted by: Hansol’s gentle manners, or the book fort he’s quite amiably making in your very respectable-looking, very grandiose library, or the circle of ice that’s very clearly coming from the yokai. Hansol is very close to giving the village leader a heart attack any time soon, it seems.

“I— This is— You’re using Y/N’s books to do this?” Seungcheol eventually manages to ask, looking both confused and horrified. “She let you?”

Hansol’s ears droop just slightly, but there’s no obvious change to his expression. “Well… no. But none of the books are damaged, and I’m going to put them back once I’m done with them.”

“It’s fine,” you interject. “I could probably fix a few ripped pages. You can do what you like.”

You couldn’t, probably, fix a few ripped pages, because each book is nearly as old as you. But you’re not going to say that, because you don’t want the confusion on Seungcheol’s face to turn into grim disapproval, and you also don’t want Hansol to feel guilty for what he’s doing.

“Although,” you say, looking down pointedly at the floor, “do you think you could stop the ice?”

Hansol peers over the wall, eyes widening when he realises what you’re talking about. “Oh, sorry. It just happened when I sneezed, I think. Everything is still going haywire… I think I’m still sick.”

The movement of the ice slows to a halt, until only a spattering of frost manages to creep over to where you and Seungcheol are standing. It covers the whole expanse of the floor, now, and there’s not a single patch of the warm brown that’s not frosted over, but it’s okay. That is definitely something you can fix.

Ignoring Seungcheol, who’s still standing there like he can’t believe he’s looking at a walking, talking yokai, you move forward and make your slippery way over to the fort. Hansol moves away a column of books, allowing him to step out of the fort and meet you.

“Is this one of the humans?” Hansol asks in a low voice before you even say anything. The sweetness in his face has disappeared, replaced with an icy look of anxiety. “He’s one of the mortals who don’t like me, isn’t he?”

You try not to wince. “Yes. He’s Seungcheol, the village leader here. He… wants me to get you out of here.”

Hansol regards you for a moment. “You make it sound a lot nicer than what he actually means,” he says. “He wants me killed, doesn’t he? At the very least, badly injured and banished from here.”

“Well… no,” you try to say, but yes, that’s actually exactly what Seungcheol wants. “He doesn’t want you badly injured. He’s just… scared. Of your kind.”

“Hm.” Hansol nods, expressionless. “Same thing, really. He wants me out.”

“Okay, Y/N, stop whispering with the… him,” Seungcheol says, and you look up to see the village leader making his slow way across the ice towards you. “We need to talk. Discuss what you’re going to do, because you are going to do it, for the safety of our village.”

You frown, frustrated. “Hansol’s not a threat to our safety,” you argue. Seungcheol continues to slide gingerly across the ice, and he sighs and shakes his head as you carry on. “He doesn’t have anything against humans. And if he did, he’d have been dead long before we found him at the river, because—Hansol. Tell him why you ended up there.”

Hansol hesitates, looking at you unsurely. The other day, you finally managed to ask him why he’d been so injured and how he’d gotten trapped in the river. It was nothing unexpected, but it still had broken your heart, and hopefully, hopefully, it’s enough for Seungcheol to feel a little bit of empathy towards the yokai. Seungcheol’s a good man, a kind man, and all he needs to do is realise Hansol’s not evil, and he’ll warm up to him faster than anyone could think possible.

“Some other yokai attacked me in the forest,” Hansol says slowly. “Really old yokai. Older than me. And… I got hurt.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, looking at you like he doesn’t get the point of this. You simply glare at him, silently telling him to continue listening.

“It wasn’t bad. Just a broken tail and some scratches,” Hansol says, and Seungcheol blinks, surprised at Hansol’s nonchalance. “But then some demon hunters found me, and tried to get me to… attack them? I dunno. They were picking a fight, and when I didn’t give it to them, they also hurt me.”

Almost imperceptibly, Seungcheol’s face softens a fraction, and you feel a flicker of hope. You know he’s weak in the face of innocently victimised stories like this.

“And so I was trying to run away from them, but everything is kind of in pain at that point. So I end up tripping down the mountain and into your river. My magic goes haywire when I’m sick,” he adds, “so that’s how I end up accidentally freezing ice all over me, too. It kind of responds to my feelings I guess? So when I’m scared, it starts acting up even more, which is why the ice was so thick, too. Like it was trying to protect me, ‘cause it knew I was scared of someone hurting me.”

It’s the most that Hansol’s said in one go, uninterrupted, before. Seungcheol’s face softens even further, and he straightens slowly. He’s been standing still, a few metres away the entire time Hansol’s been talking, like he’s been frozen by his tale.

“And yeah,” Hansol finishes awkwardly, ears twitching. He’s sensed the change in atmosphere, Seungcheol’s empathy tangible in the air. “Then I ended up here.”

“After several, painful weeks of healing,” you add, and Hansol nods jerkily.

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Seungcheol says gently. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise you were so scared. But…” And then he sighs, straightening up further, the softness melting away from his face. “That doesn’t mean you’re not a harm to the others, now you’re all better. Who knows how you might feel when you’re hungry, or angry. You said your magic acts up according to your feelings, and I can’t have it acting up and hurting people here.”

Hansol’s face scrunches up in confusion. “When I’m hungry?”

It’s a bit absurd that’s the thing he’s focusing on, so you feel indignation over Seungcheol’s whole speech on his behalf, crying out at the injustice.

“What do you mean?” you argue. “You’re saying that like he’s some mindless beast.”

“He may as well be, for all I know,” Seungcheol sighs. “He’s not human, Y/N. We don’t know how he’ll act. And I need to think about the villagers. They’re… they’re like family to me, you know that.”

“I’m not human either,” you point out angrily. “And yet I’m also a part of this village. What are you saying, Cheol? Do you not consider me family?”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head instantly. “No, you are. But still, you’re more human than he is. And… there are days where I’m a bit wary of you too, Y/N.” At your outraged look, he rushes to continue, “Because you’re so powerful! But you’ve been with us for so many years, during the time of my father and his father, and his father before that, so I know you’re good. You’ve saved their lives. Saved everyone’s lives. Hansol, on the other hand…”

You scoff, beyond furious. “That’s absurd. There’s no such thing as being ‘good’, just as there’s no such thing as being ‘evil’. We don’t live in a fucking fairytale, Seungcheol.”

“I know. Maybe if you’d made different choices, I’d think of you as less good, too, but…” Seungcheol trails off, shrugging helplessly.

You stare at him, eyes so impossibly wide that it’s actually hurting your eye sockets, astounded by what he’s just said. Seungcheol? Thinking of you as evil? Just because of your power? 

Beside you, Hansol stiffens just slightly, and during the course of the conversation, he’s somehow ended up so close to you that you can feel his magic simmering frantically under his skin. You don’t know why he’s so worked up, and distantly, you wonder whether it’s on your behalf.

Seungcheol, noticing how irate you’re getting, takes a step forward to try and placate you. But he misjudges his balance on the ice surrounding the fort, leg twisting and his eyes widen and he yelps as he falls forward, on course to crashing face-first onto the hard, frozen ground. Your eyes widen, and you reach out to him, before then—

There’s a blur of white fur and Hansol catches him before he falls over and breaks all the bones in his knees, gripping him loosely around the torso, getting to Seungcheol before you can even blink. He gingerly helps him back into an upright position, and you wave a hand to whisk away the rest of the ice with streams of gold before another accident like that happens again. Hansol’s still holding Seungcheol when you’re finished, but by the shoulders now, looking the village leader right in the eye, golden irises soft and determined at the same time.

“I get you have a responsibility,” Hansol says. “I used to have one too, in the wild. To keep myself alive. But my rule, and this should be yours too, is to not hurt anything that doesn’t hurt you first. I haven’t hurt you. You shouldn’t hurt me. And Y/N—” He looks over at you, eyes flashing, before looking back at Seungcheol. “Y/N has never hurt you. So don’t act like you’re preparing for the day she one day will.”

Seungcheol’s face doesn’t change, but you’ve known him long enough to detect the minute shifts in the air around him as he digests Hansol’s words and, grudgingly, accepts it.

“I apologise,” he finally says, reluctant but sincere in the way only Seungcheol can be. “That was cruel of me. To you and Y/N.”

He looks at you, and Hansol’s hands fall away, allowing him to walk towards you.

“Sorry. But you have to understand where I’m coming from,” Seungcheol says, almost pleading, and you realise that, whilst his stance on Hansol’s existence has wavered, his overall reluctance over him being here hasn’t changed. “At least don’t let others see him, if he’s going to stay. They’ll be terrified.”

“That doesn’t sound like Hansol’s problem,” you retort. “I know these villagers, Cheol, and they’ll warm up to him, they really will.”

You look over at Hansol as you say your next words.

“Hansol is sweet and kind and really rather funny, and it breaks my heart to hide him from others because he might be seen as scary. That’s just people’s prejudice talking.” You smile. Hansol’s eyes are wide, lips parted slightly, and a fluttering warmth unfurls up inside you as you continue to smile at him. “Because I’ve seen Hansol, and he’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met.”

Hansol’s entire face goes pink, and he looks away.

“Maybe so,” Seungcheol says heavily, and you look back at him. The warmth in your chest fades at his tone, dropping to the depths of your stomach. “But I can’t risk them being near him. Don’t let him out.”

You sigh, disappointed. “No. He can leave the house if he wants to, Seungcheol. He’s not some kind of housepet you can impose rules on just like that and expect me to follow through with them.”

“Y/N—”

“Get out of my home,” you say, evenly. “Go. You can take your rules and go piss off out of my sight.”

───────────── ‘✽, 

You stew in your anger towards Seungcheol for several days. 

He comes to your door every so often, either with a letter or a plea to talk through this, but you refuse to let him in and instead tell him to, not so kindly, fuck off. 

Hansol looks at you with a mixture of affection and disappointment each time you do so. You don’t really understand why he looks at you like that—neither the affection nor disappointment—but he doesn’t say anything and goes back to what he was doing soon after, either playing with your magic, or his own, or reading your books.

Having him around the house is quite like having a very adorable, very shy, fox. You might’ve gotten furious at Seungcheol for treating Hansol like a pet, but you don’t mean it like having a pet fox: it’s just like having an inquisitive, cute being around the house who quite likes following you around as you go about your day.

It’s cute. He’s cute, with his swishing tail and his sudden bursts of frost when he’s fiddling with his fingers, and the way he stays perfectly still whenever you gain the courage to slowly inch closer to him on the sofa until you’re laying on his shoulder, at the perfect angle to peer down at the book in his hands so you can read it with him. They’re all your books, of course, so you know what they’re all about, but it’s quite nice leaning against Hansol, feeling his warmth through the silk of his clothing, and the pleasant hum of his magic under your ear.

He never initiates physical contact, but he seems to like having you near. He’s never protested when you’ve held his hand or laid on his shoulder or (very, very gently) touched his ears, so.

He’s quite like a fox, in that way. But he’s like a fox in other ways, too: namely, how it appears that he’s a bit nocturnal.

Sometimes, you’ll awaken at three, four, five o’clock in the morning to someone clattering around in your house. It always turns out to be Hansol, trying to occupy himself without waking you up, but always failing to do so.

“Hansol?” you murmur blearily, shuffling into the kitchen where the flurry of clatters had emitted from earlier. It’s dark, and all the curtains are drawn; nevertheless, his dim silhouette looks distinctly guilty as he whirls around to face you, pots and pans in his hands. “What’re you doing?”

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. “I read some potion in your book, and I wanted to try it out.”

“At three in the morning?”

“Five,” Hansol corrects. You fix him with a look, and he winces, demon magic-enhanced night vision meaning he can see you perfectly clearly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shake your head, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. It’s cold in the kitchen, and being exposed to the chilly night temperature is gradually waking you up. “It’s okay. I guess you don’t sleep a lot, huh? You’re wide awake, even though it’s so early in the morning.”

Hansol shrugs. “Dunno. But I always just feel like I have so much energy. Like it doesn’t have anywhere to go, and I can’t sleep for too long before it tells me to do something.”

“I see.” You purse your lips thoughtfully, pondering why Hansol’s feeling like this and what could cause it. And then, a realisation strikes you and your eyes widen. “Oh. Oh, I get it. I understand why you’re feeling that way.”

The yokai tilts his head. “Really?”

“Yeah, and it’s totally okay,” you reassure, nodding your head. “Totally understandable, too. But don’t worry, it’s easily fixed.”

You wave a hand and turn all the light fixtures on so you can see Hansol properly. The yokai literally does look like he’s vibrating with extra energy, holding your cooking utensils in his hands, ears perked upright and tail fluffed up to the max. Yeah, he’s definitely understimulated and frustrated with it right now, even if he doesn’t realise that’s what it is.

You smile. This is a good way to help him and piss off Seungcheol at the same time.

“Come on, Hansol. Let’s go outside.”

───────────── ‘✽, 

Not even an hour later, you’re making a trek up the mountains in your warmest clothes, lagging behind Hansol even with your magic-aided agility helping you up the hardest of the steps. The yokai is bounding on ahead, nimble and quick-footed even in the darkness of the early winter morning, and you can hear the light crunch of snow under his footsteps as he moves.

This is what Hansol needed. Some time outside, where he can finally breathe.

Some minutes later, as you’re sitting on a log on the path to catch your breath, Hansol comes back down the mountain to meet you, settling down by your side.

“It’s so quiet,” he whispers. The air around you is lit with a faint glow, courtesy of a visibility spell you conjured so you wouldn’t fall flat on your face as you walked. It makes Hansol’s face look golden as he smiles at you, eyes shining. “Everything is so quiet out here. I can hear the animals.”

You smile back, finding joy in how relaxed he looks. “Doesn’t that make it noisy?”

Hansol shakes his head, and then looks away from you, ears cocked to the side, listening. “No. This is like a familiar buzz of noise, so familiar that it becomes silent.” He looks back at you again, smiling. “Down in the village, it’s so noisy because of all the people, but up here, it’s all gone.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” you say with a smile, and Hansol nods so quickly that you laugh, endeared. “I’m glad. You can go off for a bit, if you want, and I’ll wait for you here.”

Hansol beams. “Okay.”

And like that, he’s off, nothing more than a faint swish of a silver tail before he disappears once more.

He doesn’t come back to you for some time, which gives you a chance to sit there and breathe in the cool air. It’s so cold that it feels like inhaling clouds of peppermint, but it’s… relaxing. 

You haven’t had a chance to properly rest this winter. Winter’s a tricky time for you: the cold numbs your senses and makes your magic more sluggish. This year feels much colder than usual, and now the prolonged adrenaline that came with bringing Hansol back from the brink of death is fading, you’re beginning to anticipate feeling more worn out more often, the warm fizz in the tips of your fingers not as present as it ought to be.

Strangely, though. It hasn’t happened yet. Maybe being around Hansol and his frost-related magic has built up your resistance to the cold.

Or, he’s just so lovely and comforting that you don’t feel the effects of the winter.

That’s always a possibility. You look down at your hands, still glowing slightly with the visibility light you’ve put on yourself. It hasn’t faltered even once, a brilliant gold, and when you think of the colour of Hansol’s eyes, the light seems to glow even more.

You breathe in, and then exhale, kicking your feet out in front of you, looking down the dim mountain. You’ve been up here, thinking, for so long that the weak sunrise is beginning to peek its head above the horizon. Hansol still hasn’t come back. Though, you find you’re not too worried about that: somehow, you know that he will come back to you, though you can’t find ears nor tail of him while he’s gone.

It’s incredible how much you’ve come to trust and believe in Hansol, though he’s only been with you for several weeks. He’s been so reserved, anxious and afraid at times, especially during the early days, when he’d been bandaged up and newly healing in an unfamiliar environment, but now it’s clear how earnest and gentle he is. Something in your chest tightens and then relaxes with happiness whenever you see him smile. He’s just so—genuine, and you really like that about him.

You like him. A lot. He’s certainly an unexpected new part of your life, but now he’s here, and you can’t imagine living without the silver-furred fox yokai by your side.

There’s a rustle in the evergreen bushes to your left, and, as if he’s here answering your summons, a familiar silver head of hair pops out, golden eyes shining when he sees you. 

He blinks at you, ears flicking curiously, twigs in his hair like he’s been rolling around on the forest floor. His tail is out of sight, but you can imagine how it’s waving from side to side in contentment, the morning dew slowly turning into frozen crystals in his fur. You smile.

“Hey,” you greet, the moment you see Hansol’s face. “Are you gonna come over?”

Instantly, he stands up, hops over the bush and makes his way to you. His footfalls are light, looking like he’s dancing over the rocks before he settles next to you once more, looking like he never left your side.

“Hey,” he says. “There are so many rabbits in these mountains, you know? Like I’ve never seen so many rabbits gathered in one place before, because normally they get killed by hunters or there’s just not enough food in that area to sustain so many. It’s actually insane how many rabbits you have up here.” When you just smile, his eyes widen, ears pricking upright. “Oh, is it you? Do you do something to help them stay alive? With your magic and all that?”

Hansol then launches into a flurry of questions for you, so eager and animated that it surprises you a little, before melting your heart.

At the sight of sunrise, you’d taken down your visibility spell, but Hansol is still glowing, looking so alive with his cold-dusted cheeks, shining eyes, wind-fluffed hair and the frost dusting the tip of his nose, which must have accidentally happened when he’d gotten too excited and lost control of his magic.

Hansol’s positively lit up, now he’s surrounded by all this nature. He must’ve been so cooped up and nervous before, when he was just in your house, barely anything to do. Now he’s healed, and outside, and you can tell that being out of the house is where he’s meant to be.

“It’s not me,” you admit after Hansol’s finished conjuring up crazy theories. “Well, kind of. I messed around with the mountains about eighty years ago and did something by accident so we get a lot more winter flowers than normal. The rabbits love eating them, so we get a lot of them too.”

“Oh,” Hansol says, amazed. “That makes so much sense. I saw so many flowers. I thought that was a little bit weird, but I just chalked it up to Mother Nature having fun, or something.”

You laugh. “Yeah. I guess Mother Nature was having fun,” you say, gesturing to yourself, and Hansol grins too. His eyes crinkle as he does so, the corners of his lips spread wide so his pearly whites are fully visible, the tips of his yokai fangs slightly on display. Even his big, bright smile is as cute as he is. You’ve never seen him smile this widely before. It’s… pretty.

Even though he’s all warmed up to you now, even though it’s clear he trusts you, it’s obvious he’ll always be most at peace out here in the big, wide world.

His gaze slides away from yours, looking at something behind you, and he gasps.

“What is it?” You turn to look back, trying to find what had caught his eye, but Hansol doesn’t respond. He jumps up, diving into the bushes without a word.

A moment later he emerges, and in his hands is…

“A daffodil?” you say, amazed. “What’s this doing here? Spring is very, very far off.”

“I guess it’s because of you,” Hansol says, handing you the flower. 

You accept it gratefully, tracing the edges of its buttery yellow petals, such a warm, golden colour in your hands, in stark contrast to the cold white of the snow around you. It’s so pretty, so pristine, and it’s amazing it managed to survive in the freezing winter temperatures. Must be due to your magic, like Hansol said.

“It looks like you,” Hansol says suddenly, and you look at him in surprise. 

“Really? How?”

“You look like spring, to me,” he says. The frosted tip of his nose looks pink, as do his cheeks. A decidedly warmer, blushier pink than they’d looked before. “All warm and gold and pretty. Like the daffodil. And I…” He pauses, and then seems to change his mind, shutting his mouth and blinking at you like he wasn’t about to say anything else.

You smile, so endeared that you’re practically glowing with it. “Thank you,” you say, touched, and look back down at the daffodil in your hands before raising your eyes to the definitely-blushing yokai once more. “That’s so sweet.”

Hansol shrugs, a little bashful, before standing up abruptly.

“I’m gonna go find the rabbits again,” he says, and before you can even reply, he’s disappeared.

You laugh, breathing in the crisp air and then releasing it in a sigh, feeling warm all over despite the cold. You shake your head, fond. Hansol is just so…

That’s it, you decide. You’re not going to let Seungcheol dictate where Hansol can and can’t be. You’ll let Hansol do whatever he wants, and encourage him to do whatever he wants. 

Whatever makes him smile.

───────────── ‘✽, 

From that day on, you make it a point to take Hansol to the mountains as often as you can.

He loves it—he’ll never say it in so many words, extremely shy when it comes to voicing his preferences for reasons you cannot discern, but it’s so obvious that those few hours he gets to spend with you, in the fresh air, away from all the people, are his favourite hours in the day.

It’s another one of those mornings when you’re up in the mountains with him. You can’t come here every day: you’d collapse from exhaustion if you had to wake up at four in the morning every day, but today, it’s a particularly clear-skied day, and you wanted to watch the sunrise with Hansol.

He’s sitting shoulder to shoulder with you, looking silently down at the village below. It’s still not sunrise yet, but the sky’s beginning to lighten gradually, and you can see some of the windows beginning to light up with orange lights, everyone slowly waking. Hansol hasn’t said a word for a while, so you haven’t either, content to just look down at everything in silence.

The entire experience is rather humbling. From the mountain, the village looks so small, like it’s merely a miniscule dot in existence, something that could be missed in a single blink. Like each mortal is worth next to nothing. Like each could be destroyed in a second.

That’s what a lesser immortal would think, anyway. For you, however, rather than how fragile life is, being this high up makes you marvel at the intricacy of it. Every person, every soul, despite being so small, is filled to the brim with so many unique experiences that no one else can ever live through as that person did. They live, and they die, but almost magnificently so. Like a one-of-a-kind snowflake that melts as soon as it lies in your hands.

You look at Hansol next to you. His eyelashes flutter thoughtfully as he looks down at the village, delicate against his pale skin. 

Every life should be cherished, you think. Because if even the fleetings lives of humans are that complex, then what of the immortal creatures, who live forever? No one should tell them to hide themselves away.

“I can hear you cursing Seungcheol in your head,” Hansol says abruptly, pulling you out of your thoughts. He’s staring at you, now, no longer focused on the village, and he tilts his head bemusedly when you meet his gaze. “You’re still mad at him, aren’t you?”

You blink, and then smile. You were kind of cursing out Cheol in your head, you admit, and it’s kind of funny that Hansol picked up on it.

“I am,” you sigh, looking down. “Well, now I’m more annoyed, really. I know I should be glad that he’s not going to extremes, like some other people in the world, but…”

Hansol nods slowly. “I get where he’s coming from, though,” he admits, and you look up. “What? Seungcheol cares for his village. These people… they all mean a lot to him, and he doesn’t know me, so I guess it’s natural for him to be cautious.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s no excuse. These people all mean a lot to me, too. I watched them all grow up! And Cheol should know I wouldn’t suggest anything that puts them in danger.” You frown. “It’s frustrating. It feels like he doesn’t trust my judgement, even though he’s literally known me his entire life.”

The yokai hums, and reaches over to pat your hand placatingly where it rests in your lap.

“Also, it pisses me off that he’s saying all this without ever making an effort to get to know you, and see if his judgement is right,” you say, looking at Hansol, catching his hand in your own when he begins to move away. “You’re just—you’re just so lovely, and how dare Seungcheol try to hide you away, like you’re something taboo, or something to be ashamed of?”

Hansol’s eyes widen, and he blinks rapidly, before averting his gaze to your intertwined hands. “Oh,” he says, after a moment, clearly embarrassed by your sincere compliments. “That’s… nice.”

You laugh, fond, squeezing his hand comfortingly. “I’m always nice,” you tease. “I’m the nicest person in the entire world, actually.”

To your surprise, Hansol doesn’t smile back at your joke, and simply ducks his head shyly. “You are.” 

And then he keeps lowering himself down until he’s laying in your lap, the tips of his flickering slightly at the contact as he adjusts himself until he's practically lying down in the log, head in your lap. You stiffen in surprise, and Hansol slowly shifts so he can blink up at you with innocent, gold eyes. 

“Can I lie here?” he asks, even though he's clearly very much lying there already, and you smile, relaxing. 

“Yeah, I guess,” you say, and Hansol smiles, closing his eyes as your hand goes to his hair and begins to gently run through the strands with the tips of your fingers. 

You stay like that for some time, running your fingers through Hansol’s hair and over the soft fur of his ears. Abruptly, he playfully flicks his ears as you trace a finger through the fur at the base of them, making you yelp in surprise, and he smiles, pleased at having made you jump. You lightly tug at a few strands of hair, teasing, and he smiles wider, eyes still shut, the slight points of his canines visible.

Too distracted with Hansol’s face, you end up completely missing the full sunrise, and eventually it becomes late enough in the morning that the village fully awakens, bustling with noise as people go about their day. But curiously, you can’t hear a single thing. It’s like your world has narrowed down to you, your hands, and the yokai laid comfortably in your lap.

He really is very pretty. You notice the small spattering of snowflake-like freckles on his cheeks, and smile. He’s so pretty that it isn’t even fair.

You trace a thumb over his cheekbones, opening your mouth to comment on them before Hansol’s eyes snap open, and his ears suddenly tilt towards something down the mountain, listening. Your hand freezes, and you let him turn his head, alert.

“What’s wrong?”

Then, you hear it: the crunching of twigs underfoot, and the telltale huffing and puffing of a human making their way up the mountain. Your hand falls, and you get ready to stand up before—

“Y/N?”

Soonyoung, clad in winter furs and holding a woven basket in his hands, blinks at you in confusion, and then he glances to the yokai in your lap, and shakes his head, his expression becoming even more mystified than before.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” you ask back, equally confused as Soonyoung. “You literally hate climbing the mountains. What are you doing?”

Soonyoung looks at you oddly, lifting up the empty basket. “I’m here to collect wildflowers for you,” he says. “I asked you the other day if you could make some of that non-dangerous magic fire you did last year. You said you needed wildflowers harvested at sunrise to make that potion, so I’m here to get those.”

“Oh. Did you really ask me that?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung says. “You said you’d make them for me. And also complained for like five minutes because I tried to pay you, and you wanted to refuse ‘cause you said I was paying you too much. As if there’s such a thing as being paid too much money.” He rolls his eyes for emphasis, and you laugh.

The conversation comes back to you now, and you shrug sheepishly. “Yeah. Sorry. I forgot about that.”

Soonyoung makes a disgruntled sound, feigning annoyance before his eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Don’t worry about it, boo. Just as long as you remember to make the potion, it’s all fine. The children’ll love it for the bonfire tonight.”

Your eyes widen. “You want me to make it for tonight? There’s a bonfire tonight?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung says. “I specifically told you when I asked, as well. Goodness, you’re forgetting everything today, huh?” Then he gestures casually to Hansol, who’s still lying in your lap, looking unsurely at the villager. “Don’t tell me, you also forgot you have the injured demon in your lap, too?”

He points to Hansol so naturally, so calmly that you look down in surprise, as if you really had forgotten the yokai was there. Soonyoung laughs, shaking his head as he bends down near a bush, poking through the dirt to see if there are any flowers. He turns his back on you and Hansol, craning down towards the ground to see better as he continues to talk.

“Cheol told me all about the demon and how he disapproves of you keeping him alive,” Soonyoung says. He manages to find a few wildflowers, and lets out an aha! of pride, putting them away in his basket. “Not gonna lie, I agreed with him a bit. But then I come up here and find him in your lap as you pet him like a cat, and now I’m thinking, maybe not so much.”

Soonyoung turns back to face you once again, and somehow, during those thirty seconds, he’s managed to get dirt all over his nose.

“Plus, you seem to like him,” he carries on. “So he can’t be bad, can you? Because you’d kick his ass if he was.”

You quirk a grin at that, proud. Then you nod down at Hansol. “He has a name, though, you know. And he can hear you.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen in realisation, and he stands up quickly, brushing down his clothes. “Oh, sorry, you’re right. Sorry. Hi, I’m Soonyoung, one of the villagers who live here. It’s nice to meet you.”

He extends a gloved hand towards Hansol, and Hansol looks at the hand for a long moment. Then he slowly sits upright again, and grasps Soonyoung’s hand in a firm handshake, the corners of his mouth relaxing slightly.

“Hansol,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

And then he must do something, because Soonyoung lets out a small yip in surprise, withdrawing his hand quickly as Hansol observes him amusedly, eyes glinting. 

“Did you…” Soonyoung starts, wide-eyed. “Did you just. Give me an electric shock? On purpose?”

Hansol cracks the slightest smile, evidently pleased with Soonyoung’s reaction. He’s in a playful mood today, you muse, smiling as Soonyoung stutters, clearly not sure what to do when a yokai plays a prank on him like this. It makes you smile too, amused.

“You have to show me how to do that,” Soonyoung eventually says, going from surprised to confused to full of amazement. “Can you show me? Is that something which can be taught?”

That makes Hansol smile properly, lips curving upwards. “You’re funny.”

“I’m being serious!” Soonyoung says, but something about Hansol’s smile must make him smile too, because eventually he laughs, shaking his head. “Goodness, you magic people need to stop messing with me. One day, I’ll accidentally set myself on fire, and it’ll be your fault.”

“You’d do that anyway,” you tease, and Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I have to get going, I think. Jeonghan’s coming over for a poultice for his back pain, and I need to get to my cottage before he does.”

“Okay,” Soonyoung says. “This is a hell of a way up the mountain, by the way. I might go down with you as well, and see if I’ve missed any flowers.”

“Cool.” This is definitely not that far up the mountain, and even though Soonyoung hates climbing, it shouldn’t have taken him more than twenty minutes to reach where you are. It’s clear he wants to walk with you for a moment to tell you something, so you look at Hansol, and offer him the chance to stay up in the mountains by himself for a bit.

He agrees, so you and Soonyoung begin your slow descent.

“What do you want?” you ask, when you’re out of Hansol’s hearing range.

Soonyoung just smiles, shaking his head. “Nothing bad,” he says. “I meant it when I said Hansol seems like a cool guy. I just…” He pauses, thinks over his words, and then leans in closer. “Bring him to the bonfire tonight.”

You reel back. “What? Are you crazy?”

“Hey, if you’re worried about him getting hurt, you shouldn’t be,” Soonyoung says placatingly. “Hansol’s a demon. He can hold his own. Plus, the people aren’t as against yokai as you might think. Cheol’s just overly cautious, and the elderly might have traditional views about it, but it won’t be hard to make them like him. He’s cute.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“He is!” Soonyoung argues. “I saw him in your lap, Y/N. He’s adorable. And very… docile? Like, he’s so quiet. But also very silly. The kids would love him, you know. So would everyone else.”

“Even Seungcheol?”

Soonyoung thinks about it for a second. The cold air has made his cheeks all ruddy red, and he looks like a very earnest, very red-cheeked schoolboy as he nods firmly. “Yes. Even Seungcheol.”

You hum, still incredibly sceptical. “Well. I’ll think about it. We’ll have to see.”

───────────── ‘✽, 

Unfortunately, even though you were slightly swayed by Soonyoung’s words and his instant kindness and all-round chillness in Hansol’s presence, you ultimately end up not bringing Hansol to the bonfire night. It’s not your decision, though: it’s Hansol’s.

“Are you worried about the humans?” you ask, when Hansol tells you that, respectfully, he doesn’t want to go. “You don’t have to worry about that. I could blast them all to pieces for insulting you, if that makes you feel better.”

Hansol smiles a little, before shaking his head. “No. It’s actually just… I’m not really a big fan of all the noise and stuff. And how hot bonfires are.”

“Oh.” You soften, concerned. “Have you been… hurt by fire before?”

“Huh? Oh, no,” Hansol says. He shrugs. “I just don’t like being too warm. Makes me uncomfortable.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. Because even as he says this, he’s cuddling up into your side, head on your shoulder, his tail curled comfortably around him. “Really?” you say. “You don’t like being too warm?”

Hansol’s ears flick. “Yeah. My magic originates from winter, as you might have noticed, so…”

“Oh, I hadn’t realised,” you say teasingly, tapping the tip of his nose lightly. “I thought the white fur and random bursts of frost on your skin meant you were a summery fox.”

Hansol scrunches his nose, and you laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, it does mean I don’t like being all warm, so fires are a no-go for me. Especially bonfires, where there are many people. That’s way too much warmth for me, for sure.”

“I see,” you say, reaching a hand up to tuck some of his silver hair out of his face as he nestles closer into your side. “That’s cool. But I am going to have to go, even if you aren’t. Will you be okay if I leave you here by yourself in the evening?”

“Yeah. Can you make me dinner before you go, though? Last time I tried, I almost destroyed your kitchen.”

“What? When was that?”

“Oops. Did I not tell you?”

Anyway, the bonfire night ends up being a bit of a disappointment. Several of the villagers have cottoned on to the fact you’re housing the yokai, and express their concerns to you over the matter several times over the course of the night. You love these people, you really do, but hearing so many of them advise you to send him back off into the woods for your own safety really wears you down after a while.

“I think Y/N understands what you’re saying now, imo,” a gentle voice butts in, right when you’re in the middle of having a particularly exhausting conversation. This tricky older woman’s insisting you let the yokai go… only, she’s using much more unkind words.

You were very, very close to losing your cool with her—respect the elders be damned because hell, you’re way older than she is—before she’s interrupted mid-sentence by a villager appearing over his shoulder, and you smile in relief as you recognise him.

At the call of “auntie”, she looks up and comes face-to-face with your saviour, Joshua, and all it takes is another gentle smile and some sweet words before he successfully convinces her to leave your side and rejoin her friends on the other side of the bonfire.

“Don’t worry about it,” Joshua says when you thank him for his help. “You know how they are. Once they latch on to you, it’s impossible to get them to leave without using some sort of witchcraft to pry them away.”

You laugh at that. “And yet, it seemed to be you who helped get them off me. Maybe you’re the real witchcraft user out of the two of us.”

Joshua laughs, light and melodious, magical fire reflecting in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything to your joke, however, and nods into the distance behind you, down the darkened paths that lead to your cottage. “You need to bring him out, though,” he says. “Whilst he’s still unknown, they’ll continue conjuring theories that become wilder by the day. They need to see the yokai so their suspicions can be wiped away once and for all.”

“Wh—Hansol?” You blink. “It’s dangerous, Shua. They might hurt him.”

“They’re hurting him now,” Joshua says. “They’re hurting you and hurting him by making stuff up. Just introduce him to them, okay? He can’t become part of our village if he never meets our villagers.”

At your stunned look, Joshua smiles. 

“What? I know you, Y/N. You’re attached. You want him to stay. And honestly…” His smile turns a little more secretive, a little more knowing. “I think he wants to, too. The yokai will stay for you, but to truly bring him in, you have to bring him out to us.”

Joshua smiles again, the colours of his irises swirling together, before he pats you on the shoulder and gets up, leaving you there speechless.

He isn’t… wrong. But hearing it like that sounds insane.

You shake your head. Hansol will have to meet everyone sooner or later, you suppose. You very much do not want to go ahead with Seungcheol’s idea to let him be hidden, like a secret, so of course, you need to bring him out into the open.

You shake your head again, mystified. Joshua’s correct, but how does he know so much?

Honestly, you really do think he’s more of a witchcraft user out of the two of you. His incredible timing, his knowledge of all your thoughts, the fact he’d called Hansol a yokai rather than demon…

Also. How old even is he, anyway? 

Too confused and befuddled by all the thoughts in your head, you end up playing with the children and run through the fire all night instead. It’s a lot safer than having to deal with all the grown-up stuff of thinking about things.

───────────── ‘✽, 

Both Soonyoung’s and Joshua’s words linger in the back of your mind for days after that, and you contemplate how to get Hansol out of the house. Hansol had never really shown signs of wanting to be part of the village, which had made you reconsider this whole thing, wanting to brush away the villager’s words, before you actually asked the yokai, and—

Hansol shrugs. “Yeah. I’d like to get to know everyone. I want to be part of the village.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” he says again, smiling at you. “This village is your village, and I want to be with you.”

Oh. You smile back, touched. Hansol smiles wider, brightening at the eye contact, all sweet and lovely and really quite cute, before ducking his head and disappearing back through the shelves of your library once again.

So Hansol turns out to be not as against the idea as you thought, which makes you feel a lot better about thinking of how to get the villagers to trust him and how to get Seungcheol off your back for taking care of Hansol in the first place.

However, it ends up not being you who makes the first steps into getting him known. Oh, no.

Instead, Hansol does that all by himself.

It happens during the first snowfall of the year. You’d woken up to the beautiful sight of the white crystals floating down and covering the entire village with a soft, muffled coat, and the equally beautiful sight of Hansol, who had already woken up, practically pressing his nose against the window to look at the snow in awe.

He’d clearly wanted to go out and be in the snow—as a winter yokai, that made sense—but you’d had some errands to run that day, so you’d told him he could stay only in the front yard of the cottage and go no further.

Hansol had smiled at you, an amused quirk of his lips that acted as all the reassurance you needed.

So he’s sitting in the snow in front of your cottage, legs out in front of him, the silk of his clothes getting damper the longer he sits on the cold ground, but he hardly notices, more focused with tracing a finger through the soft white that is steadily building up.

Snowfall is Hansol’s most favourite wintry thing. It’s a perfect, wondrous phenomenon: the intersection of the perfect time and the perfect weather and the perfect temperature that makes the sky release soft handfuls of the white stuff down on Earth. Even nature falls silent when the snow falls. In Hansol’s opinion, that’s proof enough that it’s something to be appreciated beyond belief.

His robes, his old robes, used to have silver snowflakes embroidered into them, intricate and sprawling patterns that he could run his fingers over and almost feel the cold gust of wind that accompanied the snow. They’re not on the robes he’s wearing now—he’s wearing ones you’ve given him, after his old ones were ruined by his own blood—but he traces his fingers gently over the sleeves, letting frost spread out from his fingers like the feathery patterns that used to adorn the cloth he wore.

He quickly grows bored of that, though, and turns to the real snow in front of him, ears flicking absentmindedly to get rid of the small pile-up gathering on his head. He absentmindedly gathers the stuff in his hands, patting it into shapes and then leaving them out on the lawn. 

This carries on for some time, and eventually there is an army of misshapen snow clumps in your front yard, all frosted over with a touch of his magic, and he grins, satisfied. And then his ears twitch again, and he feels… eyes. Watching him.

Hansol turns around, and some houses away, peeking from over a well-trimmed, leafless hedge, he sees three children clad in fluffy winter clothes staring at him, curious.

He doesn’t have much experience with human children. Or any children, for that matter. But he’s pretty sure that, when a yokai makes eye contact with them, they’re not meant to light up with glee and come running over with absolutely no regard for the icy paths or the danger that said yokai could present.

Surprised, Hansol jumps up to his feet, reaching out hands to steady the little kids as they skid over the snow and come to a stop right in front of him, eyes shining, expectant. He doesn’t know what they’re expecting, and being so close to these mini humans is a very awkward experience for him. He’s not sure what to do.

So he lifts a hand, and waves. “Hello?”

The three children beam, and one of them, the girl, practically vibrates with happiness when he speaks.

“Hello!” she chirps, and waves back. “I’m Yeowon! What’s your name?”

Hansol blinks, taken aback by her enthusiasm. “I’m Hansol.”

“Hansol!” Yeowon keeps speaking in exclamation marks, and it’s honestly kind of amusing. “It’s nice to meet you! This is Junghoon, and this is Minjun!” she says, gesturing to the boys on either side of him, who also give Hansol equally enthusiastic waves.

“Hello,” he says unsurely. How old are these kids? He doesn’t know much about human years, but they look… very young. Where are their parents?

He doesn’t get to voice his concerns before Yeowon starts speaking again, going a mile a minute and he can hardly get a word in edgeways.

“We were watching you from Minjun’s house,” she says, and picks up one of the snow balls that Hansol was making, lifting it up so he can look at his own handiwork. “These are so pretty! We wanted to come over and play with you, ‘cause we’ve never seen you before, but you live with Miss Witch, right?”

Hansol opens his mouth, but it’s apparent that wasn’t an actual question when Yeowon barrels on.

“So you must be a good guy! So we wanted to come say hello and play.”

She blinks big, innocent eyes up at him, as do the two boys, evidently begging him to play with them, or something. He doesn’t know what play entails, but… there’s no harm in entertaining these fun-sized humans, right?

So Hansol nods, says they can play with him, and sits down in the snow again. And then, before he knows it, they’re all shrieking and climbing over him and asking him to make figurines out of ice and snow and patting his hair in amazement and asking if his ears are actually real.

Children are very overwhelming, Hansol quickly learns. But he also kind of likes them: likes the way their eyes light up when he makes them the little ice characters they want, likes their fascinated smiles and the way they very gently touch his ears and accidentally get damp suede of their gloves in his mouth in their excitement. They’re bubbly, full of life, and so friendly with him that it honestly makes him so delighted that it surprises him.

“Make me one too! Make me one too!”

“Your ears look super fluffy! Can I touch your tail?”

“Why are your eyes yellow?”

“Can you make me something out of magic too, Mister Fox?”

“Mister Fox! Mister Fox!”

Hansol doesn’t know how it happens, but he blinks and suddenly he’s surrounded by what seems to be every child in the village, clamouring around him and asking if he could play, Please, Mister Fox, won’t you?

Your front lawn is quickly becoming a gathering place for the little humans who had swarmed towards him so quickly that Hansol’s starting to think they were waiting in the background for his very opportunity, and he makes more ice figures and listens interestedly to their babbling as they conjure stories for the figurines on the spot. They’re all so very noisy, but Hansol smiles, brimming with a similar sort of energy as his magic fizzes and pops with glitters of snow and makes the children laugh.

There’s no other way to describe it. He’s feeling happiness, pure and simple.

Unbeknownst to Hansol, there’s one human who’d been watching the entire scene right from the beginning. Coming down the path, on his way to visit the village’s magic-user, Soonyoung had noticed Hansol sitting by himself and had prepared to go over, extend a hand and a friendly word before Yeowon, Junghoon and Minjun had run over.

As a result, Soonyoung retreated a little ways round the bend to watch from a distance, which is where he is now, smiling at the innocent joy of both the children and Hansol.

From the opposite end of the path, he spots you walking back to your cottage, and clocks the exact moment you realise what’s happening in your front yard. Your eyes widen, and you stop in your tracks, before your eyes slowly lift further and you notice Soonyoung standing there too, smiling.

See? he seems to say with your eyes, meeting your gaze. They love him. 

One of the children shrieks with laughter as she grabs Hansol’s tail and he playfully gasps in shock, scooping her up and lifting her into the air until she’s giggling and burbling for him to put her down. At his feet, one child is patting snow into the hem of his robes, and another is playing with a fox-eared figurine that Hansol had made him.

It looks so natural, and you watch them for a moment before looking at Soonyoung again. Soonyoung smiles even wider. You have nothing to worry about.

You laugh, a little bit in disbelief, warmth spreading across your face as you smile back, looking fondly at the sight in your front yard. Finally, you really do believe that that’s the truth.

───────────── ‘✽, 

“Let’s go out,” you say, and Hansol looks up from his book, tilting his head inquisitively.

“Hm,” he says in reply. “Are you sure?”

It’s been a few days since the first snowfall, but the wintry precipitation has not let up, and it continues to softly drift down from the sky even as you speak. The blanket of snow covering the earth has also blanketed your senses, and your magic is nothing more than a gentle hum beneath your skin. A month ago, this would have stressed you greatly, but with Hansol and his winter-attuned magic singing happily around the entire room, you feel nothing but peace. 

Nodding in reassurance, you smile at Hansol. “Very sure. Let’s go out today.”

Hansol blinks, once, and then smiles back, closing the book and getting up from the couch. “Okay. Where are we going?”

You smile wider. “To make you some friends.”

That was the plan, anyway. Ever since the first snow, when Hansol had been accosted by the children and ended up playing with them for a good part of the day, you’ve had several villagers come to your door, either complaining about the yokai or wanting to know more about him. So, you figure, today you should get him out to the village square so he can finally meet everyone. Regardless of their opinion of him. 

Because you have trust in Hansol. Now, you have confidence he can turn their opinion around. 

Hansol, despite having all the appearances and mannerisms of an introvert, doesn't seem to mind leaving the house for so many days in a row, and eagerly agrees as you urge him to get dressed and head out to the village square. There's the daily market taking place, and most people will be there, so it'll be a good opportunity to introduce him. 

But, like you said, that was the plan. 

Unfortunately, you're whisked away by some of the villagers who need help with their sick relative, leaving Hansol stranded in the village square. 

“You don't have to stay,” you insist to him, as you're rushed off to deal with the medical emergency. “Seriously, Hansol, you can go home. Especially if anyone starts throwing insults, then just go, okay? I'll be with you as soon as I finish.”

Hansol watches you go, head tilted, slightly amused. It's kind of cute that you think he needs protecting. You know, since he's an ancient demon, and all. But before he can say as such, there's a small voice near his knee, and he looks down to see a small child, piping up in favour of him. 

“Don't worry about Mister Fox!” the small boy chirps brightly. “We will look after him!”

And as if out of nowhere (seriously, where do these kids come from?) several children come up to him and cling to his robes, waving at you as you leave the market square. Hansol waves too, mystified by the miniature support latching onto him, but also a bit touched by their loyalty. They're really sweet. 

“So what do you wanna do, Mister Fox?” the first little boy says, and Hansol recognises him as one of the first children to come up to him a few days ago. Minjun. “Are you hungry?”

Without even waiting for Hansol's answer, Minjun and the rest of the children start ushering him to the food stalls, fiercely advocating for their choice of what Mister Fox should eat first. 

“Wait,” Hansol says, interrupting the particularly fierce fight over having hotteok or bungeoppang first. “Kids. Do you have any money?”

There's a short silence, and all the children look down, which is how he learns that they don't, and so they don't end up buying anything at all. Except, Yeowon, who joined the discussion partway through, manages to wheedle some of the stall-owners to give her free food with her big puppy eyes and innocent pout.

It’s like a magic trick, Hansol has to give her that. And when she happily tells the vendors that she’s sharing the food with Hansol, the villagers do nothing other than blink in surprise and then smile, polite and awkward, well. That’s also an incredible magic trick too. 

They sit on the outskirts of the village market, pillowed by the mounds of snow all around them as they eat their steaming hot snacks. They’re delicious, and sticky, and very sweet, so it’s not too long before Hansol has several super-hyper, sticky-fingered children on his hands, who are all practically launching themselves into the snow with the bounding amounts of energy they have.

It becomes very noisy very fast, and Hansol starts panicking slightly, before he loudly suggests they ought to go and make some snowmen, and all the children whip their heads around to look at him, wide-eyed, and then—

“That’s such a good idea!”

“Yes! Let’s do that!”

“I’m gonna make the best snowman!”

“No, me!”

“No! Me!”

And then they go tumbling off into the snow, and Hansol slumps back down, relieved. He can still see them, and he can still sense them, too, so there’s no worry in any of them getting lost. At least he can now have some peace and quiet.

Twisting his lips thoughtfully, he gathers handfuls of the white snow, turning it over. He turns it over again, and then begins patting and shaping it in his hands until he has something that resembles a little snow duck.

It’s terribly misshapen, and the beak is a bit too long to be a duck, but it’s cute, and Hansol’s pleased. He swirls his fingers in the air, and uses some magic to add finishing touches, trying to rectify the wonkiness. It doesn’t work, but he still thinks it’s cute. You’d probably find it cute, too. Right?

Probably. Hansol hums to himself contemplatively. You like everything he does. It’s very sweet, he thinks, that you’re always so receptive to him, and it’s even sweeter that you genuinely enjoy his company. You brighten like a blooming chrysanthemum, spring-like in your warmth whenever he says something to you, and it makes him feel all warm too. Ever since the first time he woke up on your couch, out of his mind with a fever, and he’d noticed your floral chrysanthemum tea scent and accidentally called you the prettiest person ever, you’ve always been so gentle and kind and oh, Hansol likes you so much.

You’re just—lovely. You’re the loveliest being he’s ever met in his entire life, and that’s saying something, because Hansol’s been alive for a really fucking long time.

“Hello.”

He’s startled out of his thoughts by a light, melodic voice coming from over his shoulder, and Hansol looks up in surprise to see a villager bent over him, warm brown eyes glinting and the corners of his lips curving upwards in a seemingly permanent smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump. I just saw you, and thought I’d say hi,” the villager says, smiling properly, extending a hand. “I’m Joshua. You’re the yokai, right?”

Hansol manoeuvres his body around awkwardly and shakes Joshua’s gloved hand. “I’m Hansol, and yeah, I am the yokai. How could you tell?” His ears flick pointedly as he talks, and Joshua’s eyes immediately go to them before he smiles wider.

“Yeah, I guess it was a silly question,” Joshua says, and his fur boots crunch in the snow as he climbs over a mound and crouches down next to Hansol. “But I don’t wanna seem impolite, you know?”

Hansol shrugs, but he understands. “Yeah. I get it.”

Joshua smiles.

They say nothing for a moment, and Hansol lifts his head up briefly to check on the children. He can still see all of them, actually, dotted about the edges of the market as they build their snowmen. He watches them thoughtfully, and then down at the snow at his feet.

It only takes a moment for a snowman of his own to begin to form, aided by his magic as the snowballs roll themselves to become bigger and more round.

“That’s really cool,” Joshua comments, and Hansol had almost forgotten he was there. He’s so quiet, feather-silent, but when he catches Hansol’s eye and smiles, there’s a twinkle to his presence that makes him wonder how he could have ever forgotten him. “I’ve never seen anyone other than Y/N be able to do that.”

“Hm?” Hansol looks at the snowman that’s slowly being built. “Oh, well, it’s nothing, really.”

Even as he says so, his tail fluffs up in pride at Joshua’s words, and he begins adding more and more intricate frost details to the snowman. The feathery patterns wind through the body of his creation, like embroidery, and Joshua whistles, amazed.

“It’s very cool. Your magic is very cool.”

Hansol shrugs, bashful. “Thank you. But really, it’s nothing.” As the snowman continues to construct itself, he leans over to Joshua as if confiding a secret. “In the wild, there are yokai who can create literal monsters out of ice. In about five seconds flat. But I mostly just deal with frost and snow, so it’s a lot more difficult for me.”

Joshua tilts his head, genuine interest written all over his face. “Oh. I didn’t know there were differences in yokai magic.”

“Of course there are,” Hansol says, like it’s obvious. “Like there are differences in humans’ skills, there are differences for yokai, too. We are not unlike you, you know.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Joshua says thoughtfully. And then he looks Hansol in the eye again, smiling. Joshua is honestly so friendly, and even though they only met two minutes ago, he feels like he’s known him for years. “So you won’t object to being friends with a human, right?”

Hansol blinks, surprised, and Joshua’s smile just widens. It’s obvious what he’s asking, and Hansol feels… touched, that he’d even suggest such a thing.

“Yeah,” Hansol says, and his magic finishes off the snowman with an intricate flourish of frost. “I’d love to be your friend.”

“Joshua!”

The calling of the human’s name makes both Joshua and Hansol turn around, and they see one of the elder villagers coming over to them, the skirts of her robes swishing as she walks. She’s terribly intimidating, greying hair pulled back into a bun with a pointy hair stick, marching over with incredible grace even through the ankle-deep snow that has gathered. She squints at the yokai and how close Joshua is sitting to him. 

“Mrs Choi,” Joshua greets, apparently oblivious to the sharpness of the woman’s gaze. “Hello. It’s very cold today, isn’t it?”

She eyeballs Hansol for a moment before nodding at Joshua. “Very. Frightful weather, but at least the children are enjoying the snow.” Mrs Choi lifts her gaze and squints into the distance, where the children are playing. “I hope someone is supervising them.”

“Oh, well, Hansol is, so don’t worry about it,” Joshua says with a smile. 

Mrs Choi snaps her gaze back to them. “Is he really?” Hansol nods, doing his best to look as earnest and trustworthy as possible, and she hums. “I see.”

“He has them doing a snowman competition, actually,” Joshua says. “He’s very good at making them himself, too. Look. Don’t you think his creation looks amazing?”

He points to the snowman in front of them, glistening with frost and embroidered with thin ice, clearly a work of his magic. Hansol swallows, expecting Mrs Choi to fly into a tizzy over the presence of such witchcraft, but she just scrutinises the snowman, and then—

She smiles.

“It’s very pretty,” she says, and in the blink of an eye, her expression has turned warm. She’s smiling so nicely at Hansol, and then she leans down and brushes a hand over the top of his head, gently dusting away the snow that had landed in his hair. “Just like you, my dear.”

Hansol blinks up at her, open-mouthed. “I— thank you, ma’am.”

She chuckles, straightens, adjusts the skirt of her robes. “No need to thank me. I’m simply telling the truth.” Mrs Choi nods in the direction of the children, before turning away. “Thank you for taking care of the children, also. Keep up the good work.”

Hansol watches her go, feeling a little dazed. She had looked so sharp and stern at first, but something about him sitting there harmlessly and making a harmless snowman with harmless snow gathered in his hair must have done something to convince her that he’s, well, harmless. Which is good. Very good. Hopefully she’ll let everyone else know, too.

“Yeah, she looks scary, but Mrs Choi is anything but,” Joshua says with a laugh, when Hansol directs his wide-eyed gaze to him.

“She’s terrifying.”

“Her son takes after her,” Joshua chuckles. “Choi Seungcheol. He looks scary, but he’s a right softie on the inside, trust me.”

Hansol’s eyes widen further. “She’s Seungcheol’s mother? The village leader?”

“The one and only,” Joshua affirms. He laughs. “Don’t worry about him. His own mother found you cute. I’m sure he’ll be won over by you in no time. Especially if you keep making snowmen that rival Y/N’s in their intricacy. Seriously, I think yours are the best I’ve ever seen.”

“Shua, I hope I didn't just hear you dissing my amazing snowman building skills.”

Hansol looks up at your voice, and sees you slowly treading over to them, a drawstring bag dangling over your shoulder as you pick your way through the snow. The tip of your nose is red from the cold, cheeks a pretty pink with an amused smile on your face, and the moment he sees you, it’s like you’ve stolen his breath away.

Whilst Hansol’s too busy being starstruck, Joshua laughs, leaning back on his hands.

“So what if I was?” he teases, and nods to Hansol’s snowman. “Doesn’t it look amazing?”

You look away, directing your gaze to the snowman. Humming thoughtfully, you eye Hansol’s creation, and he begins to grow a little nervous under your critical silence, fiddling with his fingers and digging them into the snow, wisps of cold air seeping from his skin.

And then you smile, a lopsided smirk that makes Hansol feel a little dizzy.

“I can certainly do better.”

Before he can say anything, you set down your bag, and with a flick of your wrist the snow begins to swirl and gather itself before you. Under your command, golden streaks of magic begin to press the snow together, creating larger shapes that you obviously plan to sculpt into a showstopping piece.

You look almost relaxed in your movements, the entire process taking nothing more than a slight twitch of your fingers as magic sparks zip around the sculpture that’s gradually beginning to form. Hansol can only watch in awe, amazed at the fluidity and effortlessness of your power. By his side, he thinks he hears Joshua chuckle softly.

After a few short moments, the three of you are staring at a large, smoothly finished sculpture of a winter fox, and you smile and cross your arms, satisfied.

“What do you think?” you say, smug, confident in your belief that you’ve proved yourself.

Hansol’s jaw is on the floor. Delicate pointy ears, a fluffy-looking tail all made out of snow, and wow, are those whiskers? Did you really make whiskers?

“Wow,” is all he can say, staring at this lifelike fox that’s made entirely out of snow. “Wow.”

Just then, there are high-pitched exclamations from somewhere in the distance, and the children that Hansol’s been supervising come bounding over, shouting in amazement at the fox that you’ve made. 

“Hi, kids,” you say when they’re close enough, laughing when Yeowon barrels into your legs to give you a hug. “Quick question, which snow sculpture do you think is better? The fox, or the Frosty the Snowman?”

They all look very thoughtfully at the two snow pieces in front of them, before unanimously pointing to your creation, and you grin triumphantly at Joshua and Hansol. Hansol just smiles back, totally expecting such an outcome. You’d beat him any day when it comes to stuff like this, and he’s totally fine with that.

“That’s not even a snowman,” Joshua protests, but it’s clear he’s arguing just for the fun of it. “Y/N, that’s not a fair competition.”

You shrug flippantly. “I’d win anyway.” And then you wink, pleased, and Hansol feels like burying himself in the snow just to try and get rid of his red cheeks.

“Mister Fox, we wanna play with you now,” Minjun says, and he looks up to see the children standing around him, red-cheeked and damp-haired but still eager to play more. “Can we play a game with you?”

“It’s getting late,” Hansol tries to say, but apparently, that had been a rhetorical question, because they’re hauling him up to his feet so they can play with him. “The market’s already closing. Shouldn’t you all go back to your parents now? Joshua? Y/N?” He looks back pleadingly as he gets dragged away, and you and Joshua just laugh, waving him goodbye.

“Have a nice time!” Joshua calls, standing up from the snow and brushing down his clothes. He stands closer to you, smiling as you both watch him begin to play. “He’s good with them, isn’t he?”

You smile too. “He really is.”

“The best,” another voice adds, and you look over your shoulder to see some of the villagers also watching Hansol. They’re all the parents, and yet they seem perfectly content to let their children play around with the yokai, any trace of hostility gone from their faces. 

That makes you smile wider. “I’m glad you think so, Mrs Lee,” you say, and the woman smiles back. “Don’t worry. He’ll keep your children safe.”

Mrs Lee bows her head in acknowledgement, eyes turning soft as you all watch Hansol let the children punt tiny clumps of snow at him. “We know.”

They stay with you for a little longer, chatting about Hansol’s gentle nature and how wonderfully he gets along with the children, before eventually they disperse and begin packing up the market for the day. Next to you, Joshua is also smiling, looking fond, which is really weird because he barely knows Hansol but there’s definitely a clear look of admiration and affection in his face. Before you can comment on it, though, he pats you on the shoulder, and begins to step away.

 “I better go,” he says. “Cheol’s coming your way. I think he wants a talk.”

He bids you goodbye then trudges back through the snow, and you look over your shoulder to see that Seungcheol really is coming your way. Instead of greeting him, however, you look back out at Hansol, and wait until the village leader is by your side.

“Hello, Y/N.”

“Hello, Seungcheol.”

You don’t offer him anything else, and so the two of you stand there in silence, continuing to watch Hansol play with the children. It is an adorable sight, though, and makes the corners of your lips twitch upwards the longer the silence goes on. He’s totally lenient with them, letting them pull his tail and ambush him with damp gloves and shrieking laughter. His head whips back and forth constantly between the two sides of kids that have inexplicably formed, somehow finding himself in the crossfire as snowballs get flung around him.

It’s cute, and it makes you laugh, heart warming with fondness. You can feel Seungcheol watching you out of the corner of your eye, and when it’s clear he’s not going to say anything until you do, you sigh and turn your back on Hansol at last, raising an eyebrow.

“Well?” you prompt. “What’s up? You didn’t come find me just to say hello.”

Seungcheol pauses, and looks down. “No. I didn’t.” A beat. “My mother actually told me you were here.”

“Okay. And?”

“She talked to Hansol,” he says, and both your eyebrows raise this time, in surprise. “She said to me that she liked him, and she wanted me to open my eyes and finally realise how much of a good person he is.”

Seungcheol clasps his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. He looks over your shoulder, at where Hansol is undoubtedly doing something silly to entertain the children, and his eyes go gentle. They don’t soften, and they certainly don’t melt, but his gaze becomes a little more mellow, like a layer of hardness has finally given way.

“And he is a good person,” Seungcheol says, looking at you again. “I’ve been watching him all day. All week, in fact, and even if my mother hadn’t said anything, I would’ve sought you out to tell you this, because I think I owe you an apology.”

You breathe a laugh. “You certainly do,” you say, but there’s no real bite. Seungcheol’s actions were understandable. You’ve already forgiven him.

Seungcheol seems to know that too, because his lips quirk up into a half-smile. Nevertheless, his words are genuine when he says, “I’m sorry. I was too rash, and too harsh. Any worries I had over yokai did not excuse the way I talked about Hansol. Do you think you can also tell him how sorry I am?”

You draw in a long breath, cross your arms and lean back, staring down your nose at Seungcheol. His smile wavers, a little, but then you relax, breaking out into a grin.

“You can tell him yourself. He’d love to talk to you,” you say, and Seungcheol smiles too. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. You’re just looking out for the village, like you always do. But…” You shrug. “I was looking out for my kind, also. I was frustrated that you were treating Hansol like that just because he was a yokai.”

Seungcheol breathes out, wisps of white spilling from his lips. “I get that. It makes sense that you felt that way.” His eyes lighten with mischief suddenly, his smile taking on a teasing edge. “Especially considering the fact you’re in love with him, too.”

The world grinds to a halt. You stumble, taken aback by Seungcheol’s words. “I’m sorry, what?”

Nothing else gets to be said about the matter, though, because a small child goes zooming past you right at that moment, brushing against your side. And then, half a millisecond later, a fat clump of snow hits you square in the back.

The child continues running off, bubbling laughter fading into the market square. Slowly, very slowly, you spin on your heel and come face-to-face with the culprit.

Hansol’s still frozen in his throw position, one hand incriminatingly covered with snow. The moment he sees your face, his face breaks into a wide grin, that beautiful, big grin that shows the slight point of his yokai fangs. His eyes are glowing, alight with amusement and another, warmer emotion you can’t quite name.

He tilts his head to the side, eyeing the snow gently tumbling down your back. “Whoops?”

“Whoops?” you echo, breathing a laugh. You look at Seungcheol, as if saying Can you believe this guy? before turning back to Hansol, a handful of snow magically making its way into your hands. “Oh, you’re going to be saying a lot more than ‘Whoops’ in a minute.”

Hansol laughs, holding his hands up placatingly. “Now hold on a minute—”

Abruptly, his head jerks back, and he gets knocked off his center of balance by the force of the snowball you’d just lobbed at him.

You burst into laughter as Hansol, sitting on the ground and with snow in his hair and up his nose, wipes his eyes with a grin. “Now you’re just asking for it, I think.”

Still laughing, you snap your fingers, and several more balls of snow float up around you. “Oh, it’s on.”

Cut to several minutes later, and somehow, the snowball fight between the two of you has devolved into a village-wide thing, children slipping and sliding in the snow alongside their parents as Seungcheol yells at his team to close ranks and you yell at yours to focus their sights on Hansol. The icy air stings your cheeks, and at some point it begins to snow again, hard, blurring your sight, but the whole thing still continues, the square filled with the laughter of the villagers.

And throughout it all, Hansol manages to find your gaze no matter where he is, gold eyes seeking your gold magic, and the beautiful sound of his laughter leaves you breathless every time.

───────────── ‘✽, 

All things considered, perhaps it’s totally expected that you end up falling for Hansol.

You don’t get to truly mull over Seungcheol’s last words until much later, when you and Hansol have both changed out of your sopping wet clothes and are sitting curled up together on the sofa, both of you blinking sleepily at the fire you’ve lit in the fireplace.

The snowball fight ended incredibly amiably, with everyone agreeing that Seungcheol’s team had obliterated everyone else’s, despite the lack of magic users in his group. You’d helped some of the villagers dust themselves off, and used magic to dry off the people who had gotten the most wet. Soonyoung, inexplicably, looked like he’d been dunked five times in a swimming pool, rather than emerging victorious from a snowball fight.

Finishing with Soonyoung, you’d looked back, and of course—Hansol was playing with the children, again, as if he had endless reserves of energy to spare. But in between letting the kids climb his legs and play with  his swishing tail, he was chatting with the rest of the villagers, helping them tidy away their things.

It made you smile. 

And then Hansol had looked back at you, as if sensing your gaze, and his entire face had lit up, brighter than the brightest summer’s day, and he’d quickly said goodbye to the villagers before coming bounding over to you, face so open and comfortable and warm and—

Yeah. You like him a lot. And you’re sure that he likes you a lot too.

Hansol yawns, big and wide and content, his tail flicking lazily as he rests on your shoulder. Outside, the snowfall has increased to a snowstorm, complete with howling winds and dark, looming clouds, but inside, your cottage is warm, and you have a sleepy yokai pressed against your side, and life is, admittedly, kind of perfect.

There’s just one thing, though.

You need to tell him.

Lost in thought, you shift around absentmindedly, and Hansol looks up questioningly at the movement. The warmth of your magic prickles softly in the air around you, and when he takes your hand, you can feel his own magic murmuring softly in tandem with your own. 

He continues to look at you, and then smiles, eyes glowing. Goodness, he really is so pretty.

“I like you,” you whisper, the words falling from your lips as if he’s enchanted you, bewitched you into saying how you truly feel for all to see. “I like you, Hansol.”

Hansol blinks, slow, cat-like. He lifts his head up, pulls away slightly from your shoulder so he can sit up and look at you properly. His eyes are shining, slitted pupils widening and rounding in adoration.

“That’s good,” he says. “Because I think you’re the prettiest person alive.”

It’s almost a direct copy of the first words he’d said to you, almost a lifetime ago, when he had been out of his mind with a fever, red-cheeked and hazy-eyed and fixated on the way you smelled like chrysanthemums. The memory makes you laugh, heart squeezing with fondness, and you reach forward to cup Hansol’s cheeks, smiling wider when his eyes flutter shut briefly and he leans trustingly into your touch.

“That’s funny,” you say. “Because I think you’re the prettiest person alive.”

Hansol’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, showing those yokai fangs that you adore so much. His ears twitch with happiness, light speckles of frost covering his cheeks as he blushes. He’s so pretty, and you love him so much.

Slowly, you inch closer until the tip of his nose brushes against yours. So close that you can count the snowflake-shaped freckles on his cheeks.

“You forgot to say it back, though,” you murmur. “Hansol, you didn’t say you like me back.”

Hansol breathes a soft laugh. “I thought it was obvious.” His smile widens, so enamoured that it warms your heart. “Y/N, I like you too. In fact, I think I’m in love with you.”

You beam. “You know what? I think I’m in love with you too.”

And then you lean forward, and Hansol leans in too, and your lips meet in the softest, sweetest kiss. He tastes like magic, like love, like soft snow that numbs your senses but leaves your heart alive and alight and oh, this is everything you never knew you needed and more.

Hansol’s silver-white hair is falling into his eyes when you pull away, his golden irises shining brightly through them like dazzling, gorgeous sunlight peeking through the translucent colours of snowfall. The sight makes you instantly lean in to kiss him again, dizzy with adoration because goodness, this happiness is for you. He looks like this because he loves you.

And you love him too.

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @haodore @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

[quarterlifekitty]

more medieval fantasy au time! reader whose life sucks and wont be missed by anyone in the present life suddenly finds herself back in time after blacking out and being mistaken for the assassin who was given orders to kill any of the cod boys (or price becos he's my hubby). cod boys/price decides to keep her under their watch closely in case she makes any more attempts to kill them. love myself some slowburn enemy to lover shite <3

Fun fact about me. I enjoy that shite, played out isekai manga/manwha trope where a girl gets reborn into the story of her favorite dating simulator except she’s reborn as the villainess and has to try to use her knowledge of the game to change the story and avoid dying to the heroine or one of her many devoted love interests. But often her sudden change in personality piques the interest of one of those love interests…. Here’s a very dark hentai with a somewhat similar plot to this trope, if you’re interested! Ghost coded, imo. Noncon warning.

Anyways

Prince!Gaz doesn’t believe you when you say you weren’t trying to kill him, but he does believe you when you say it isn’t your fault. Poor thing. Must’ve been forced into it! You don’t have to worry about that anymore, he’ll keep you safe from whatever criminal underbelly manipulated you into doing this. He turns you into a bit of a pet project. A perfect rehabilitation of a criminal. It’ll be a brilliant morale boost. Maybe even more so if he takes you as his wife? Controversial, yet romantic— the bards will eat it up for sure.

Knight!Soap thinks it’s a bit fishy. Why go after him? Why not the captain of the guard? He’s kind of a dickhead, but he doesn’t make any personal enemies. He’s just gonna have to keep you until you fess up and tell him who hired you and what the motive was. And how lucky he is that the assassin they sent was so cute and squeezable, too! He doesn’t mind having to keep you.

Warlord!Ghost considers this an open proposal for marriage. He’s very much attracted to your gall and open animosity towards him. Both excellent qualities in a wife and a mother. Very well— he accepts!

Lord!Price can see that you’re not a natural born killer. This must have been your first time. Your attempt failed— so he won’t have you killed… he takes a look at you and decides that humiliation is a more fitting punishment. So he’ll be keeping you collared and on a leash for the foreseeable future.

Artificer!Nikolai can see what’s happened right away. You have the smell of otherworld clinging to you. You’re not from around here. But he’ll play along as if he doesn’t know that. As for your punishment… he’s been wanting an apprentice. Some cute little thing to help him around his workshop. Looks like you fit the bill on that.

[radiance1]

Inspired by @puppetmaster13u and various dragon aus they have.

BUT! This is also a bit of a fantasy/DnD au I guess...? IDK BUT HERE WE GO-

Okay now so, I'm imagining that that Danny, Tucker, and Sam create a pocket dimension for their game via the use of reality warping (via scepter) and something given to them by Pariah Dark before he went off on that whole honey moon thing with Clockwork.

For the record, Danny isn't the ghost king here, Pariah Dark is he's just the prince.

Sam created a garden from the barren earth, that eventually grew into a great forest and spread out to the rest of the world, which technically made her the creator of life but anyways. So, she's holed up in said garden turned forest.

Tucker bestowed upon his subjects (after they were made of course) knowledge and technology and is regarded as the greatest teacher in that world's history.

Danny? Oh yea he became that one that giant dragon that everyone knows is there, is afraid of, and just sleeps all day in this one specific place. You'd have to cut him some slack though, because no one told him creating a world and its laws would be so hard even with help.

That and him, as the one with basically the most knowledge and resident fanboy of space, created the stars surrounding the place as well!

Of course, they couldn't stay there all of the time. What with work (Tucker), high-society (Sam), and studying (Why the heck did Danny decide to go to collage again?). That entire place was just made to play around in before they had to go their separate ways and be, you know, actual adults, so it was easy enough to let go of it really.

Except for Danny. Not of any great reason, really, he just needed someplace where he could quietly study in peace, nap, think or just get away from the Ghost Zone before he had to go through all that princely nonsense again. Plus, none of their creations in that pocket dimension really wanted to mess with the giant fuck off dragon who was said to created the place anyways.

For the record, Danny is more of an eastern dragon in design with a long body rather than western. So that probably just added more into his intimidation with his sheer length.

So, you know, of course he would have been none too pleased when someone actually did disturb his solitude (as stated by the dimension's residents) as soon as the world was thrown off-balance by an outside force.

Meanwhile, Klarion the Witch boy is having the time of his life coming across a whole world that somehow hasn't been affected by Order or Chaos. So he's capitalizing on that.

Then he came across a place that was said to be sacred, not that he cared, and then came across a boy who didn't look a day over his teens (which frankly doesn't say much in regards to immortals) with a frankly long tail that looked longer than he was tall and very majestic looking horns.

Danny was annoyed yet curious, Klarion was surprised yet delighted.

[sailorsoons]

Giving Season (c.sc & l.c)

PAIRING: Chan x Reader x Seungcheol

SUMMARY: You always enjoy the office holiday party each year, especially when you get to do secret santa. This year, you enlist Seungcheol’s help to give Chan the perfect gift. 

WC: 5,632

AU: PWP, Polyamorous, Established Relationship (Cheol x reader)

GENRE:  Smut

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Just pure filth honestly. Fucking in an office when they totally should not be, mention of power dynamics in the sense that Seungcheol is both Chan and reader’s boss but they kind of skip around that even though Cheol explicitly makes sure to let Chan know it’s okay to reject, semi-public sex if you count the fact they’re in an office, implied but not explicit dom/sub dynamics with Seungcheol as the dominant and reader/Chan as the more submissives, oral (f. receiving) and vaginal fingering, pussy drunk Chan, spitting, multiple orgasms, a little bit of overstimulation, some hair pulling, biting, a lot of heavy kissing and making out, it is a light threesome - this is mostly reader and Chan with Seuncheol very involved in instruction/kissing/touching them. 

A/N: This was originally posted as a request fill for @daechwitatamic and as a belated birthday gift back in December. I love you Mojo Jojo Dojo Siwa Casa House

A/N 2: THIS IS UNEDITED BECAUSE I’M THE GRINCH AND I DON’T WANNA BETA READ MY OWN STUFF. SPELL CHECK WILL HAVE TO DO FOR RIGHT NOW. 

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Nervousness creeps up as you watch Chan open up his gift, eyes zeroed in on the way his deft fingers peel back the wrapping paper carefully. Chan is always so careful, his touch delicate and precise, sliding his fingers under the seam of the paper to pry it open without ripping anything. 

Holiday music plays loudly over the speakers on someone’s desk. Everyone talks and sips on drinks, gathered around the conference room table as Chan finishes opening his git, shedding the wrapping paper. He’s already grinning, lower lip tucked between his teeth as he shakes his head, red creeping up the side of his neck. 

You try not to react, pleased to see that he likes the stack of limited edition books you’ve gifted him. He runs his fingers over the decorated edges, just as careful not to damage them as he was with the wrapping paper. You squirm in your seat, sipping more champagne to quell the dryness in your throat and give you more liquid courage. 

Someone places a hand on your shoulder and you spare a glance upward, though by the scent of the heady cologne you already know it’s Seungcheol. He’s watching Chan with a smirk, his dark hair pushed out of his face and his glasses sliding a little down his nose as he watches Chan look around the table, flushed and pleased. 

“This is way over the purchase limit,” he laughs, scratching the back of his neck and shaking his head. Mingyu lets out an impressed noise, leaning over to see the books and ask what they are. “They’re a limited edition and signed copy of my favorite fantasy series.” 

“Damn, someone likes you,” Mingyu mutters, sipping his beer. “Time to guess.” 

Chan’s eyes flicker to you. You hold your breath, your pulse thumping in your throat as you try not to avert your eyes. Chan’s eyes drift upward to Seungcheol, who you can feel is equally amused. There’s indecision on Chan’s face, his fingers drumming atop the stack of books. 

“Come on,” Mingyu urges. “Guess.”

Chan’s eyes return to you. Back to Seungcheol. Then to you again. You grin, watching as he tries to work out which one of you bought them. You’re the only person in the office who would know how much he valued that specific book series, but Seungcheol is the only one in the office who makes overspending and spoiling his employees a habit. 

Especially Chan. 

“Fuck, it’s hard,” he admits, gaze settling on Seungcheol, finally. “You, boss?” 

Seungcheol chuckles, the motion of it shaking the back of your chair. You can feel his thumb brushing back and forth on your shoulder, soothing and warm. It feels nice, the champagne turning his touch molten. 

“Nope,” Seungcheol answers, popping the ‘p’ sharply at the end. “Sorry, Channie.” 

Chan’s blush intensifies as he drops his gaze, shaking his head. He cradles the books close to him, possessive. He spares you a glance when he says, “Whoever bought these is far too nice of a santa. I don’t deserve this.” 

He does deserve it. Chan is the youngest member of your company and by far the hardest working and the sweetest. Over the last two years, you’ve watched him grow from the shy, nervous junior employee to a full time member of the staff who is… still shy, but a little more confident in his work with an incredible mindset. 

Sure, your opinion of him is a little bit biased. Chan is your work husband, the person you’re closest to and who you can always go to when you need to vent about Mingyu fucking up your spreadsheets or for help when you have a last minute firedrill to solve. 

Despite, of course, your actual boyfriend being a few yards away in his executive office. 

Seungcheol doesn’t mind that Chan is your work husband. In fact, he adores it, teasing you when you get shy after vehemently praising Chan during a meeting or nominating him to take more responsibility to prove himself. He likes that Chan has you to take care of him, to lead him through the corporate world when Seungcheol is too buried underneath meetings and paperwork to do so. 

Someone else starts opening a gift, but your eyes are reserved for Chan. You lean into Seungcheol’s touch, eyes fluttering when his hand moves from your shoulder to the back of your neck. His grip is firm, kneading the muscles along the back of your neck until you’re melting. Your grip tightens on the flute of champagne a little, the plastic nearly cracking under your grip. 

When secret santa has finished, you stand up to help gather the leftover wrapping paper. Coworkers filter out into the main office, turning up the music and dancing around the cubicles as another bottle is popped. You help shove wrapping paper into a trash bag with Joshua, feeling a little dizzy and warm from the bubbles. 

A hand on your lower back makes you straighten. Seungcheol leans down, mouth brushing against your ear when he murmurs, “Go wait in my office. I’ll bring Chan in for his real gift.” 

Your stomach flips at that. You glance at Joshua to see if he notices, but there is nothing to notice. Everyone knows that you and Seungcheol are together - you’ve been dating for five years. He limits his affection in the office, but it's not uncommon for him to press a quick kiss to your head or leave his hand lingering on you for too long. 

Clearing your throat, you nod and let Seungcheol take over balling up the wrapping paper. You’re not drunk but you feel the buzz of champagne and excitement as you hurry toward Seungcheol’s office at the far end, away from where everyone has gathered around Soonyoung’s cubicle to take shots. 

Inside of Seungcheol’s office is dark. The blinds are shuttered so no one can see from the main bullpen inward. Lights glitter beyond the floor to ceiling windows, the city awash in color underneath the light sky, giving the illusion that the world is blanketed in Christmas lights. 

A heavy desk sits in the far side of the room with towering bookshelves behind it. Seungcheol’s monitor is off and his leather chair is pushed into the desk. In front of the desk is a sitting area, equipped with a full leather sofa, glass coffee table, and two arm chairs. 

You go for the sofa, hands shaking as you sit down, pressing the hem of your skirt down your thighs. Swallowing thickly, your eyes dart toward the door when you hear the volume of singing suddenly increase out in the main office. You grin, shaking your head when you realize it’s because Seungkwan has figured out how to use his portable karaoke machine gifted to him by Jeonghan. 

Shadows pass by the window. You stiffen, leaning forward and placing your hands in your lap when Seungcheol opens the door, letting Chan enter first before he slips in after, flipping the lock. Chan immediately stops in his tracks, looking at you before his eyes dart back to Seungcheol. 

Your heart races, watching carefully as Seungcheol starts to undo his tie, slipping a finger underneath the knot to pull it, walking toward you. The action hypnotizes you, your attention solely on him as he finishes undoing it, tossing it onto an armchair before his fingers work the topmost button of his shirt loose.

He sees the nervous look on your face and he wings, his grin lopsided as he rounds the couch to stand behind you. 

“Take a seat,” Seungcheol tells Chan, his hand landing on your shoulder. You react instantly, leaning into the warmth of his hand, nuzzling his forearm a bit. Chan follows Seungcheol’s instructions, his steps slow and full of trepidation. “We don’t bite, Channie.” 

You huff and Seungcheol chuckles darkly in response, amending, “Usually.” 

Chan is the picture of anxiety, wringing his hands in his lap and looking up at Seungcheol through his glasses with wide eyes. His gaze darts to you only for a second before he licks his lips and looks back up at Seungcheol, shifting back and forth in the armchair as he watches the elder. 

“Relax,” Seungcheol laughs. “You’re not in trouble. I told you she had a second part to her gift.”

“The first one is too much,” Chan drops his gaze to you. He picks at his cuticles, showing he’s as nervous as you feel. “You shouldn’t have. The rules were no more than fifty dollars.”

“It was too good not to.” He softens. “I wanted you to have it.”

“You deserve it,” Seungcheol agrees. His hand massages your shoulder, fingers brushing across your skin. You shiver under his touch, watching Chan as his eyes zero in on where Seungcheol’s hand is on your neck. He licks his lips, shifting. “That’s not the only thing she wanted to give you, though.” 

Chan chews his bottom lip. You feel skittish, twisting your fingers in the hem of your dress. You and Seungcheol had broached this subject several times before, though this is the first time you’re committing to voicing your thoughts to Chan. 

Suddenly faced with having to give him your proposition, you’re terrified. What if he says no? Worse, what if you upset him or make him uncomfortable? It’s a huge risk, what you’re asking, especially with the position that Seungcheol is in as your boss. 

The weight of how bad of an idea this is hits you fully. You open and close your mouth, unable to voice your offer to him, the question dying on your tongue.

Seungcheol’s fingers are still on your shoulder. He leans down, tilting forward to catch your gaze with his. His eyes are dark and calm, a cool lake undisturbed by anything, a constant you can always look to when you’re afraid to do something. You root yourself in his gaze, letting his proximity wash over you, comforting. 

Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself this question isn’t coming out of nowhere. Neither you nor Seungcheol would bring Chan here to the office in the dark, away from everyone else if you weren’t borderline positive what his answer would be. 

“I wanted to um…” Your voice is hoarse, cracking with nervousness. You swallow, dropping your eyes into your lap, feeling both of their gazes. “Jeonghan said you kind of had a crush on us.” 

You peek up at Chan to find him white in the face. His mouth parts in horror and you realize this isn’t going the way you planned, your nervousness driving you to the wrong path. 

Seungcheol sees it too, giving you a gentle squeeze and telling Chan, “What she means, but is very bad at saying because she’s nervous, is that she wanted to give you a taste.” 

Silence hangs heavy in the air. Outside of Seungcheol’s office, you hear Mingyu singing All I Want for Christmas Is You. It feels apt, both you and Seungcheol staring at Chan as he looks back at both of you, mouth parted in surprise, chest rising and falling with how heavy he’s breathing now.

“I don’t… understand,” he says finally, addressing Seungcheol. 

“I think you do.” Chan starts to shake his head and Seungcheol tsks, sending a lick of heat down to your core. You know that voice better than anything, and the sound of it turns the air heady. “You can say no. This is the worst place possible for us to be offering this to you and I understand the implications of it coming from… well me. You’re under no obligation and we can go on pretending it didn’t happen.” 

“Jeonghan didn’t mean to tell me.” you tell Chan. “But when he did… I wasn’t mad. I told Cheol and he was pleased to.” You look up at Seungcheol, who smiles at you affectionately. His hand drifts to the back of your head, cradling it carefully. “He likes you too. And me - I like you.” 

“You like me?” 

You nod eagerly as Seungcheol grips your head and faces you back toward Chan. “So I was thinking… you could have an extra gift. If you wanted it. To see if you liked it.” 

“And what does… a taste involve?” Chan asks the question softly, his eyes flickering between you and Seungcheol. “Help me understand better.” 

“Her,” Seungcheol answers. “Whatever you want.” He pauses and smirks, adding, “You’re not ready for me. So just her… for now, if you want.”

Multiple emotions flit past Chan’s face. Confusion. Fear. Indecision. Anxiety. Desire. 

You see the desire there, the way he settles his eyes on you, dark and swimming with want. He doesn’t move, the silence filling the room as Seungcheol let’s Chan choose. You feel your own desire welling up inside of you, a shy and skittish thing that is perhaps too breakable to be offering this way. 

Chan is your mirror. You can see yourself in him, the want that lurks beneath a shallow surface, a fragile thing that he wants to handle but is too afraid that it’ll shatter. You lift a hand from your lap, reaching forward, palm up. Reaching for Chan, reaching for the thread that connected you since the first day he started. 

Your hand wavers there for a second, an invitation, a moment of vulnerability. Just when you think he’s going to reject you, Chan surges forward slowly, extending his hand toward yours. A smile lights up your face, growing even wider when his fingers tentatively skate over yours, rough and unsure. 

Tugging on him gently, you urge Chan from the armchair toward the couch. He’s like a frightened animal, eyes darting toward Seungcheol like he might intervene when he sits next to you, close enough to smell his juniper cologne but farther than you want him to be. 

Seungcheol lets go of your shoulder, walking around the opposite side of the couch. Chan looks at Seungcheol, alarm on his face. The elder chuckles roughly, sitting on your other side a little ways away and murmuring, “Relax, Channie. I’m just sitting down.” 

To further ease his anxiety, you pull Chan’s hand into your lap, lacing your fingers and squeezing. He looks at your linked fingers, marveling at them. It takes him a moment, but he squeezes your hand in return. 

“Can you look at me?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

He does. Chan finally looks at you, gaze raw and burning. Your toes curl when you see the amount of want there, the way his need is right on the surface, simmering. His eyes trace your features, scanning your face to the curve of your neck, dipping lower, lips parted as he drinks you in full. 

“What… What now?” He asks, dragging his eyes back up to yours. 

“Try kissing her.” Seungcheol leans back behind you, supervising. His voice is gentle and coaxing. “She likes kissing.” 

Chan looks at you, asking for permission. You smile, nodding eagerly as you tug on his hand. He obeys, sliding closer to you, thigh pressed against yours. Even through the fabric of his pants, you can feel the heat of his leg wash through you, intoxicating. 

He leans in slowly, his eyes darting toward your mouth as he does. You meet him halfway, breath shaking as you softly press your lips against his. His lips are soft and tentative, nose brushing yours gently. You sigh, leaning into the kiss, making it a little firmer. 

It’s innocent, but you feel the way his fingers tighten in yours, a gentle sound stuck in the back of his throat. You pull away slightly, lashes fluttering open to peer at him. You see your half-lidded eyes in the reflection of his glasses until he opens his eyes.

The urge to have him grows tenfold. Chan’s pupils are blown, the hungry look in his eye raw and real. It makes you surge forward, kissing him for real, letting the hunger for him channel through your mouth. He makes a sound low in the back of his throat, desperate and whiny as you school closer, leg looping over his to keep him in place. 

Letting go of his hand, you bring it up to his face, threading your fingers through his hair. His mouth is warm and wet as he kisses you slowly, tasting of champagne and the frosting of the cupcake he had earlier - sweet, just like him. 

Kissing Chan is unlike kissing Seungcheol. Chan is sweet and slow, running his tongue against the seam of your mouth tentatively while his hands go to your thighs, barely giving you a squeeze. Seungcheol’s kisses are demanding and all consuming, bruising your lips as he swallows you whole. 

Parting, Chan kisses the corner of your mouth, hesitating and glancing over your shoulder where he can no doubt see Seungcheol. Seungcheol must reassure him, because Chan smirks and leans forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your jaw. 

Your head falls back, lips parted. His tongue is rough against your skin as he tastes you, a mix of tongue and teeth working toward your neck. Your fingers twist in his hair, blunt nails scraping at his scalp and making him groan quietly. 

“She likes when you bite her a little,” Seungcheol supplies from behind you. You feel the couch shift as he moves closer, his warmth radiating toward you as he settles directly behind you. His voice makes you shiver when he says, “Right under her ear - yeah like that.” 

Chan’s teeth nip at the soft flesh under your ear and you keen, melting at his touch. He grows more confident at the sound, his hands drifting to your waist, squeezing and holding you tight. You lean backward into the heat of Seungcheol, trapped between the two of them. 

It makes you dizzy. Seungcheol is firm behind you, keeping you pressed toward Chan, who is kissing his way to your shoulder, eager for more of you. One of his hands runs up your side, sliding up your arm until it settles on the side of your neck, his fingers gently pulling you to give more access. 

You keen and Seungcheol laughs behind you, muttering, “Hear the little sounds she makes? She loves when you touch her neck.” 

“Mmmm.” Chan presses kisses to the tops of your shoulders, looking up at you through his glasses. “What else does she like?” 

“If you want to see her come apart, eat her out.” Chan moans, burying his face in your neck. You shiver, feeling his hot breath against your spit-slick skin. “Yeah?” Seungcheol laughs. “Dying to taste her, huh?” 

“Fuck,” Chan whispers. He lifts his head from your neck, breathing ragged as he looks at you, cradling your face in his hands. 

You look up at him through your lashes, dazed. He looks so good in the dim light of Seungcheol’s office, his hair a little disheveled, glasses a little eskew. 

“Do you want that?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. His thumb brushes back and forth across your jaw, pausing to brush along the corner of your lip. You nod eagerly, unable to find the words and tell him that is exactly what you want. “Fuck. Yeah. Okay.” 

Chan sinks to the ground. Seungcheol plants his foot against the coffee table, pushing it back slowly to give Chan room. The younger looks up at you reverently and you feel your breath catch, watching as Chan settles on his knees, hands reaching to brush gently up your calves.

His touch is like fire. It feels too hot in Seungcheol’s office, sweat collecting on the back of your neck and along your hairline. You squeeze your thighs together at Chan’s gentle touch and he grins up at you, keeping his fingers feather light and teasing as he skims them up your thighs toward your dress. 

Seungcheol leans you against him, pressing his lips to the side of your temple. Chan leans forward, placing an open mouth kiss on your knee. You twitch, knee nearly knocking him in the face. Seungcheol admonishes you softly, reaching down to pry your right leg open and drape it over his, resting his arm over your knee to keep you pried open.

Chan’s hands continue to caress your skin, the drag of his fingers driving you wild. You stare down at him, panting slightly as he looks up at you. He maintains eye contact as he drags his mouth to kiss your inner thigh, watching as you react with a sigh. 

He moves his mouth upward slowly, each kiss firm but gentle, his lips blazing a trail upward. You feel your core ache for him, a hot, throbbing need that makes you whine a little bit, shifting in Seungcheol’s grip. 

Chan pauses but Seungcheol promises, “She’s fine. She’s very needy.” 

A grin splits Chan’s face as he presses another kiss to the softness of your thigh, followed by biting gently. That gets a reaction out of you, your hips twitching upward and your hands shooting to grip the couch with one hand and Seungcheol’s forearm with the other. 

“She loves when you start slow,” Seungcheol murmurs. Chan nods, taking his elder’s guidance in step. His hands creep toward the hem of your dress, hesitating. “Go ahead.” 

Your breath gets stuck in your throat when Chan pushes the hem of your dress upward. The newly exposed skin feels cold in Seungcheol’s darkened office. Chan bunches the fabric at your hips and Seungcheol reaches around the back of your waist to hold it in place. 

With one hand on your spread knee and the other locked around your waist, Seungcheol has you pinned. The thought makes your eyes flutter, head tilting back as you watch Chan drink you in, his eyes dropping to the lacy underwear.

His mouth resumes its curious travel, kissing the tops of your thighs as his fingers brush the edges of your underwear. You let out a breathy whine and he smiles but doesn’t stop this time, teasing the crease of your thighs with his devilish finger while he gives a harsh suck to your skin. 

Chan rests his chin atop your thigh, eyes focusing on the wet patch of your under. He dips a hand between your legs, pressing the flat of his thumb against the dark spot on the fabric. You give a high pitched whine, fidgeting in Seungcheol’s grip. Chan grins, wiggling his thumb back and forth a little to apply pressure to your clit.

It is heaven. It is hell. Chan’s eyes drift back and forth from where he teases you to your face, unable to decide which he likes watching more. Seungcheol watches him with a smirk, his hold on you like iron, hot breath fanning your ear as he whispers for you to behave for Chan. 

You want to. You want to more than anything else right now, completely forgetting about the party going on outside the office, forgetting the way you’d been afraid to ask Chan if he wants this, forgetting anything else but the look in Chan’s eyes as he hooks his fingers in your underwear and pulls them down.

Lacy fabric scrapes down your skin slow-soft. It is delicious torture. Chan handles you like you’re something precious, something to be loved and treated with care. Your thoughts turn to static, totally hypnotized by the way he peels your underwear from your legs and tosses them somewhere else. His eyes are half-lidded as he stares at your glistening cunt, groaning low in the back of his throat at what he sees. 

Chan slides his hands under your thighs, dragging you toward him a little. Seungcheol helps, peppering your face with butterfly-soft kisses as he slides you down the couch. You’re nearly folded in half as Seungcheol adjusts himself so that he’s sitting behind you with you between his legs. He grabs your thighs, hooking them on the outer edges of his knees to keep you open for Chan, who slides closer, licking his lips. 

“Look how wet she is for you,” Seungcheol purrs. You glance up at him. His dark eyes are focused on Chan, mouth twitching in a smirk. “Start slow. She likes you to build up to it.” 

Chan glances at Seungcheol and nods before his eyes fall to you. Dark. Hungry. Wanting. To see your deepest desire reflected in Chan’s eyes makes you insane. You’d only guessed at his affection for you and Seungcheol, but the fierceness of it drives you wild. 

So does his mouth. Chan drags his mouth up your thighs, kissing delicately. You hold your breath, fixated on him as he audibly plants another kiss before he moves to your center, hesitating. You try not to squirm and move closer, try not to force yourself on his mouth.

He can tell. He gives you a cock grin, letting out a huff before dipping forward, running his tongue up your center and oh oh oh. Your head falls back against Seungcheol’s shoulder, breath locked in your chest. Chan’s tongue is warm and wet, sliding up and down your pussy at a leisurely pace.

Then he moans. Your fingers dig into Seungcheol’s thighs, making him hiss. He hooks his chin on your shoulder, watching as Chan’s tongue circles your aching clit slowly before dipping back down. 

You’re burning, melting, disintegrating. Pleasure ripples through you when Chan dips his tongue tentatively into your clenching hole. That earns a loud moan from you. Seungcheol quickly hushes you, reminding you that you can’t be loud with a harsh whisper. 

A whimper falls from your lips. Chan grunts, closing his eyes as he fastens his mouth to your cunt, suckling gently. You throb under his mouth. He looks up at you, eyes misty as he flicks his tongue back and forth over your clit. 

“Like that,” Seungcheol encourages when you thrash. “She likes it kind of messy too - spit on it.” 

Chan is obedient. He dips his tongue into your cunt, gathering arousal before he lifts his mouth, smeared in your slick, and spits directly on your pussy. You let out a loud sound that is cut off by Seungcheol’s mouth on yours, stealing you in a devouring kiss. 

One hand shoots to Seungcheol’s forearm to cling to him, the other to Chan’s hair when he reattaches his mouth. He moans audibly against you, the sound buzzing right through you to the pit of your stomach. He redoubles his effort, licking and sucking at you vigorously now to match the pace of Seungcheol’s tongue. 

They both swallow you whole. It’s overwhelming the best way, Seungcheol pressing you into his chest as he steals the breath from your lungs, Chan pressing your legs further apart as he buries his face between your legs, little sounds of pleasure dripping from his mouth as he loses himself in you. 

Seungcheol parts with you for a moment, lips swollen and pink as he looks down at Chan and grins. He reaches down, running his fingers through Chan’s hair gently, making the younger groan. 

“Look at him,” Seungcheol coos. “He’s been dying to taste you, huh Chan?” 

“Mhmm.” Chan licks a hard stripe from top to bottom. “So fucking good.”

“Tell him how good he’s doing baby,” Seungcheol whispers, pressing his mouth to your ear. “He’s working so hard for you.” 

“Feels so good,” you gasp as Chan sucks your clit hard. You thrash in Seungcheol’s lap but he holds you still. Chan pins you down too, fingers gripping your thighs as he gets greedier, flattening his tongue and whipping his head back and forth. “Fuck fuck fuck - Chan.” 

“Just like that, Chan.” Seungcheol keeps running his fingers through Chan’s hair affectionately. “She’s gonna come for you, right baby?” 

All you can manage is a nod. You’re beyond the capacity for words, feeling your orgasm twist low in your stomach as Chan works your toward its peak. It feels like he drags you there screaming, the pressure building as he keeps going and going and going-

You break. Seungcheol’s hand clamps over your mouth and you cry through his palm, hips twitching and legs straining against both of their hands as you cum hard. Chan doesn’t care, pressing even further, drinking you in as your clit pulses in his mouth. 

When you quiet down, Seungcheol lets go of your mouth, hushing you with soft kisses as you whimper. Chan’s tongue busies itself as he leisurely licks your thighs, catching stray drops of arousal. You sag against your boyfriend, panting. He rubs his hands up and down your aching thighs. 

“More,” Chan murmurs, words a little slurred as he presses a sloppy kiss to your thigh. He inches closer to your messy folds, hesitating. “Can you take more? Please tell me you can.”

You nod and Seungcheol hums, pleased. “She can.” 

Looking between your legs, you watch as Chan grabs his glasses and rips them off his face, tossing them somewhere behind him. Your stomach flips at the site, lips parted and gasping when he dives back in, fucking you with his tongue. 

“Shit,” you squeak, hands flying to his hair, wrapping your fingers in his locks and twisting. He doesn’t mind the sting, too focused on you. “Oh my god.”

Seungcheol chuckles darkly. “Fuck, he’s hot. Use your fingers, Channie.” 

Nodding eagerly, Chan complies. He’s eager to comply, bringing a hand up between your legs. You hiss when he slides a finger in, the glide easy from your first orgasm. He removes his mouth from you, panting and lips swollen as his eyes focus on where he gently fucks you with his finger. 

“Another,” Seungcheol recommends. 

Chan does. He slides another finger in, tilting his wrist so that they brush just right. You moan his name, throaty and worn. Chan hums happily, kissing his way back up to your clit where he wraps his lips, sucking gently as he sets a slow pace with his fingers. 

It only lasts for a few moments before his pace increases, feeling the way you squeeze tight around him, hearing the way your breath turns shaky and uneven, watching the way you continue to grow slick with sweat. 

He fixates on your face, sucking at you hungrily in time with his fingers, driving you toward another release. Seungcheol’s mouth finds your jaw, teeth nipping and tongue soothing. Again you’re pulled between the two of them, feeling stretched thin and overwhelmed by their mouths.

“I’m gonna,” You gasp, shaking in their grip. They both can tell. Seungcheol bites your neck a little harder, sucking the soft skin between his teeth. Chan turns ravenous, nearly folding you in half as he pushes into you, the wet sounds from his mouth bracketed by your heavy breathing. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

Every muscle in your body squeezes with the force of your orgasm. You can’t breathe, stars exploding behind squeezed-shut lids, breath stuck in squeezed-tight lungs. You’re barely able to hear Seungcheol murmuring in your ear, only able to hear the high-pitched ringing as you hit the top of your high, suspended for a moment before you start to come down.

You go boneless against Seungcheol. You feel spent, sucking in breaths of air while Seungcheol rubs his hands up and down your arms and Chan presses butterfly-soft kisses to your inner thighs, his hands rubbing your calves. 

The three of you stay there like that for a bit, quiet in the dark of Seungcheol’s office with the distant singing of your coworkers. You feel a bit floaty and dreamy, stuck somewhere between nearly asleep and happily present. 

Chan shifts and you drop your eyes to him, seeing him looking around, a little unsure what to do. You and Seungcheol notice at the same time, both of you extending a hand to him. Chan’s smile is shy and tentative, taking both of your hands and letting you pull him to his feet to collapse on the couch next to you.

Immediately you squirm toward him, half falling out of Seungcheol’s lap to fall against Chan’s shoulder. He laughs, lifting his arms and hesitating for a second before he wraps them around you. His lips are pink and swollen, still covered in your arousal. 

“That,” you sigh. “Was better than I imagined.”

“You imagined it, though?” he asks, glancing at Seungcheol. “Both of you?”

“Mhmm.” Seungcheol leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of Chan’s mouth, pink tongue darting out playfully. “Mmm. She tastes good.” 

Pink creeps up Chan’s neck and flushes his face. Seungcheol grins and you can tell he’s just as smitten as you, leaning his head against the back of the couch to watch Chan settle down. He drags his fingers in patterns on your arm, eyes losing focus. 

“Was this just for tonight?” Chan asks. There’s a note in his voice that makes you look up at him. You can tell he’s unsure, a little nervous. “Just for giving season or whatever?” 

Your voice is raspy with disuse. “Not if you don’t want it to be. Cheolie and I like you.” 

“Really?”

You lift a hand, brushing strands of hair back into his damp hairline. “Mhm. We want to keep you, if you’ll have us.” 

Chan chews on his bottom lip, contemplating. Seungcheol watches in silence, but you can tell by the way his fingers drum on your thigh that he’s nervous. He might exude calm and confident most of the time, but you know he hopes Chan will say yes - that he’s desperate for it. 

“I think I like that,” Chan says slowly, looking at you both. “I would like that, yeah.” 

Seungcheol grins, closing his eyes as he reaches over and runs a hand through Chan’s hair. “Good. Also - it’s always giving season at our house. So buckle up, Channie.” 

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[caelesjjk]

simply meant to be | jjk

☾ Title: Simply Meant to Be ☾ Pairing: pumpkin king!jungkook x fem reader ☾ Genre/AU: nightmare before Christmas au, romance, horror, smut ☾ Rating: m (18+) ☾ WC: 4.6K ☾ Warnings: this is not your average nightmare before christmas, its pretty dark and unhinged. jungkook is jack skellington. reader is somewhat of a sally character. jungkook calls you immortelle (it means everlasting), jungkook has face tattoos (you'll see), monsters, fear, seokjin appearing as Dr. Finkelstein hehe, electrocution therapy, being held against will, jungkook unalives someone, a game of cat and mouse, mentions of blood, smut in the forms of: kissing, grinding, fingering, unprotected sex, knife play, blood play, creampie ☾ Summary: you aren’t sure how any of it can be real. This place…these creatures…this man. You wake up next to a man you’ve never seen before with no memory of who he is or where you are. But everyone in town seems to know you. You belong to the Pumpkin King. Scared and utterly terrified you run into someone who claims they can help you remember. And now you’re starting to wonder if that’s truly what you want. ☾ Authors Note: hello darklings! Please enjoy my trick for the Fantasy and Fangs halloween collab! this fic became so much more unhinged than i originally planned lol. it may not be for everyone! just e sure to check my warnings before you proceed with the fic. this is heavily unedited.

Your body jolts upright, lungs immediately gasping for breath.

Panic surges through every nerve as you frantically look around at your surroundings and grasping at the thin sheet you find bunched around your hips. 

You’re naked. God why are you naked? How did you get here? Where the fuck are you?

Your heart pounds in your chest as you look next to you in bed and see that someone is lying next to you. A broad back and muscular arms covered in tattoos leading up to a head of messy black hair that covers the persons face lies snoring quietly against the sheets.

“Shit.” You mumble, wrapping the thin sheet around your body as you scramble out of the bed. The man lying in the bed stirs slightly and reaches into the space where your body once was. 

You don’t wait to see anything else, dashing for the bedroom door and stumbling into the very dark hallway. The only light comes from the cobweb covered candle sconces that line the black painted walls. 

You adjust the sheet around you the best you can before taking off running down the hallway. There is an immediate feeling that you’re being watched and you make the mistake of turning around to look behind you. 

The dark shadowy silhouette of a man stands where you had just been a moment ago. You beg your feet to move faster.

Before you reach the top of the stairs, you glance back over your shoulder once more to see what you can only describe as a jack o lantern grin light up and stretch across the face of the man taking his time moving towards to you down the hallway.

“Where are you going, immortelle?”

A voice comes into your mind and almost causes you to fall face first down the winding spiral staircase in front of you.

“Please leave me alone.” You beg as you rush down the stairs. You don’t make it far before you suddenly feel hands gripping at your ankles. Hands with claws….some covered with slime…reaching from under the stairs and tearing at the sheet keeping your naked body from being exposed.

You scream until your throat hurts. Kicking at the hands as you continue to fight your way down the stairs.

“You know how much I love chasing you, baby.”

Somehow you manage to make it to the bottom of the stairs, but you almost wish that you hadn’t when you fall against the front door and throw it open.

You must be hallucinating with fear.

Outside the sky is black and grey swirls of clouds in constant motion, you know if you stared too long you’d become dizzy. Instead, your eyes wonder around to the bare trees surrounding the house you just made your way out of. Just a few leaves hang on for dear life as the wind quite literally howls through the air.

Down the crooked stone steps in front of you is a huge iron gate with two giant pumpkin designs bent into the bars. Gargoyles sit atop every stone post surrounding the house. 

Wasting no more time, you descend the stairs until you’ve reached the iron gate, shaking the bars when it doesn’t budge.

“Please open. Please.” You shove with your shoulder as hard as you can and the gate loudly creaks open just enough for you to squeeze out into the open street. 

You turn around and shove the gate back shut, looking up at the top of the stairs where the man who had been chasing you through the house now stands with a smile on his half tattooed face and his arms crossed over his bulky bare chest.

You can see even from here that the tattoos on the left side of his face are skull like features. It’s absolutely terrifying.

He lifts a hand in a wave as he menacingly tilts his head to the side and smiles.

Fuck this.

You wrap the blanket tighter around you and take off down the street without a single clue as to where you are. Anywhere has to be better than where you just were.

You spoke too soon again.

The sight in front of you as you round the corner is just as terrifying as that house and that man.

There are monsters, literal monsters, standing in the streets. Selling items at market booths. Chasing their children on the sidewalks. Laughter…and screams. It’s a terrible mix of sounds.

You freeze as a bouncy ball belonging to what you can only assume is a swamp monster child rolls against your feet.

“Happy first day after Halloween Ms Y/N!” The little creature says, staring at you expectantly.

Your instincts tell you not to scream. If you scream it will only make things worse.

“You know my name?” Your voice shakes and so do your hands as you continue holding the blanket around your body.

“Are you alright, miss?” The child’s mother appears behind him, looking at you with concern.

“I um…I should go.” Your bare feet move to cross the street, making you pause when you step in something wet. You know that it’s blood before you even look down. Vomit threatens to fill your mouth but you continue walking away, dragging the train of the sheet you’re wearing through more of the bloody streets.

More monsters stare at you as you go. Some with long sharp teeth and claws that could easily slice through a normal humans delicate skin. Some walked on two feet and some slithered across the ground like sickly serpents. 

“Are you lost?” A horrifying witch grabbed your arm and tried to pull you back into the street.

“No, no I’m just on my way somewhere.” You lie the best you can, yanking your arm away only to immediately see deeps scratches from her long nails.

“So sorry miss.” She cackles, moving to join two other witches who were waiting for her on the other side of the street. They all continued their uneasy laughing until you turned the corner up ahead.

As you turned the corner you ran hard into something. Or someone it would appear when you looked up.

“What are you doing out here in nothing but a blanket, Y/N?” The man asks, pushing a pair of glasses up onto his nose.

This man had stitches across his forehead and down around his neck. Like some kind of Frankenstein’s monster, he’s been sewn together.

“Do I know you? Why does everyone here know my name?” You step back to put space between you and the monster.

“Ah, I see. Come with me.” He turns and begins walking but stops when you don’t follow. “I can help you. Come.” He holds out a hand, and while you don’t know what the fuck is happening, something tells you it’s okay to trust this stranger. 

You take his hand.

“Who are you?” You finally ask.

“I’m a friend. Dr. Kim Seokjin.” He swings your hands between you in a silly way. “You usually call me Jin. Sometimes Jinnie.”

“Jin.” You repeat, the name feeling familiar on your tongue. “Where are we going?”

“To my lab. I have things that can help you there.” Jin turns another corner and up ahead you can see a tall crooked tower looming in the distance.

“Your lab is in there?” 

“It is. Don’t worry Y/N, I promise you’re safe with me.”

You swallow hard but continue to let Jin lead you inside the tower and up, up, up the long spiraling stairs until you reach a door that he slides open.

Inside is a room filled with equipment and various experiments. Glass beakers filled with colorful liquid bubble and burble over small open flames. Sparks fly from wires that connect to different machines and some that connect to nothing at all. There are also several control panels at the center of the room with gurneys situated next to them.

“What kind of doctor are you, Jin?” Your voice shakes a little.

“The helpful kind.” He answers with a menacing grin on his face and a flicker of something slightly insane in his eyes.

“Wh-what do you have here that can help me?” You look down at the dirty blanket still wrapped around your body.

“First,” he grabs your hand again and leads you to a side room that has a cot with some folded clothes lying on top of it, “you can use those clothes to change into, okay? Whatever you want.” 

“Thank you.” You step into the small room and turn to face him. “Is something really wrong with me? Something that makes me not remember?”

“Everything is fixable. I’ll have you as good as new in no time.” Jin winks and closes the door behind him so that you can change in private.

You dress in a daze, still feeling very off kilter from everything that’s unfolded from the moment you opened your eyes. Flashes of the man you woke up next too and his terrifying tattooed face race across your memory and leave chills over your skin.

“Ready now?” Jin calls from outside the door. You take a deep breath and walk back out into the laboratory. “Why don’t you take a seat on one of those?” He motions to the gurneys at the center of the room.

Reluctantly, you walk over to them and sit on the thin mattress. It crumples under your weight and immediately sends a sense of dread swimming into your veins.

“How can you fix me?” You barely get the sentence out before Jin is next to you, situating your arms at your sides and wrapping leather straps around your wrists. “What are you doing?” Panic thick in your voice.

“This is how we fix you. Bite this.” He puts a leather strap up to your mouth.

“Are you crazy?! I’m not doing this. Let me go!” You pull against the restraints, thrashing your head and body in an attempt to get the fuck away.

“I know it’s a little frightening. You do this every time. One of your only flaws.” Jin shakes his head, sounding disappointing.

“Flaws? What are you talking about!?” 

“You’re my creation. I made you.” He tilts his head and smiles, “and you’re absolutely perfect except for that mind of yours. It resets. Forgets.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Creation?! I’m a human being! I’m not some experiment! What is wrong with you?” Hot tears starts to leak from the corners of your eyes and blur your vision.

“You’re so adorable sometimes.” Jin yanks on your restraints to tighten them, “sit still, Y/N.” 

“You’re hurting me.” You whimper.

“You think that hurts?” Jin smiles before he begins sticking sticky pads to your head and neck. “Just wait.” He whispers into your ear.

You’re such an idiot to have trusted this monster. You were so sure that he was good. A friend. He felt like a friend when you saw him. Familiar.

“Please…don’t.” You beg just before he forcefully shoves the piece of leather between your teeth.

“You’ll thank me soon.”

Terror freezes your body as you watch him slam down a lever on one of the control tables, green electric waves traveling down the wires and entering your body in trembling shocks.

You don’t know how long you lay there, screaming through the pain before you pass out from how much electricity Jin lets pass into your body. But eventually the room goes black and the last thing you hear is Jin manically laughing from across the room.

“It’s getting worse.”

“I tweaked some things this time. I’m hopeful it lasts longer.”

“It better. I’m tired of losing her.”

You hear quiet voices as you begin to come to. Voices that you recognize almost immediately.

“Jungkook?” Your voice croaks. Almost immediately the door to the small room slides open and the silhouette of the only person you want to see fills the doorway.

“You’re okay, immortelle?” Jungkook rushes into the room and kneels next to the cot you’re laying on.

“What happened to me? Why am I in Jinnie’s lab?” You turn your head to face him when he cups your cheeks in his hands.

“You had another episode, my sweet.” He brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles one by one.

“Episode?” Your brows draw together in confusion.

“You forgot who you were. That you belong to me. You forgot it all.” Jungkook looks sad while he explains and it breaks your heart.

“How could I forget you?” You sit up slowly and he helps you. “How could I forget my love?”

“It’s not your fault, immortelle. Don’t blame yourself.” Jungkook looks over his shoulder at Jin who stands in the doorway. Jin rolls his eyes before walking away.  

“Take me home?” You ask, wrapping your arms around Jungkook’s neck when he picks you up into his arms bridal style.

“Of course.” 

Jungkook carries you down the long winding staircase of the laboratory and outside where it’s pitch black besides the white melting candles inside the lamp posts along the street.

A smile pulls across your face when you see all the monsters that you love busy in the streets. They all smile back at you, tossing greetings and wishes of quick recoveries your way.

“They love you.” Jungkook whispers into your ear.

“No. They love you, you’re their pumpkin king. I’m just lucky enough to be yours.” You touch the skull details tattooed on the side of his face so he looks at you.

“You’ll be their queen soon.” He reminds you. You lean up to kiss his lips.

“Let’s get something to eat before we go home. I’m famished.” Jungkook sits you on your feet but keeps your hand in his.

Jungkook talks with some of the shop owners and you watch as he gathers all of your favorite things into a basket. Wines, cheeses, and some sweet treats leftover from the night before. You love him so.

You make your way over to a stand selling haunted dolls and look around at all the choices. You’re about to go back to find Jungkook when someone grabs your arm and twists you around.

“You’re so pretty.” The drunken vampire says, the smell of blood thick on his breath. He’s had too much.

“I appreciate your compliment, but I need you to let go of my arm.” You pull away but he doesn’t let go.

“Don’t be that way. Come with me.” He stumbles and almost falls on top of you.

“Get off of me!” You say louder but the vampire doesn’t listen, it’s nails scratching through your skin. You’re about to scream for Jungkook when he’s suddenly there, ripping the vampires hand from your arm.

“May I ask what you think you’re doing? Touching what’s mine?” Jungkook says too calmly.

“I…I didn’t recognize Ms. Y/N…I didn’t realize.” The vampire stumbles over his words.

“Is that your excuse?” Jungkook laughs, the terrifying cackling sound sending tingles through your body.

You know what’s going to happen next, and the thrill alone has you aching between your legs.

“I’m sorry, I’ll never make the mistake again.” The vampire takes a few steps back.

“Immortelle?” Jungkook looks over his shoulder to you. He’s asking a silent question that you already know the answer to. You nod yes as a smile spreads across your face.

“Remember in your next life my friend, to keep your filthy hands off my girl.” Before you can blink his hand is shooting out between them and into the vampires chest cavity. He holds it there a moment so that he can watch the life drain slowly drain from the vampire before he yanks his hand back out holding the still thumping heart in his hand.

The vampire falls to the ground in a lifeless heep, his eyes still open and eternally full of the fear he last experienced. The crowd around the market doesn’t take offense, they know if their pumpkin kills someone it was for a damn good reason.

Jungkook turns towards you, handing the heart to one of the children playing with the body on the ground. He pats their head and then slowly brings his hand up to his mouth, licking a thick stripe from the bloody palm of his hand to the tip of his middle finger, all while keeping eye contact with you.

You smile, closing the space between the two of you and claiming his mouth. Your tongue seeks out the blood that’s dropped down his chin and around his lips.

“It never gets old…watching you kill for me.” You breathe into his mouth while his blood hands lace into the strands of your hair.

“We need to get home before I show everyone here how well I fuck you.” His mouth leaves hot kisses against your neck as he leads you backwards down the street until your back hits the iron bars of a familiar gate.

Home.

The gate loudly creaks open as soon as it realizes the two of you have arrived. Jungkook stops kissing you to take your hand and walks with you up the stone stairs to the front door that also opens all on its own, the door knocker welcoming you home.

“Do you want to play?” You whisper, making Jungkook pause at the bottom of the stairs. Those tattooed details raising into a smile.

“Okay, immortelle. Let’s play.” He kisses the top of your hand before taking a step back. He slowly slips of his black and white striped suit jacket and unbuttons his shirt before it joins the jacket on the floor.

You soak in the tattooed planes of his body, the muscles begging to be touched. His dark falling over his forehead as he steps back farther into the shadows until he’s completely disappeared from your sight.

“You know what happens if I catch you, immortelle.” His voice floats into your ear from somewhere unknown. “Don’t let me catch you.” 

A thrill shoots through your body again and you sprint for the stairs, loving the way the monsters and ghouls grab at your ankles and whisper your name. You immediately turn left at the top of the stairs, your mind going a million miles an hour trying to think of where you could hide.

He knows all of the good places for hiding.

In a last ditch idea, you run into your shared bedroom upon hearing Jungkook’s footsteps running up the stairs. He took this game of chase so seriously and never took it slowly.

You slide under the bed, your chest heaving in fear but also excitement. You’re hoping by hiding somewhere obvious that he won’t even think to look here and waste his time checking all of the usual spots you tend to hide.

“Where are you, immortelle?” You hear his menacing voice out in the hallway coming closer. You almost giggle. “You know I’ll find you. I will always find you.”

You hear his footsteps stop outside the bedroom door and then the door slowly opens right after, lightly hitting against the wall behind it. 

Jungkook’s heavy footsteps make the floorboards creak as he walks into the room. You throw a hand over your mouth to keep from making any noises. Jungkook undoes the buckle of his belt and a moment later slips it from his belt loops and lets it clang against the hardwood floor.

“Are you soaked for me right now, my love?” You watch with wide eyes as Jungkook slowly walks around the bed. “I’ll find out soon enough.”

He doesn’t say anything else and when you look around at the floor you notice that he’s no longer next to the bed, his black boots no longer anywhere in sight. You release a long breath of relief.

And then you’re being yanked by the ankle from beneath the bed, a startled scream escaping you as you flip onto your back just in time to see Jungkook trap you with his body against the floor.

“You caught me.” You smile, lifting your hips up to meet his, desperate for friction against your core.

“Don’t I always?” His mouth is on yours, his hands pushing your dress up around your hips.

He was desperate for you too.

“I love you.” You whisper on his lips, the tattooed skeleton grin on his beautiful face turning upwards.

Jungkook sits up on his knees between your legs giving you a full view of his naked torso. Pretty muscles and flawless skin that you ached to leave your mark on. Scratches and bite marks and bruises were the only things that could make him more perfect.

Your chest heaves as you watch him reach behind his back in the band of his black dress pants to retrieve a silver shiny knife. Your pulse quickens immediately.

“Is this what you want, immortelle?” He presses the cold steel flat against the inside of your thigh, keeping the blade from cutting you just yet.

“Will you torture me?” You ask, your hands coming up to cup your breasts with anticipation.

“Absolutely.” Jungkook moves the knife farther up your skin until the point brushes over underwear. You moan pathetically at the feel of it brushing over your center and slowly sliding over onto your other thigh.

“Jungkook…” you sigh.

“Be patient. I’ll give you what you want.” Jungkook uses his other hand to undo the button and zipper of his pants, pushing them down until his perfect cock springs free from the confines.

You bite your lip at the sight in front of you. Jungkook slowly strokes himself to the sight of the knife moving across your skin. He draws the sharp side of the blade oh so gently across your stomach, so sharp you don’t even feel it draw blood. The view of you on display for him makes him groan and move his hand a bit rougher up and down his shaft. 

Your fingers move on their own accord, slipping through the small pool of blood on your stomach and moving them back over your breasts to smear the crimson liquid in a trail.

“Fuck. Fuck you’re so perfect.” Jungkook moves the knife to your throat, gently leaving one long cut from one side to the other. You immediately feel warm blood leave the wound and drip down the sides of your neck.

Jungkook drops the knife to the floor and bends over your body to attach his mouth to your neck. He licks and sucks at your blood, whimpering at the taste of it on his tongue. Your body instinctively arches from the ground, your chest rubbing against his and spreading more of your blood between your bodies. It was the most beautiful visual you could imagine.

You looked down between your bodies to see Jungkook’s hand still stroking his cock as he continues to move his mouth down your body to the cut on your stomach. You can barely stand the burn in the pit of your stomach any longer, your desire for the man on top of you smoldering too hot.

“I need you now. Please.” You lace your hands into Jungkook’s hair and lift his face. The sight of his face covered in your blood, his eyes solid black with lust almost does you in completely.

“Such a good girl, saying please.” He moves back onto his knees, squeezing precum from the head of his cock before he releases it completely and picks the knife back up off the floor. You watch in awe as he brings it to his mouth and licks the blood from the blade.

“I always want to be good for you.” You say sweetly. His cock twitches at the sound of your obedient voice.

Jungkook moves the knife down between your legs and ever so carefully pressed the sharp blade to your underwear and drags it down until the fabric slices apart and reveals your absolutely drenched pussy to him. The knife clangs to the floor again and Jungkook leans back down to claim your mouth, his thumb immediately finding your clit.

Your lips part to moan and his tongue swipes against yours swallowing up all the sounds that escape you. The dripping head of his cock suddenly swipes through your folds and causes a high pitched whine to bubble up your throat.

“Is your pussy desperate to be filled, immortelle?” His hand swipes the blood on your stomach before it’s back on his cock, the blood lubing his shaft to make it easier when he fucks himself into you.

“Yes. It hurts, Jungkook.” You let your hands wander his chest and stomach, watching him watch you.

“I’m not going to last long once I get inside your perfect pussy, my love. But I need you to cum and I need you to scream.” Without warning he roughly spears himself inside you, his hands holding you on his cock as you writhe from the sudden intrusion.

“Oh my fucking god.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he starts to move, rough and hard.

“Made for me. I literally had you made just for me and you’re perfect. So fucking perfect and pliant just for me.” Jungkook’s hand comes down to your throat, careful of the cut across your skin, he gently tightens his grip.

You immediately see stars, wrapping both of your hands around his wrist to keep him in place. You gasp and moan at the feeling of him controlling your breathing and ruining your pussy at the same time. 

“I’m going to come. God I’m coming right now.” The words are quiet as he continues to hold your throat but he hears you just fine, moving his hand from your throat to play with your clit.

“Scream. I need you to scream so I can fill you up.” You open your eyes to see Jungkook watching you, his hair sweaty and mouth parted. Just when you’re about to beg for a kiss he punches your clit between his fingers and your orgasm rolls through you like a hurricane.

Black and white sparks explode behind your eyes and though you can’t hear yourself, you know that you scream loud and high pitched. Just what Jungkook needs to find his own end, dropping on top of you as he continues to fill you past the brim and onto your thighs.

Dried blood scratches between your skin and his as he lies on top of you, his head against your chest and your hands roaming the expanse of his broad shoulders. 

“You’re okay, immortelle?” He finally asks through his heavy breathing.

“I am, of course.” You lift his face to place a kiss to his lips.

“We didn’t even make it to the bed this time.” He laughs lightly, groaning as he pulls out and helps you sit up with him.

“I didn’t mind.” You both smile knowing he feels the same.

“I’ll never mind being with you, immortelle. Never.” He touches your cheek and kisses your lips once more.

“Even if…even if I keep forgetting?” 

“Even then. We are simply meant to be, my love.”

[comatosebunny09]

serve & protect [ prologue ] | sylus

— summary: you’ve stood dutifully by his side for years. seen him at his worst, not once letting that side of him deter you. can you blame him for craving more than your loyalty? — cw: royalty au, king sylus, femme reader, knight/bodyguard reader, mutual pining, brief mention of injury, marking, tension, jealousy, kind of a slow burn, will get steamier — notes: a reimagining of something i wrote a few years ago. heavily inspired by final fantasy xv & the beast within (2024) movie. tysm for reading! — now playing: waltz no.2 - cihat aşkın 

You would feel bad for badgering him if he wasn’t prone to disappearing like this. 

Prone to shirking off his duties like an entire kingdom didn’t rely on his guidance. 

You sigh for the umpteenth time amid the night-blooming jasmines. Fingers tighten around the strapped leather grip of your sword, fastened to your hip. Your feet move on autopilot, carrying you through the garden on a path you’re all too familiar with, the grass shining with dew and crunching beneath your feet. 

Your shift just began after a grueling week of training. Yet, you’ve already been tasked by his royal advisor with locating your charge before even shrugging into your coat. You’ve become something of a glorified babysitter these days, practically telling your liege when to eat.

If not for his advisor threatening to lop your head off—he could very well try—you would leave the king be. He hasn’t found much reprieve these days, what with neighboring countries pushing for peace treaties, reformation efforts to rebuild the outlying cities, and distant kingdoms shoving their daughters at him for marriage, amongst a slew of other issues.

It isn’t uncommon for your charge to slip away when the weight of the world is too much to shoulder. For him to retire to his private garden to catch his breath. He’ll never admit it aloud, but shouldering an entire kingdom on his own deepens the violet bags hanging beneath his eyes. The sleepless nights. The impending anxiety stewing in his gut.

Only you know of the secret passageways that lead to his most favored spots in the garden, where his servants get lost trying to navigate the network of rose bushes arranged like a labyrinth to keep them out.

It’s often your responsibility to fetch him since you work more intimately with him than anyone else. You know His Majesty’s habits like they were mapped on the back of your hand. You wouldn’t have it any other way; it’s nice to be the only person allowed into these private quadrants of his life.

A shock of white stains your peripheral, peacefully nestled between swaying hydrangeas. 

You near him, noting that he’s propped up on an ironwood bench. His head is lowered and crooked to one side, arms folded over a broad chest, lips slightly parted. A book rests open and forgotten on his thigh, legs crossed. You tamp down a smile when you realize he’s fast asleep.

“Your Majesty,” you beckon with a hidden fondness as your steps slow to a stop before him.

He doesn’t stir. Of course, you don’t expect him to. When sleep claims him, it’s hard to free him from its ivy-like crawl.

You kneel dutifully, bowing your head, your sword scrawling a thick line in the dirt. You caution his name again, the sound of your voice competing with that of the breeze threading through the leaves. 

Still nothing. Just the steady rhythm of his breaths and distant morning birds singing their symphony around you.

With a sigh, you incline your head to look up. And what a mistake that proves to be, traitorous butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

He’s a beautiful contradiction amid the soft stir of pastel flowers. A dark cutout of regality, slumbering like a dragon guarding its treasure. 

His hair is reminiscent of a thick blanket of snow, piling itself amongst the treetops. He wears summer skin in the midst of spring. Stretched taut over a pretty Roman nose, angular features, full lips. He’s ethereal, limned in the sun’s amber glow, a sight that could bring the end of days or sink ships to the bottom of the sea. Thick, furled lashes dance with dreams beneath furrowed brows. A gruff sound escapes his mouth as he lightly stirs before falling still again.

Even in sleep, he maintains the intensity with which he’s known to rule.

A quaint smile touches your lips. You quell an impulse to soothe the divot between his brows with your thumb. To smooth out the hard press of his lips together. A well-timed gust of wind kicks in, rustling the velvet-soft hair framing his face.

Your fingers twitch with an impulse to touch. To tuck those unruly locks behind his ear. You instead curl them into a loose fist on the ground, quietly chiding yourself for allowing such thoughts to trickle in. 

He is your charge—your king. Affectionate gestures like that are forbidden. A conflict of interest, no matter how harmless they may seem. 

Besides, you’re unworthy of touching him. There’s dirt caked beneath your nails and an ever-present film of grime adorning your cheeks. He should have someone of equal stature smiling at his side. A pretty, glittering doll in flowery dresses, well-versed in the tongue of nobility. In the art of being poised and prim.

You’re a mere servant. A shield to be used at his disposal, your hands battle-worn and skin sun-kissed. You threw away all hope for love when you took an oath, binding your life to his and pledging your fealty to him. 

He handpicked you to serve as his personal bodyguard, a decision you still grapple with several years later. Many seasoned knights served in the royal guard longer than you’ve held a sword. You would never do anything to jeopardize his trust, to betray his kindness. 

The affection that unfurls like lotus petals in your chest for him is deep-rooted. However, it results from serving under him for so long and nothing more.

At least…

That’s what you tell yourself whenever his gaze lingers a little too long, pilfering the air from your lungs. 

Or when his dexterous fingers brush over your wrist under the guise of reaching for something in front of you. 

When he presses a warm and possessive hand at the small of your back whenever you tour the citadel’s grounds with him, or he requests your input on something at his desk. 

When he flashes a rare quirk of lips that’s boyish and dimpled and disarming when he thinks no one else is the wiser.

You clear your throat, remembering yourself. Your voice is more assertive this time, dispelling the nebulous haze of your musings. 

“Your Majesty, please. You have to get up.” The urge to stroke his cheek returns. You squeeze your thigh to curb it.

As if the Gods grant you mercy, that does the trick. 

His lashes flutter, and his voice is thick and raspy, rolling like thunder over the horizon in his chest. You watch him blink away the bleariness, the scarlet wash of his irises causing your heart to pull. 

Your king studies you as if making out the colors and texture of your face. You try not to shiver under his scrutiny, instead looking away as warmth inhabits your face. You’ve always found his eyes to be one of his most devastating features. They could easily glean through the mist of your mind, your guise, reading you like the yellowed pages of a book, even without tapping into the power residing in his right eye.

Heat permeates through the thickness of your uniform when, after setting his book aside, he suddenly pitches himself forward, elbows digging into the pockets of his knees. He rests his chin atop his folded together fingers, and you don’t need to fully look at him to see the smirk crooking his lips. The scent of unfettered energy and stripped sandalwood rolls off his skin, curling around your senses, threatening to root your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

The air between you is rife with tension. So thick, you can cleave through it with your blade. Your king watches you amusedly, and you do everything within your power to resist the bewitching pull of his gaze. The comfort and strength he exudes.

When he speaks, you nearly jump fifty feet out of your skin. His voice is as devastating as his eyes, puddling in your stomach, turning your brain to smog.

“I knew you were there all along. That’s why I didn’t bother opening my eyes. I was merely resting them.”

You scoff despite the anxiety scorching your innards. Closing your eyes, you retort under your breath, though loud enough for him to hear, “Sure, Majesty. You were resting your eyes while snoring with drool running down your chin.”

Your charge releases an indignant sound from the back of his throat, reeling back to touch his face, mortified. Your shoulders shake with your quiet laughter, and you hide the round tug of your lips behind your fist.

“Funny,” he says, and he gives you a look. One he’s used to silence an entire court of hecklers, its sharpness boding danger.

You clear your throat, donning that straight-faced mask you’ve grown so accustomed to wearing. You’re friends—childhood companions—yet you know when to shift from candid to serious.  

Recalling why you were initially sent to fetch him, you stand to full height, brushing the dust off your hands on your thighs before snapping to attention. Your king raises a brow as if sensing something on your mind. 

“At ease,” he orders, his voice devoid of its usual sternness as he leans back against the bench, a long arm draped along the bench’s headrest. 

You get a good look at the veins peering through the cuffed sleeve of his button-up, spilling down his forearm to puddle at the back of his hand. You swallow against the barbs forming in your throat, your mouth growing dry.

“Speak freely.”

You nod, your hands clasped together at the small of your back. “You have a brunch date with the Queen of Universum today, sir.”

He blinks as if this information is news to him before recollection forms between his brows. His Majesty scowls, drumming his fingers on the bench’s rim impatiently. “Of course. Another noble here to throw their daughter at my feet.”

Your shoulders slightly drop at the dejection in his tone. You wish people weren’t so insistent that he take a wife. His father ruled just fine without one following the death of his mother. Still, having been around His Majesty so long, you understand why it’s imperative he marry soon. 

Your shoulder throbs dully, serving as your reminder. 

You try to ignore how the thought of some pretty noble wrapped around his arm makes you bristle, green-eyed feelings stewing in your belly. It would never be you—never could be you. You’re content with being his handler, watching him mutter obscenities over paperwork from your position at his door.

“How does that make you feel?” His Majesty suddenly asks, a teasing edge to his voice.

You blink, caught off guard. “M-Me?”

His chuckle is rich and endearing, and you unconsciously step back when he stands, swaddling you in his warmth and imposing aura. Stuffing a hand into his pocket, he pokes your nose, and you go cross-eyed looking at his slender finger.

“Yes, you. How does it make you feel, knowing that so many women would kill to take my name?”

He’s trying to get a rise out of you. Trying to weasel something out of you you’ve tucked in the deepest regions of your mind. You don’t humor him; instead, you give him a haughty look, your chin defiantly jutting forward. 

“I think anyone willing to marry you is clinically insane.”

He laughs at your brazenness, your teasing, full-bodied and soothing. Dimples crater his cheeks, and the softness washing over his eyes causes a smile to twitch your lips. Without warning, idle fingers scorch your skin through the fabric of your jacket, easing down your arm, past the crook of your elbow, further still…

You’re breathless as His Majesty coaxes a hand from behind your back, and you watch with slightly parted lips and through the wispy sweep of your lashes as he draws it to his mouth. His eyes drill into the hulls of your soul whilst his molten lips brush your knuckles. He kisses them with such tenderness, such reverence, as if you’re an idol forged from glass, meant to be preserved in a museum.

The sound of your pulse pounding like a war drum blots out every bit of noise around. Your throat thickens, tongue bolted to the roof of your mouth. 

“Good morning, by the way,” he drawls as if ensnaring you in a secret, his warm breath ghosting your skin, limber fingers scorching your hand to the bone. 

You snatch away quicker than you mean to. Smooth your palm down your thigh before pinching yourself, studying the blades of grass licking at your boots. You wish you hadn’t caught sight of the fleeting pain in his expression. Wish you hadn’t been the cause of it.

“W-We should get going, sir,” you divert, trying to hide the shakiness of your voice.

He pushes out a weighted breath, stuffing the hand once curled around yours into his opposing pocket. “Lead on, then, dear friend.”

“Right.” With a curt nod, you turn on your heel towards the patchwork of greenery you emerged from.

He follows wordlessly, closely, a towering presence at your back, footfalls weighted in the grass, swallowing up the sound of your smaller ones. Static charges between you, imbued with something potent. You practically feel his eyes boring holes into the space between your shoulder blades.

You try to no avail to quell your thundering heart. To ignore how your knuckles throb where his lips imprinted themselves on the rough stretch of skin. 

You wince, inwardly warring with yourself, praying that His Majesty keeps his hands to himself long enough to get through his meal with the queen. 

You could only dream he would behave.

His Majesty is as infuriating as he is handsome.

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