#like heaven is not going to be as he imagined it

[ofbatsandballads]

have a little Jason drabble inspired by me going to my work bestie’s bachelorette party tonight. yes, yes I did imagine all this while getting ready and what about it? also consider this a part of my jason gets the girl series.

Jason Todd is a worrier. You knew that the very first night you met him when he automatically assumed that you, a woman living alone and wearing fuzzy pajamas, would be a danger to him. You know that now by his incessant questions that he’s been pelting at you for the past hour.

“You’ll keep in contact with me, right?” he asks from the other side of the shower curtain.

“Of course, Jay,” you reply as you twist like a contortionist while shaving your legs.

“I know it’s a bachelorette party, but please don’t drink so much that you don’t know what’s goin’ on around you, baby,” he says, voice raised so you can hear him over your hair dryer.

“I know, Jay. I’ve not forgotten where we live!” you shout back as reassuringly as you can.

“You sure I can’t convince ya to stay here with me?” he asks, only half joking, as you flip through the hangers in your shared closet looking for what to wear.

“You’re making a very convincing argument,” you concede as he kisses down your neck. “But no. Alas, I cannot be a shitty friend.”

“Fine. But at least wear somethin’ that goes with the jacket I got you,” he grumbles.

You laugh under your breath. This man. He’s such a worry wart. But you get it. Jason goes out every night into the belly of the beast, sees the worst of the worst. He knows what happens to vulnerable young women in this city, and you can’t blame him for his overprotective nature. So if wearing the tan leather jacket, a smaller replica of the one he wears as Red Hood, that has a tracker sewn into the interior is what he needs to ease his anxious mind, you’ll do it without complaint.

“It’s a gorgeous jacket, Jaybear. It goes with everything,” you say as you scratch soothingly at his scalp.

“You know where you’ll be tonight?” he asks from the foot of your bed, watching you as you put on your makeup.

“Uh huh. We’re not going to any bars or clubs or anything like that. Maid of honor just rented a penthouse in the Diamond District. We’ll probably spend the night eating pizza and drinking cocktails,” you answer as you try not to stab yourself in the eye with your mascara wand.

Jason makes a little grunt of agreement. You idly think that he sounds just like his dad, but you also don’t say that because you’re not a complete idiot. Also because you once told Jason he looked like Bruce and how miraculous that was since he was adopted, and he spent the next three days mumbling 'don't look anythin’ like the old man’ every time he glanced in a mirror.

You glance behind you in the vanity mirror to see the love of your life. His expression tugs your heartstrings. He looks so…melancholy. Emotions are storming in his sea green eyes and all you want is to ease his worries. You lay down your makeup brush and pad over to him, settling down in his lap. His hands come up automatically to rest on your hips, thumbs stroking over the softness.

“What’s wrong, angel?” you whisper, smoothing out the creases between his furrowed eyebrows with the tips of your fingers.

“I don’t—” he stops abruptly, tries to find the words he needs. “I’m not tryin’ to be overbearing. Don’t wanna be one of those guys that tells their girl what to do.”

He takes a breath and you stay silent. He has to get this out and you’ll wait as long as it takes.

“I just…worry. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t lose you. I can’t,” and his voice breaks like stained glass. “I wouldn’t survive it. I know this is fuckin’ stupid. Me actin’ like this over a bachelorette party but I just…I can’t stop thinkin’ about all the things that could happen.”

Oh. Oh, your sweet, loving, heaven sent boyfriend. You know his past haunts him, that this city haunts him. You wish you could take all his worries away and wrap him in a nice warm blanket. You’d tuck him away from the world, keep him safe and happy and cared for all his days if you could.

“Jason, look at me,” you tilt his head up with your fingers under his jaw. “I promise you I will do everything in my power to be as safe as possible. I won’t drink irresponsibly. I’ll make sure to text you if anything, and I mean anything, starts to get weird. It won’t, but if it did you would be on speed dial. And trust me, angel, I have no intentions of staying the night.”

You don’t. Good friend or not, you can’t sleep well if you’re not wrapped in the strong arms of the man beneath you.

“So I expect you to be waiting on that tricked out bike of yours to pick me up,” you beam at him, run your hand through his hair because you know it makes him melt into your touch.

“I’ll be waitin’ for you,” he says, a solemn promise that extends far beyond tonight.

“Good. Now that being said, I will be bringing home all the dick decorations because I wanna plant them in your brother’s apartment. Just to fuck with him,” you giggle.

Jason lights up for the first time tonight. His green eyes gleam with mischief and adoration.

“Oh, you are my fuckin’ soulmate, baby. I’ll help you break in.”

[eiightysixbaby]

eddie loves fucking in his van.

and yeah, he understands. car sex is typically so overrated. he couldn’t imagine trying to get anything accomplished while crammed into the back of a beemer or something.

but his van is vastly different.

it’s got so much extra room. and why would he let all of that extra room go to waste?

he’ll take any excuse he can get to drag you into the rust bucket of a vehicle, his beloved nonetheless. he can’t imagine anywhere better to be than lying on his back in the rear of the van, with you, bare from the waist down (or entirely) and straddling him.

he loves gripping your thighs, watching as you bounce so prettily on top of him. a joint hanging from his lips, one that he occasionally passes up to you, letting you inhale before pulling it away again. a euphoric haze encompassing the both of you, fogging up the windows, warming the air around you.

there’s just something about it. a certain appeal. he isn’t entirely sure, but he knows that when he sees you leaning against the metal exterior of that vehicle, meeting him there after one of his late shifts or when you’re both ditching a class, your sultry eyes beckoning…

yeah. it’s like heaven.

just a word to the wise, don’t come knocking if eddie’s van is rocking.

[comphy-and-cozy]

3:56am - Andrei Svechnikov

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x Reader (f)

Summary: Andrei wakes up in the middle of the night and can't sleep.

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Established relationship CNC, unprotected sex, creampie.

Author's Note: Surprise, @smileysvech & @pyotrkochetkov! You both sent this idea a while ago and it's been collecting dust on my shelf for several months but I was finally ready to bust it out for your reading pleasure. She's short and sweet but I hope y'all enjoy it all the same!

Masterlist

A dull throbbing in his stomach rouses him from sleep. What is that?

Slowly, groggily, Andrei blinks a few times, vision foggy as consciousness finds its way back to him. Soft light is starting to leak through the curtains, and he can make out your sleeping silhouette in the first bits of the morning sun. Your body rises and falls slowly as you breathe, fast asleep still. Dreaming, maybe.

He’s awake now. Awake enough to register that it’s early. And that the throbbing in his stomach, the one that woke him, is actually a raging hard on.

An exhale, a glance at the clock on the nightstand. 3:56am.

Then, he looks back toward you, admiring your form, so beautiful even when sleeping. His eyes trail over your figure, gaze tracing over your dips and curves as a memory of last night floods back to him: Sighs, moans, the feeling of your soft skin underneath his fingertips, of the type of pleasure he’s never had with anyone else. The thought alone earns a low pulse between his legs.

He sucks in a breath when he moves the sheet slightly to see your shirt—his shirt—riding up your back, and—no panties.

And fuck, if you aren’t still dripping. Even in the low light of the morning, he can see the way you glisten, drooling from your earlier tryst. He isn’t sure if it’s his cum or yours, briefly slipping back into a lusty daydream at the way you squeezed him, moaning out his name while your hips rolled in his lap, milking him for all he's worth. Apparently, you really liked the way he looked in his Whalers jersey—you made him keep the white and green sweatband on, now lying somewhere on the floor after you threatened to use it to tie his wrists together if he didn’t let you take control.

Almost as if on cue, his dick throbs against his leg, like it’s pleading with him to be inside you. He groans, moving to grip his cock in his hand and using the visual of your soaked cunt as inspiration. Briefly, he wonders if he should move to the bathroom to avoid waking you, but he can’t bring himself to move from the warmth of your body or the scent of your shampoo—it plays an important part in the stiff rigidity against his palm.

Andrei imagines his fist is your pussy, gripping himself tightly as he ascends into heaven. It’s not the same without your moans of encouragement, the cutest sounds that have him hard in seconds.

But no matter how hard he strokes, how good it feels, he can’t quite get there, feeling like he’s hit an invisible wall before reaching the finish line. He grunts, squeezing himself so tightly it hurts, and he releases his dick in frustration. He’s breathing embarrassingly heavy, heart ticking in his throat, willing the tightness in his balls to just go away.

The idea comes to him in a flash and he chews on the inside of his cheek, mulling it over.

Just the tip, he thinks, it’ll be fine. She told me it was fine.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the steady hum of your breathing while he has an internal debate beside you. And then you shift, a soft sigh falling from your lips in the exact same way you sound when he buries himself inside you, and his dick twitches against his stomach.

Fuck it.

With far more patience than he thought he was capable of, he inches his hips forward, pausing to grit his teeth at the way his head bumps against your soft, wet lips. Slowly, he runs the tip along your slit, teasing you even in your sleep. You sigh out a sleepy moan, the sound escaping on an exhale, and he feels himself throb in the loose grip he has on his dick.

Steadily, achingly slowly, he nudges himself between your lips, pushing just into your entrance. His eyes are drawn to the subtle movement of your hips, your hips canting backward unconsciously to seek out more of the feeling. Andrei can’t help but smirk to himself, smug at the way you desperately yearn for him even in your sleep.

He’s halfway inside you when another moan sounds from your mouth, lips parted this time. He bites his own lip to stop from groaning too loudly so as not to wake you; the overwhelming urge to rail you into oblivion is nearly ready to take over and he isn’t even fully inside of you yet.

And then your back arches, unintentionally pressing him even further into you, and this time he can’t help the grunt that escapes him, or the way his hips push forward the last bit before he’s completely sheathed inside of you. The warmth of your cunt hugs him in a way that makes his eyes squeeze shut, feeling the way your walls throb around him in a way that his hand could never replicate.

Finally, pure bliss.

Soon enough, he’s moving experimentally, hyper aware of your movements, watching carefully to see if you’re awake. One hand grasps onto your hip, holding your body in place while he rolls his against you. His thrusts are slow, intentional, observing your reactions so he can earn that sweet, sleepy moan of yours again.

Very gradually, Andrei picks up his pace, burying himself to the hilt each time. With a glance down, he watches the way your ass presses against his hips with each push forward, hand itching to spank you. Instead, he occupies himself with pressing his chest against your back, leaning forward slightly to drape his arm over your hip, hand dancing over your mound. He teases alongside his leisuresome tempo, fingers working their way around your clit before finally landing on it. With another encouraging moan from you, he begins timing his thrusts forward with a brush of your clit.

It’s only a few moments later that a low, husky sigh leaves your mouth and your hips begin rolling against him of their own accord. You’re awake, and fuck, you want it. The way your body moves is uninhibited, using him to seek further pleasure and find your high.

“Andrei,” you whisper, far too strung out to ask how you got here, instead gripping onto the strong, flexing muscle of his bicep. Your tone is begging, though he wants to be sure what for before he continues.

“Yeah, kisa, what do you want?” he murmurs, lips pressing against your shoulder blade. His voice is soft, deep, and he can feel the way you clench around him at the sound of his voice.

You reply in a wanton moan, the words indiscernible. Although it pains him to do so, he stills the grinding of your hips. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

He almost laughs at the way you whimper when his large hand prevents you from resuming your gyration. You’re cute when you’re confused, when sleep is still heavy in your eyes despite the very awake sensations in your body.

“Drei,” you whisper, “please, fuck me.”

The desperation in your voice has him throbbing inside your walls, the sensation in turn earning a tight clench around him. He’s got a little bit of patience left, the smallest drop, enough to steady the slow push of his hips as he inches his way back inside you.

It’s worth it, he thinks, by the lilt of your moan. He’s teasing, riling the both of you up, relishing the delicious way you squeeze him. Another cry of his name has his resolve evaporating in an instant, snapping his hips forward as he buries himself to the hilt. The action earns a wail from your throat, encouraging him to keep going, setting a pace that’s patient but rough, hitting all of the right spots.

“Fuck,” he grunts, entwining his fingers with yours when your hands flail around in search of purchase, holding yourself steady to accept the force of his thrusts. It takes everything in him to stay focused, to keep a rhythm he knows is worth keeping by the way it’ll drive you lustfully mad for him.

The sensation of getting railed so deeply and so thoroughly while the shade of sleep still hasn’t been entirely shaken from your eyes is exquisite; still pliant beneath his hands, unable to control the whimpers that escape your throat.

“Andrei,” you moan, and he feels the impact directly in his balls. “Love how pretty you sound when you're all fucked out for me,” he purrs in your ear. “So slutty and needy, just for me, kisa. Tell me what you want.”

Another whimper follows his command, and he feels the way you clench tightly around him. “W-want you to—fuck—make me… come. Please.”

He breathes out his chuckle in a husky whisper. “Already, milaya?”

Your reply is a jumble of words that he can’t quite hear, so he slows his pace down to buy himself a little time; Andrei knows he won't last, knows that as soon as he feels the tidalwave of your orgasm begin, he'll lose it entirely, and sleep is too near for him to stave it off. So, he slows his pace down to buy himself some time when your reply is another jumble of words he can’t quite hear.

“Was dreaming—’bout you inside of me.”

“Fuck,” he says, the realization that you were already dreaming about him mere hours after he’d already ravaged you thoroughly hitting him square in the chest. The thought nearly makes him go dizzy. “You were already dreaming about this? About my cock fucking this gorgeous, needy pussy? That why you so wet for me, lyubimaya?”

“Always dream about your cock, Drei,” you say with a gasp when he thrusts his hips forward sharply in approval.

“Such a perfect little slut for me,” he groans. “Think maybe I will reward you by letting you come for me, again.”

All he gets in response from you is an eager cry, his hips punching forward and setting a new, quck rhythm that has the breath in your throat catching. It doesn’t take long for both of your releases to build back up to their boiling points, that delicious, bubbling heat reaching its crescendo at the place where your bodies meet.

For a moment, time stands still. There's a few blissful seconds just before the peak begins, those few glorious moments at the top of a roller coaster before the drop. Andrei feels like he could burst with love and joy—and sure, yes, burst with something else—and it's positively euphoric, like he's at the top of the world.

And then both of you erupt in mutual release, him spilling deep into your clenching core, your cry of ecstasy masking his deep, low grunt of your name. The world is ablaze, along with every sense and nerve in your bodies, pleasure blanketing you in a world of bliss.

When he finally comes to, he feels your skin against his chest first, warm against his panting chest. Your pussy, wet and warm and still wrapped snugly around his length, twitches weakly. Andrei allows his hand to stroke soft, gentle patterns onto your stomach as he prepares himself to pull out of your perfect heat.

Your small sigh of protest when he does has him clenching his jaw, willing the blood to not surge back to his dick. Then, carefully, shift your body to turn around and face him. Your eyes are still sleepy, but the dopey smile on your face makes his heart soar.

“That was fun,” you whisper, like you've only just realized how late—early?—it is.

“Couldn't help it, lyubimaya,” he says. “Needed you.”

You press a soft kiss to his lips and warmth fills his body. He tries to hide the way his knees wobble as he rolls off the bed to fetch a cloth to clean both of you up; afterward, he's slipping back underneath the covers, accepting your frame instantly into his arms.

“If we go back to sleep now,” you murmur, “there'll still be a chance for you to wake me up in the morning like this again.”

SIMILAR CONTENT

Sundress Season* Ruin Me* Glittery*

[echstacy00]

every breath you take: stalker!landlord!kimsunoo

when you first moved in, the apartment felt like a dream come true—affordable, safe, and run by a landlord who actually seemed to care.

sunoo was young—weirdly young for a landlord. but he had explained early on that it was a family business, passed down by his father. “i practically grew up managing this place,” he said with pride and a sheepish smile—it was cute . and either way, he seemed extremely responsible. he was polite, charming, always ready to help with the warmest smile. he made a great first impression, kind and attentive without being overbearing.

what you didn’t know was that from the moment he saw you, sunoo was infatuated. how could he not be? you were… different. unlike anyone he had ever met. there was something so effortless about your presence, like you were truly heaven-sent. the way you carried yourself, the warmth in your voice when you spoke to others—it was mesmerizing. you were perfect. and perfection needed to be protected.

on your first day, while giving you a tour of the unit, sunoo casually mentioned the security cameras.

“they’re only for emergencies, of course” he quickly reassured you, flashing that signature sweet smile. “no daily surveillance or anything like that—just in case..something happens.”

and of course to you it made sense. the world was dangerous, after all.

and yet, nothing ever happened to you.

a pipe burst in the unit next door, but yours was fine. a power outage hit the entire floor—except for you. The one time you forgot to lock your door, you panicked, only to find everything exactly where you left it. It was like you were protected.

you didn’t think too much of it.

not even when sunoo started mentioning things about you that you never remembered telling him.

at first, it wasn’t the way he spoke that unsettled you. It was the missing things.

little things at first. a necklace you swore you had left on your nightstand. a sweater that you thought was in the laundry basket. then the more..intimate things. things you would never misplace.

it was ridiculous—wasn’t it? you were usually so organized. was your washer eating up your clothes? or… was this deeper than you thought?

still, you told yourself it was nothing. that you were overthinking it.

then, one day, sunoo asked you—casually, like it was nothing—

“how’s that book you’re reading?”

you blinked and slightly furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. you had been reading in your bedroom. alone.

sunoo immediately backtracked, laughing a little and rubbing the back of his neck. “oh—uhm, i saw it during the unit check-up,” he added quickly seeming somewhat nervous? “didn’t mean to sound weird or anything.”

you let it go. because he wasn’t weird. sunoo was sweet, maybe a little awkward, but harmless. right?

then there were more moments.

“you’ve been looking tired lately. staying up too late again?”

again?

your curtains had been drawn. your lights had been off. how did he know?

at first, you brushed it off, but doubt slowly began to creep in. something about the way he said things, how he always seemed to know—it felt off. but then guilt set in almost immediately. you had always been the paranoid one, overthinking every little thing. this had to be the same, didn’t it? sunoo was too… casual for any of this to be real. you must’ve been imagining it.

then the little slips started.

one night, you came home late from dinner with friends. not even ten minutes later, your phone buzzed.

sunoo (landlord) : Saw you got home safe. Good.

your slightly stomach twisted. the hallway cameras didn’t even face your door.

another time, you mentioned trying a new café across town. sunoo hummed thoughtfully.

“the one near the park? you didn’t really like it, did you?”

your breath caught. you had gone alone. you hadn’t told anyone.

the realization crept in slowly, a sickening weight settling in your stomach. you were being watched. the feeling had always been there—subtle, easy to brush off—but now, it was suffocating.

no. you shook your head, forcing the thought away. you were overreacting. he was just observant, that’s all. he paid attention. it was nice, wasn’t it? to have someone looking out for you?

so you tested it.

one evening, you placed your keys on the kitchen counter and made a show of searching for them. you sighed, muttered to yourself, and paced around the apartment like you were frustrated.

not even five minutes passed before there was a knock at the door.

your blood ran cold.

when you opened it, sunoo stood there, smiling softly, holding your keys.

“you left these in the bathroom.”

your heart pounded.

you hadn’t.

And that’s when you knew.

the cameras weren’t just for emergencies.

they were for you.

please do not motify my works.

© echstacy 2025 - all rights reserved.

[coffeeman777]

Please don't be offended, @topaz-and-turquoise, but I think this is a little bit off the mark.

The Scriptures do in fact teach that evidence of genuine salvation is repentance and good works. Salvation is complete in Christ Jesus, and we are saved completely by grace through faith. Our works don't at all contribute to salvation. But, as Paul points out in Romans, this doesn't mean that Christians can continue in sin without consequence. Paul, John, Peter, James, and Jude all contribute to the idea that individuals who are genuinely saved, who have God's Holy Spirit in them, will live differently from those who don't. The proof that a person's faith is real is in the change of behavior. The Holy Spirit never enters a person and permits them to continue living just as they did before they were saved.

Real Christians can and do sin. We all struggle with it, and will continue to struggle with it until Jesus returns or calls us home. The key word there is "struggle." We acknowledge that the sin is evil, and we take real, grace-enabled steps to put it out of our lives. Indeed, Paul writes that the power of sin is broken over us, and that it is not only possible to throw off sin and pursue genuine holiness, but that this is what God calls us to do. Genuine Christians who love the Lord will seek to worship Him with their lives by their obedience to His commands. John writes that loving God means obeying Him.

So, yes, it's true that we aren't saved at all by works, and it's true that Christians don't become sinlessly perfect on this side of eternity, but it's equally true that genuine Christians will love God and sincerely seek to obey Him out of that love and a desire to worship Him, and that this attitude of the heart proves salvation. As John writes,

"My little children, I am telling you this so that you will stay away from sin. But if you sin, there is someone to plead for you before the Father. His name is Jesus Christ, the one who is all that is good and who pleases God completely. 2 He is the one who took God’s wrath against our sins upon Himself and brought us into fellowship with God; and He is the forgiveness for our sins, and not only ours but all the world’s.

"3 And how can we be sure that we belong to Him? By looking within ourselves: are we really trying to do what He wants us to?

"4 Someone may say, “I am a Christian; I am on my way to heaven; I belong to Christ.” But if he doesn’t do what Christ tells him to, he is a liar. 5 But those who do what Christ tells them to will learn to love God more and more. That is the way to know whether or not you are a Christian. 6 Anyone who says he is a Christian should live as Christ did...

"See how very much our heavenly Father loves us, for He allows us to be called His children—think of it—and we really are! But since most people don’t know God, naturally they don’t understand that we are His children. 2 Yes, dear friends, we are already God’s children, right now, and we can’t even imagine what it is going to be like later on. But we do know this, that when He comes we will be like Him, as a result of seeing Him as He really is. 3 And everyone who really believes this will try to stay pure because Christ is pure.

"4 But those who keep on sinning are against God, for every sin is done against the will of God. 5 And you know that He became a man so that He could take away our sins, and that there is no sin in Him, no missing of God’s will at any time in any way. 6 So if we stay close to Him, obedient to Him, we won’t be sinning either; but as for those who keep on sinning, they should realize this: They sin because they have never really known Him or become His.

"7 Oh, dear children, don’t let anyone deceive you about this: if you are constantly doing what is good, it is because you are good, even as He is. 8 But if you keep on sinning, it shows that you belong to Satan, who since he first began to sin has kept steadily at it. But the Son of God came to destroy these works of the devil. 9 The person who has been born into God’s family does not make a practice of sinning because now God’s life is in him; so he can’t keep on sinning, for this new life has been born into him and controls him—he has been born again." (1 John 2:1-6, 3:1-9)

[sensationallysangwoo]

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙵𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚜: 𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗/𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚐-𝙷𝚘 𝚡 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚝! 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙵𝙻𝚄𝙵𝙵 ♡

♡ 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚝. 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 ����𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍, 𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗, 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎. 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚜.

♡ 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝: 𝚂𝚎𝚖𝚒-𝙰𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚏 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝. 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚢. 𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎. 𝙰𝚐𝚎 𝙶𝚊𝚙 (𝚁𝙴𝙰��𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝚂 𝙰 𝙻𝙴𝙶𝙰𝙻 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙳𝚄𝙻𝚃.)

♡ 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝙰𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

Your hands are shaking. You feel like crying as you anxiously wait for the result of the test.

You honestly should have 100% expected this to happen, but in the moment, neither you nor Berlin were thinking about protection.

He was on top of you, kissing and worshipping your whole entire body as you came undone underneath him. The way he slammed in and out of you was heaven as your bodies intertwined passionately.

Before you knew it, he exploded inside of you and you were so caught up in the pleasure you didn’t even consider the outcome. All you could focus on was him.

Berlin is your boyfriend officially, but things are still very very new. You have only been together for a little less than a year now but you know in your heart that he’s perfect for you. He’s intimidating, bold, the slightest bit domineering. Your sweet, gentle disposition compliments him perfectly, making you two a match made in heaven.

He’s older than you as well, so much older. He’s 41, and you are in your early 20’s. You look up to him as sort of an authoritative figure, but primarily a lover. He guides you through life and you remind him not to take himself too seriously, despite the “business” he’s in.

The double line illuminates on the screen of the test. Positive. Your pulse throbs in your neck as anxiety washes over you.

What will Berlin think? You immediately do what your brain always does: imagine the worst case scenario. He’s going to be pissed, upset, stressed, and then leave you. He won’t want to deal with a baby at his age, let alone at all. Berlin, Song Jung-Ho, one of the most high-profile criminals in the country, is not going to want to be a father. Nuh uh. No way.

You hastily throw the test in the trash.

You’ve always wanted to be a mother. You love babies. You have always wanted to nurture a little one, watch them grow and develop their own personality, and share so many memories and experiences with them. Will Berlin want that too, though? You really truly don’t know, but as mentioned before, you’re almost certain he doesn’t want that. He’s too wrapped up in his “business.”

The front door jostles and heavy footsteps clunk in the foyer. Shit, he’s home for the day.

“My angel! Where are you hiding?” His voice echoes through the house as you slowly tiptoe out of the bathroom.

“Hey…how’s the planning going?” You ask, trying to make conversation while also keeping your cool.

“It’s going well. Those goddamn hostages better start behaving themselves, though. I’m tired of their shit. The only way to get ‘em to listen is to scare the shit out of ‘em.” He scoffs.

You nod slowly, a worried expression clearly donning on your face.

He’s quick to notice that you are not your usual cheery, bubbly self. Normally you’re all over him, arms wrapped around him, peppering his face in kisses. Right now, you’re noticeably somber.

He approaches you. His tall frame hovers over you as he brings a hand up to your cheek, cupping it tenderly.

“What’s wrong my little love? You can tell me anything.” He softens his gaze.

You smile bashfully at his touch. His dark, almost black eyes bore into you . Your own eyes fall to his chest, unable to maintain eye contact. He knows the hold he has on you.

“Nothing, Jung-Ho. Just have a stomach ache, that’s all.” You lie.

“Go lie down, then.” He squeezes your cheek before kissing it, then pats your head and makes his way to the bathroom. Oh fuck.

Your heart races. You lie down on the couch and hope and pray he doesn’t notice the test in the trash. This was futile.

The bathroom door creaks. Berlin stands in front of you. He crosses his arms, smirks, and cocks an eyebrow. “You thought I wouldn’t notice, huh?”

You gulp as you quickly stand up.

“Jung-Ho, I’m so sorry—I was way too scared to tell you—If you want to leave I understand—“ Your face burns red hot as your stammer.

He smiles so widely that the corners of his eyes wrinkle. He immediately pulls you into a strong embrace. He nearly breaks you with how tightly he’s holding you. You melt into him, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. His lips meet yours in a gentle, soft kiss.

“We’re going to be parents!” He exclaims. Your heart melts at his enthusiasm. You’re extremely excited and also extremely relieved.

He presses his forehead against yours. “Why were you afraid to tell me, little love?” His words ghost against your lips.

“I-I didn’t know how you were going to react. I was afraid you were going to leave me.”

“Leave you! That’s ridiculous, my darling. I would never leave you no matter what. Also, you’re a horrible liar. I knew something was up with you the minute I stepped in here.” He laughs.

You beam at him. You look at him and see your future. The father of your child. Your future husband, hopefully. He rubs your belly tenderly. “Well what are we waiting for? We need to prepare for our little one!”

Over the next couple of months, your belly grows and so does your love for Berlin. He’s always been a completely different person when he’s at home, with you. Now he’s an extra different person with the pregnant version of you.

He gets you whatever you want at the drop of a dime. If you mention you are craving something, he will buy you 100 of them. He cooks for you, cleans for you, and watches you like a hawk to make sure you’re safe and healthy. He’s follows you everywhere, you’re his top priority.

He’s so worried about you that it could even be a little overbearing at times, but you know he means well. He doesn’t want anyone even so much as looking at you while you’re pregnant.

“Do you need anything? Do you want anything?” You hear these phrases come out of Berlin’s mouth over a thousand times a day. His tough exterior completely fades when it comes to you and your child. He’s always holding you close by, his arm around you protectively.

He holds your waist, holds your belly, and is constantly giving you kisses and cuddles and reassuring you that you look beautiful, even if you might not feel that way.

The night before your due date rolls around, and Berlin is as excited as ever. His phone rings, but he doesn’t care about anything relating to the heist right now. He just wants to meet your precious angel who he will love forever, along with you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @yxluana , @swtt4hk , @massivecheesecakesmuttss , @miss-conjayniality , @ladiesman21777 , @dilfismz , @vkeyy , @kudiikis , @daeholuvs , @insidekatmind , @sealcowboy , @torasgfreal , @melfresita-ruri , @ellfucksup , @hrh007, @m4nbl00d , @phoebecatesl0vr , @meadowfics

[scarletttries]

Sanji NSFW Alphabet (One Piece)

Pairing: Sanji (One Piece) x Reader

Rating: Fluffy Smut

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone that voted on what my next post should be, that was very fun and cute and I'll definitely have to do voting more often! Anyway, Sanji was the top comment and these alphabets were the top vote, so please enjoy and keep an eye out for the other options coming soon 💕

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

After the euphoric highs of being with you, Sanji needs a moment to come back to earth before he can say a single thing. He'll collapse beside you, clinging to your body and pulling you close as his eyes fix to the ceiling, needing to look away from you for a breath just so he can pull himself together and not get lost in your beauty all over again.

After a moment of still, in which he can feel his whole heart healing and a lifetime of fears washing away, he'll turn to you, and suddenly he'll be creating the most loving outpour you can imagine. He's prasing every inch of you, he's trying to verbalise the enormity of his appreciation for being this close to you, he's asking for notes so he can be a better lover for the next time if you should ever deign to honour him with your company again. He gets so out of breath in his endless praise and excitement that you might just have to kiss him to shut him up, but be careful you don't get him going all over again.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Sanji refuses to fight with his arms, so that his hands remain the remarkable tools that they are. Where once his favourite thing about them was their proficiency in the kitchen, now nothing brings him greater pride than using them to show you his adoration. He loves nothing more than interlacing his fingers through yours, whether you're out on the streets of some new island, or tangled up in sheets and crying out his name. He loves to see the effect even the lightest touches can have on you, and when he feels you twitch around his fingers when they're buried inside you, he knows he can die a happy man.

There's no part of you that Sanji doesn't think is the definition of perfection. You are by far the most beautiful being he's met in his life, and any time he lays a hand on you he feels like he has received a blessing from the heavens. That being said he does find his heart hammering especially hard in his chest whenever you have your legs exposed around the ship, and when you sit on the kitchen counter to keep him company you'll notice how quickly he gets distracted when he knows he could have his fingertips grazing over your thighs as he steps between them to capture your lips. Don't be surprised if he places a firm hand over your leg whenever you sit together, even though the anticipation of that simple touch is almost enough to knock the chef unconscious.

C= Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Hopeless romantic Sanji would definitely worry about getting his cum on you, feeling like you are so far above him in every way that it would be wrong for someone as lowly as him to leave himself on or in you. It would be obvious how shy he felt about it about the first time you let him get that far, but with a little gentle encouragement he'd quickly lose hold of himself and end up spilling across your chest before he can think twice. Run your finger through his release and bring it to your lips and the connoisseur of all things delicious will almost spontaneously combust, not sure he's ever felt better about being your chef.

D = Dirty Secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Sometimes when your clothes are still drying from laundry day, or they just aren't fitting right, you'll borrow one of Sanji's shirts to wander around the ship in. Unfortunately Sanji cannot control the effect that the sight of you in his clothes has on him, and immediately he'll be straining against his trousers, losing focus and begging you to consider putting something else on 'because you must be cold.' At first you're worried that he doesn't want you in his clothes, until he hurries you back into the cabin you share, awkwardly shuffling behind you until he can finally undo his belt, worried he might faint for the sheer rush of blood leaving his brain. Suddenly he's in adoration mode begging you to let him wear the shirt that has blessed your skin and promising to decorate you in a thousand kisses instead. If you sleep in one of his shirts, I guarantee he'll wear it all the next day just so your smell lingers in his senses all day long.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

Sanji has been a lover for as long as he can remember, but you might be the first person he has ever actually pursued a relationship with, physical or otherwise. He would have a lot of enthusiasm and a keenness to learn exactly how to make you feel as special as you make him feel every day, but he wouldn't have the chance to put anything into practice before you came along. On the plus side the chef already knows how to handle things delicately, and how to devour a meal, so he's already most of the way there.

F = Favourite Position (this goes without saying)

Sanji needs to see your face to get the most of your time together, the intensity of connecting with you this way being such an important part of sex for him. A classic for a reason, he'd love being in missionary with you, able to see your every reaction to his touch and grab your thighs to keep you close, leaning back on his knees or pulling your legs onto his shoulders to feel even more of you. Get on top of him, riding him Cowgirl style, and this man will completely short-circuit, not even able to string together a compliment as he fights to remain conscious, not wanting to miss a second of the incredible view of you bouncing on top of him, but worried he might pass away if he gets any more lightheaded.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Sanji is definitely more of the intense romantic type. He might be a shameless flirt, but he doesn't take the act of having sex with someone lightly. He might let out the occasional euphoric giggle, and he'll plaster on a beaming smile if you laugh at one of his long winded compliments, but overall he's there for serious business, rather than goofing around.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they?)

Sanji likes to keep his appearance neat and tidy as a chef so he'd be very on top of any grooming and hygiene.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Sanji is 100% head over heels in love with you, so you know he's going to be relishing every second of intimate connection you spent together. He takes the romantic side of sex very seriously; he wants every occasion that you're together to be as special as you make him feel, and wants you to be entirely focused on him for the duration. He'll adore taking the time to set the mood with a homemade dinner, candles, and ensuring a rare moment of calm in your complex lives.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

It's no secret Sanji is a bit of a lover boy, so it's no surprise that before you were his partner, he'd pass most of his nights enjoying his own company and thinking of you. The way you looked that day, the times you'd spoken to him, the noise you made when you took the first bite of a dessert he'd whipped up just for you - it's all a bit much for his romantic heart to bare, his teeth biting his tongue as he worked his length over for fear of crying out your name in earshot of the crew. Once the two of you are an item though, he prefers to avoid his solo time, and instead save every ounce of his stamina and lust for the times he finally gets you all to himself. Nothing his imagination has ever conjured is anywhere near as sweet as the reality of being in bed with you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Let's start with the most obvious one - definitely a food play kind of guy. He's whipping cream and melting chocolate and begging to decorate your body like the sumptuous dessert that you are, just so he can taste every inch of you over and over again.

There's also definitely a praise kink at play with Sanji, who will fall all over himself to impress you when you're telling him he's doing a good job, that he feels incredible, that he looks so sexy buried between your thighs. He'll definitely shower you with praise as well, every notable feature he describes only adding to his seemingly endless adoration for you.

This man would let you do absolutely anything to him anyway, but offer to blindfold him with his own tie and have your way with him, and he will practically spontaneously combust. And if you prefer the be one tied down, Sanji will drop to his knees and thank whatever deity gifted him with such a perfect partner. I promise he will realllly take his time with you, devouring you for hours and exploring every curve of your body like the work of art you are, until you have to beg him to let you rest.

L = Location (favourite places to do it)

Obviously the idyllic romance of your shared cabin upon the ship, curled up in bed together, is how Sanji enjoys your romantic encounters the most. But that doesn't mean sometimes he doesn't get carried away with you perched on the kitchen counter, the briefest kiss descending into unbridled passion with his hands frantically clawing your thighs apart so he can finally be inside of you.

When you're not out at sea, Sanji loves to find romantic spots to lead you to - a secluded island hot spring, a warm isolated beach, a beautiful wildflower meadow. He'll bring a picnic and blanket, but rest assured, you're the only thing he's interested in eating.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It's nearly impossible to find something you do that doesn't get Sanji going. Seeing you be good at your role on the crew, seeing you defend yourself or think quickly against an enemy, seeing you just going about the ship minding your own business. Obviously any time you smile at Sanji, or ask him the slightest question, this boy is ready to tear off his well-fitting shirt and offer himself to you for whatever would bring you joy. And when you sit on his lap, or keep him company in the kitchen, or eat something he's prepared and let out a satisfied hum - well that's when he becomes desperate to climb on top of you, manhood aching to make you feel as incredible as he feels around you.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

Sanji is a very jealous partner, thanks to an undercurrent of insecurity and rejection that has plagued his life, so anything to do with sharing you is off the cards.

He also couldn't think of anything worse than doing something that would hurt you, handling you like a priceless artifact in the best way, and rarely using his full strength in bed if he can keep control.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

I think we all know Sanji would live and die for the chance to taste you. To feel you twitch against his tongue. To see your head tip back as the throes of ecstasy overtake you while he's working between your thighs. It's his heaven, his earth, and his everything in between. From the first time he gets to taste you, it's all he wants to do, often forgetting his own throbbing pleasure in favour of seeing if he can make you cum just one more time, living for the way you whimper out his name as he brings you to the edge again. You are the finest taste this world has to offer, and he will never take for granted that only his tongue gets to explore it.

A gentleman to his core, Sanji would be almost dismissive of your desire to go down on him. You'd have to catch him too far gone in his passionate euphoria to have any thoughts at all, but when your tongue first makes contact with his sensitive tip it's like his whole body melts into the world's happiest puddle. He'd make the absolute most pathetic noises, fighting to keep his eyes on you as they roll back into his skull with bliss. And seeing his release dripping from your lips as you lick them, that might just be enough to kill the poor chef, who is somehow already in heaven.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Sanji definitely prefers to savour every second with you, taking things slowly and gently, building the sensation by worshipping your body before gradually getting to the main event. Just like in the kitchen, he doesn't like to be rushed, and he knows you achieve the best results with a delicate touch.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Sanji's not the type to try and squeeze in a quickie, given he wants to make the most out of every opportunity to explore your body. That being said, if you can't keep your hands off him and are the one to make a move, he'll happily give you everything you want, exactly how you want it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

You are by far the most precious and important part of Sanji's life, so it's safe to say he's not going to be keen to do anything risky with you. He knows the fear of losing you in battle, he constantly frets that you'll find a reason to leave him, realising how far above him you are, and so his mission in life is your joy and safety. He'll experiment in the bedroom with new positions and any kinks you might want to explore, but honestly as long as you're happy, Sanji is the most content individual on all the seas.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

We've seen Sanji in battle and know he's a master of strength and endurance, but given how quickly he crumbles to his knees at the mere brush of your hand, I'm not sure that would apply in the bedroom. The gorgeous blonde would be fighting for his life from the moment he slipped into your warm, soft, wet core. Over time he'd get a little better at containing himself, but thankfully even when he's done for, it barely takes him a minute to recover and be ready for another round, and usually by then he'll have spent the better part of the day going down on you before he ends up inside you, so you really don't need to worry about your satisfaction.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

If toys exist in the one piece universe, then you can bet Sanji not only has them, but would take an endless amount of pleasure in using them on you. Maybe with your hands bound above your head with his tie, or just as a little extra stimulation to make sure you're having the best possible experience with him. And if there's a little shop selling toys on an island where you stop, Sanji will practically faint walking around it with you and looking for something new.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Sanji is so much fun to tease, because he has absolutely no poker face about how desperate he is for you. No amount of pride will stop him from begging you to finally use him if you've been working him up all day, and if you decide to grind your hips over his lap at a leisurely pace, Sanji will be in tears begging for you to bless him with the sweet gift of release.

On the other hand, Sanji doesn't consider himself a tease, thinking he was put on this earth just to tend to your every whim. However, when he starts showering you with kisses and praise as he insists on focusing on your pleasure, he is inadvertently the best tease. He knows exactly how to make your pleasure as perfect as possible, so if you ask him to speed up or to finally fuck you, he's going to insist that you trust him because knows how to give you the release you deserve, and he won't comprimise on your pleasure. Unfortunately he's always right, so you're never going to get him to stop.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Sanji isn't going to be letting out loud echoing moans, his lips are too busy running a mile a minute with compliments for every inch of your body, inside and out. Sometimes he trips over his words or they come out in a desperate whimper when you just feel too good for him to keep in control of himself. And when you tease him, or even just give him a subtle smile to let him know what you want to do when you get him alone, well then the poor guy turns into a whining mess, practically frozen with his brain malfunctioning, unable to make any sound except the tiniest 'please'.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for this character)

Sanji is 100% a crier in the bedroom. He gets so swept up in the romance of it all, the depth of his feelings for you, the kindness and love that you show him, how he's never felt anything so lovely (physically or emotionally) and it would all just be too much. From the moment he's slowly plunging inside you, to him lying awestruck beside you in the afterglow, there's tears welling up in his eyes and falling across his cheeks in beautiful lines. It might be a little confusing the first time, but as you look into his expression of sheer devotion, running your thumb across his cheek as he croaks out how much he loves you for the thousandth time today, you'll come to appreciate his emotional exterior and openness with you.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

Sanji has a more slight build despite being very muscular, so he's probably more on the average size, and his practiced chef's hands really add to the sensation.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

If you looked up Yearning in the dictionary, you'd find a picture of Sanji. From the day your paths crossed, he'd think of little else but your lips, your body, your voice. Everything you do is the height of beauty, and he can't help but be very affected by your every move. Every smile you throw his way tugs on his heartstrings and send warmth fluttering all the way down his torso.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Sanji would definitely be awake for a while afterwards, recounting your every perfect expression and noise, fishing for praise on his performance, and generally pouring his mended heart out to you. The afterglow of it all is just as beautiful and meaningful to Sanji as any other part of your intimacy, and he'd cherish getting to run his fingers through your hair and hold you close as you gradually drifted off. You might occasionally feel a teardrop land on your cheek as Sanji wishes he could somehow capture these perfect moments in time and keep them with him everywhere he goes, sweet echoes of his voice whispering 'thank you' and 'i love you' inevitably finding their way into your dreams, as he lives out his.

[a-hazbin-reader]

Okay so for that part 2...

SO IMAGINE-

You're finally reunited with your husband, albeit not under the circumstances that you imagined... you're in Hell, and he seems to be different from how you remember him...

But he's still your husband and you love him for who he is, not for how you remember him. At least that's what you keep telling yourself the more you find out about him.

Alastor seems indifferent or even entertained by your internal struggle, his eyes always seem to dart towards you whenever he does something particularly monstrous. You can feel his glee at the sight of your realization that your husband definitely belonged down here.

But part of you, a sick part of you, was excited to see Alastor so happy. There was a genuineness to it that you didn't get to see often when you two were alive. You adapted to him and Hell much quicker than he had anticipated.

He had actually thought you would try to go back to Heaven, a small part of him hoping that you would... (only because you're a distraction for him!! Not at all because he worries about you!!)

Whenever he's has some gore left on him that he missed you're there to wipe it off, only grimacing slightly before smiling at him in a way that makes his heart flutter and his own smile become more genuine.

Or you'll recognize signs that he's stressed out or overwhelmed, turning on the radio for him and bringing him something hot to drink while insisting that he relax. Sometimes, you will stroke his hair while marveling at his ears in a way that he finds endearing.

Or you'll cook for him like you used to, doing your best to recreate old recipes and bringing meals to him when he's working in his radio tower. Every bit the wife he remembers you to be...

But it's dangerous to slip back into old mindsets, to allow himself to be the husband you deserve even if the idea is tempting for some odd reason. Even worse if the public found out he had a teeny tiny soft spot for his angelic wife that was now in Hell.

So he does what he can to keep you at a distance until it fails, finding himself drawn towards you like a magnet and thinking of you much too often.

Alastor steps away for just a moment and comes back to find someone flirting with you? Instead of leaving you to deal with it yourself, Alastor ends up intervening and chasing them away because you're HIS wife.

You leave the hotel by yourself for whatever reason? Alastor is spending the entire day roaming the streets looking for you only to find you on your way back to the hotel and happy to see him. The relief he feels curdling is his stomach as he realizes he was worried about you for unselfish reasons.

The tipping point comes when you run into Valentino, the overlord circling you like a predator while cooing about how lovely you are. Trying to tempt you with coming a star then switching to threatening you if you tell him no before going back to trying to charm you.

Alastor steps in just before Valentino's tongue comes out, dripping bright pink saliva on the ground as he suddenly grabs your wrist. It's a tense and close call but Alastor manages to save you and the situation with grace.

Alastor finally decides that he has to do something to get rid of you but can't bring himself to hurt you no matter how easy it would be...

He finds his solution when you meet Lucifer, he immediately recognizes you as not a sinner and you two get to talking. It's a quick friendship for you two and Lucifer seems to worry about you being in Hell. He offers to try and send you back where you belong but you deny is offer.

"I worked too hard to find Alastor just leave him, for me....Heaven is where my husband is! We love each other after all."

The words rattle around in Alastor's head for a while, your unwillingness to leave him and Lucifer's offer to get you out of Hell. The cogs of his mind whirling into action as he realizes what he has to do.

He just needs to work up the courage to let you go.

Tag List:

@sirens-and-moonflowers @aiyalogy @uniquecutie-puffs @evanthelibra @sassy-persona

I WAS GONNA MAKE HIM SAY SOME MEAN SHIT TO MAKE HER WANT TO LEAVE OR HAVE ALASTOR SET SOMETHING UP TO FORCE HER TO LEAVE BEFORE CHANGING HIS MIND ONLY FOR HER TO FIND OUT AND FEEL BETRAYED BUT I COULDN'T DECIDE

[butlervibesonly]

Hi love! I hope you’re doing well. Can I request a headcannon with Austin x reader about their love languages? Maybe they both enjoy physical touch and words of affirmation, but the reader also enjoys quality time? Basically a bunch of fluff lol.

I love your work, it’s amazing!! Thank you sm 😊

𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑠 | Austin Butler headcannon

•Pairing: Austin Butler x female reader

• Warnings: bunch of fluff

• Note: Hi dear! Thank you so much! I love this idea and goshhhhh how I wish I could experience those! Enjoy! 🤍

• Both yours and Austin’s love languages are words of affirmation and physical touch. And yours is also quality time. And these three combined? Heaven.

• When the two of you started dating, you loved the fact you both share the same love language, and Austin couldn’t help but notice how much you love quality time together and he did and does whatever it takes to achieve that.

• You both LOVE watching movies. And while watching movies together, what could be better than cuddling during it? Either you or him would hold each other in arms, rub soothing circles to one another’s back, occasionally stealing some kisses.

• Austin’s significant gesture is definitely holding hands in public. He has to feel your touch whether it’s just walking through the park or shopping together. He feels protectiveness over you and needs to know that you’re his. 🤭 He would also hold your hand at any public event such as awards. Austin would never let go of your hand.

• What he also loves to do are massages and back rubs. When at home, he would sit behind you and give you the best massage you could ever wish for. And when at public (also at home) he would rub your back and so would you.

• Austin would do any kind of playful touches. He can start tickling you in the middle of cuddling or playfully ruffling your hair (which he would then brush to normal form, because he knows how much work you have with your hair 🤭).

• The thing you both definitely do is sleeping tangled up. Neither him nor you would fall asleep without at least some physical contact. He would spoon you, hold you, let you sleep on his chest, … And so would you, cuddle him, cling onto him just to feel his presence.

• The cute gesture between you would be definitely small kisses from time to time. He would press small kisses on your forehead, on the top of your head, on your hand, cheek. Anywhere. And you would just pepper his face with kisses until he is giggling and laughing!

• When it comes to words of affirmation, you two would definitely text each other during the day when you are not together. It would be texts like “How was your day?” or “I love you!❤️" or “I can’t wait to come home and see you!”

• Austin would remind you how beautiful you are any time. In the morning, during the night, before you go to sleep. He would whisper how beautiful goddess you are at the awards while wearing absolutely gorgeous dress. And you would also tell him how handsome he is to you!

• Daily “I love yous”. Cmon, what day would it be if either of you didn’t tell each other I love you. Austin would just randomly go and say “I love you” or he could just stare at you and say “I love you” while doing the most random thing like cooking.

• Verbal appreciation would be also really important for you. Reminders how much you mean to each other, how much you appreciate each other… I can imagine him saying “You make my life so much better,” or “You are the best thing that ever happened to me.” 🥹

• We all know Austin love letters. That would be his thing. He would write you those little letters and give it to your birthday, anniversary or Valentines. Or just when whenever he wants and feels like so. (He would definitely end each letter with “Your Austin” 😭🫶🏼)

• Thing you would do the most is complimenting each other’s personality. Completing looks is beautiful, but character? “I love how kind you are.” or even “I adore how caring you are.”

• Lovely nicknames!! He would call you love, darling, sweetheart, baby, dear, and you would call him honey, love, babe, and my sweet boy which he doesn’t admit but love so much!

• You two would definitely go on walks together. Either to city or nature, park or garden… Just anywhere where you can be together!

• Cooking or baking together! You guys would cook dinner, or he would help you with baking. Just imagine that: flour everywhere but in the dough, but laughing and eating together would be worth it.

• When Austin would find some free time in bus busy acting schedule you guys would use the time to do various of activities. Weekend getaways, playing board games together, paint together, do pottery, watching movies. Anything.

• READING TOGETHER. You two would be splayed on the bed or couch, he would lay his head in your lap or conversely, and you would read together, and quote some cheesy lines. “Romeo, oh Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?”

• You guys would try new hobbies together! Who doesn’t want to try new sports or maybe doing origami? (He would surely teach you to do the napkin rose!!)

• Coffee shop dates with deep conversations – Just sitting together, sipping drinks, and talking about life. God’s…. Take my money… imagine gossiping with him once things go unserious.

[locke-esque-monster]

If you are losing your mind at the possibilities of the Misha Collins on The Boys S5 news (I think the JPad appearance was already in discussions previously), and you haven't seen The Boys I think there's some context non-viewers need to know. Whether it be before they start watching the show as a whole, or if they plan to speculate or watch clips when S5 airs.

I cannot under-stress how this is this is the most deranged show I have ever seen.

To that point (and these are just some spoiler-y highlights):

I don't say "most deranged show I've ever seen on tv", not just because it's on Amazon. This show could never air on cable tv, unless it was edited beyond recognition.

Sure, it'll throw you one-off insane sight gags, like Butcher brandishing a baby with laser vision to laser their attackers to death. It also will go for long-run arcs you'd never see on network tv, like the Aquaman-type's multiple season, bestiality-arc, which isn't relegated to just one type of sea life.

Speaking of sea life - PETA was outraged by this show a few years back when one character was shown eating a living octopus on camera. This show has about an average of 1 violent crime to sea life per season.

I'm not actually sure any of our heroes have made it through an entire episode without being covered in blood at some point. If they have, then they have probably experienced or stumbled into some uncomfortable sexual experience.

This show has basically no qualms showing the amount of kinky shit people with unique powers, near-indestructible bodies, and almost no moral qualms will get up to.

I strongly recommend against drinking milk at any point while you watch this show. You will probably regret it.

You think live bees and real glass from SPN are bad? This show had an episode take place predominantly at an orgy. It was filmed while Covid was going strong, so people kept thinking they were grabbing hand sanitizer, and they actually had squirted lube on their hands because there was so many bottles of both everywhere.

To be clear, the orgy itself served mostly the purpose of a comics callback, and happened mainly in the background while our main characters acted. It was also inexplicably the emotional crux of the season.

Jensen Ackles will do some of the best nuanced acting with micro expressions you've seen talking about his toxic relationship with his father. This will be preceded by an episode where he's found jerking off while insisting he needs more lube to fuck the elderly women masturbating on the bed behind him.

Kripke will not hesitate to make allusions to SPN in the worst way. One of the first scenes our heroes talk with Ackles's character, he's classic Dean, eating takeout in a hotel room, and sure, he's drinking some liquor. But at the same time, he's making racist/sexist comments and crushing up pills with a giant hunting knife so he can snort them.

Kripke tends to be particularly cruel to former SPN actors - On the spin-off show Gen V, one of them had his dick exploded. And on this most recent season of The Boys, he had the actor who played Chuck/God, use his superpowers to pleasure himself naked onscreen and then his character was murdered multiple times over. They made at least two references to his SPN role too, from walking in on him saying "my god" in French, to saying he was up in heaven pleasuring himself now.

I could keep going and going with examples and probably never run out. But here's my point.

This is one of the best satires I've ever seen. It's sharp and outrageously funny, and so timely. But it's also the best show I can never recommend to anyone if I'm not sure they're a little bit of a terrible person, too.

So yes, we might get sort sort of AU Destiel onscreen. We'll almost certainly get more SPN references than we ever wanted.

But if you think for one second that Kripke isn't also going to put Jared and/or Misha in the most uncomfortable scenes that you can imagine (or more likely, the ones you can't), think again.

And that in all reality, as much as we speculate, it's likely none of us are ready for what we're actually going to get onscreen.

[smutslalisa]

It was Saturday night, and the living room was in its usual chaos: Rafa, Thiago and Lucas sprawled on the sofa, cans of beer scattered around and the video game playing. I was in the kitchen, stirring the ice, when I suddenly heard the silence fall. Just the sound of the controller lying on the floor. I knew she had arrived.

Lisa walked in as if she owned the place - and, holy shit, she did. The tight black top clung to every curve of her small breasts, with those thin straps marking her bare shoulders and a slit that showed a piece of her smooth abdomen. The metallic details shone in the light, giving her the look of someone who knows she's fucked up. Her dark brown hair fell in waves, swaying as she walked, and that mischievous little pout on her face said it all: she wanted to mess with everyone's head.

But what made Thiago swallow and Rafa almost drop his beer was the black leather mini-short. It was very short, with silver studs that flashed with every step, highlighting her shapely legs and thrusting hips. Seen from behind, it was a crime: it showed part of her cheeks and made her defined thighs scream and the opening in the back of the top showed off her soft skin, like an invitation that no one there could accept - except me.

- Hey, guys, how do you like my new outfit? - she said, in a voice that mixed innocence with pure whoredom. She leaned over to pick up a glass from the table, and the top opened even wider at the back, the thin straps straining against her shoulders as her breasts almost popped out. The leather of the shorts rode up a little, and I saw Lucas widen his eyes, trying to disguise the bulge that was already growing in his pants.

- Fuck, Lisa, do you want me to have a meltdown here? - Rafa let out, laughing, but with his hand itching to get ready.

- Me?” she pouted, turning sideways to show how much the outfit hugged her slim waist. - I just came to get a drink. You guys are looking at me like you want to eat me.

She came over to me, rolling around slightly, the glint of the studs reflecting in the light of the room. She sat on my lap, facing me, her legs spread around my thighs. The leather of her shorts stretched, marking her pussy against the fabric, and I felt her heat on my cock, which was already fucking hard. The guys were silent, staring, and she whispered in my ear, loud enough for everyone to hear:

- I'm dripping, baby. This tight top and them drooling like that make me want to give it to you right here.

- So show them what you do when you're like this - I replied, sliding my hand through the opening in the back of her top, feeling her warm skin shiver. My fingers went up to the straps, tugging lightly, and she moaned, tossing her hair back.

Lisa lifted her top just a little, letting her nipples slip through the air, hard and pink, as she rubbed her pussy against my lap. Rafa let out a “fuck, really?”, Thiago's mouth dropped open, and Lucas squeezed his own thigh as if he was going to explode. She looked at the three of them, biting her lip, and said:

- Did you enjoy the show, boys? Imagine how wet I get when he fucks me with you just watching.

I laughed, pulling her to me and slipping my tongue into her mouth in a kiss that was pure lust. My hands squeezed her ass over her shorts, the leather rising higher, and she moaned loudly, rubbing herself against me without any shame. The guys were in a trance, and I knew Lisa was in heaven with it - the powerful look, the hungry stares, and me there to make her cum in front of everyone. The night had only just begun, and she wasn't going to stop until she'd driven everyone crazy.

The atmosphere in the living room was already on fire, with Lisa on my lap, her black top up showing her hard nipples and her leather mini-short riding up as she rubbed herself against me relentlessly. Rafa's cock was sticking out of his pants, Thiago was biting his lip as if it hurt to hold it in, and Lucas looked as if he was going to pass out from being so horny. She knew she had them in the palm of her hand - and so did I.

- Love, put some sound on - she said, giving me a quick kiss and biting my lip before getting up. - These boys need a real show.

I took out my cell phone, put Anitta's “Vai Malandra” on full blast and let the bass echo around the room. Lisa smiled, that mischievous little pout shining on her lips, and started to move her body. Her dark brown hair swayed in waves as she threw her hips to the side, lowering herself slowly, her shapely legs glistening in the light. The leather shorts rode up with each bounce, the silver studs glinting, and the tight top marked her free-swinging breasts, with no bra to hold them back.

- Fuck, Lisa, you dance like that! - Thiago let out, his eyes wide, his hand squeezing the beer as if it was going to explode.

- Do you like it, Thiago? - she replied, dropping down to the floor and climbing up with her ass thrust out, the leather straining against her pussy. - Imagine me bouncing like that on your lap. Or would you rather see how I move for him?

She turned on her back, tossing her hair and rolling over with the opening of her top showing the skin of her back. Her hips moved from side to side to the rhythm of the funk, her chubby cheeks swaying. Rafa couldn't take it and threw her:

- Fuck, Lisa, stop torturing me! Let me put my hand on that ass, just a touch, I swear I'll cum quietly afterwards.

- You can't stay still - she laughed, turning to him and pointing with her finger. - But look how good I come down. Do you want me to teach you how to deal with a woman like that, Rafa?

She came back to me, dancing in front of me, and lowered herself until her ass was almost touching my cock, moving up and down to the rhythm of the music. Anitta's bass was pounding, and she sang along, provocatively:

- “Go on, naughty girl, come down all at once...” - Lisa looked at the guys and added: - Who can stand to see me go down like that without cumming in my pants, huh? I bet you three won't last a minute.

Lucas, who had been quiet until then, finally opened his mouth, his voice shaking with arousal:

- Lisa, for God's sake, you rolling over like that is so fucked up. I'm almost begging you to sit on me just so I can feel that leather rubbing against me.

- Do you want to feel it, Lu? - she said, slowly moving her body up and running her hands over her breasts, squeezing the nipples over her top. - Then imagine how wet I get dancing for you. I'm dripping, you know? You can hear the noise if I spread my legs now.

I laughed, pulling her closer as she continued to roll around on my lap, the leather of her shorts straining against my pants.

- Show them, go on,” I said, squeezing her waist and sliding my hand through the opening in her back. - Let these bastards see how you look when you're itching to fuck.

She moaned loudly, throwing her head back, and lifted her top once more, her breasts swinging free as she danced. Anitta's funk kept pumping, and she looked at the three of them, bouncing harder:

- Who wants to see me really bounce, huh? Tell me, Thiago, can you stand me sitting on your friend here like this? Or are you just going to imagine it?

- I can take whatever you want, Lisa,” Thiago replied, his voice hoarse, his cock so hard you could see the shape of it through his pants. - Just let me get close and I'll show you.

- You're already close - she replied, laughing, and turned to me, whispering in my ear: - Honey, will you let me make them cry today? I can't wait to come and feel you while they drool.

- Do whatever you want, my little slut - I replied, slipping my hand inside her shorts and feeling how wet she was. - But you'll have to moan loud enough for them to hear.

She laughed, naughty, and went back to dancing, her body glistening with sweat, the leather and metal of her look reflecting the light while Anitta's music dictated the rhythm. The guys were finished, and Lisa was just getting started.

[ducky-dawn47]

Legendary.

/ˌlɛdʒənˈdɛri/

It's one thing to be famous. It's another thing altogether to be legendary, or like a legend. The Butterfly Lovers were a famous story. The Pilgrims are legendary — for most people, they are entirely mythical in their greatness.

There are a couple of ways to become legendary, but, however you get there, you have to become a legend. The first way is to be better at something than anyone else ever was. Sun Wukong, The Monkey King, for example, is a legendary Fighter and Hero. The other way is to be known — and yet remain mysterious — for a very long time. The legendary Six Eared Macaque, for example, is very well known for a creature that (almost?) no one has ever actually seen.

But, For when Legendary Heroes, such as The Monkey King, return home from their mythos-making 'Journey to The West' a God, The Monkey King, The Great Sage Equal to heaven, The Victorious Fighting Buddha-

Single.

he finds his home, Mount Huaguo- or the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit- desecrated, burned, destroyed.. with 4 remaining actual Monkey Demons - Generals Beng and Ba, Marshals Ma and Liu, hiding his more primitive and helpless subjects in the cave protected by his almighty Waterfall Seal, the populations of both kinds of subjects- HIS Subjects. his PEOPLE. his KIND. reduced to the tens- the SINGULAR DIGITS. All in the name of "Proving their Worth" of these- pathetic and cruel demons, that dare call themselves the Suitors of the Monkey King..?

well, Its easy to imagine the rage.. the pain.. the desperation.. the confusion- suitors..?

He had a Mate- Liu'Er Mihou. The Six Eared Macaque, who was meant to be protecting their home, for the past Five Hundred and Fifteen years.. What happened? Where did he go? Why was everyone he came into contact with on the mountain saying he was-

Dead..?

how could he be dead? Wukong didn't believe it at first- he couldn't.

He Refused.

until he was taken to the gravesite of his beloved, shown, the body of one Liu'Er Mihou. who had died of blunt force trauma to the right side of his skull, of an unknown attacker, right after the mountain was burned by Heaven and Wukong himself was imprisoned under the mountain, about 150 years into his punishment. His mate- His Husband, had been long dead for roughly 364 YEARS. And he had no one to blame but himself.

His new set of Sworn Brothers- The Pilgrims and DBK- did their best to offer support and comfort, Sha Wujing and Tang Sanzang regularly visiting and talking with him through his grief, while Zhu Baje and Niu Mowang (dbk) Taking to the task of forcibly removing the offending demons off the immediate mountain and further back into the surrounding territory, and Ao Lie assisting Wukong (more like his clones) in the relief and repopulation efforts on the mountain's people.

But the Suitors weren't done, they wanted Monkey King's attention, They wanted his territory, riches, fame- they wanted him to choose a new Mate. And so came the gifts, the Invitations, the Banquets, the Courtnappings-

oh.

oh that's a problem. No one was ever able to succeed of course, most not even making it to the base of the mountain, but there were 3 real attempts, Real SCARES. Made by Azure Lion, The Lady of Bones, and the Immortal Ruyi. Azure Lion being the only one able to "catch" Wukong- but thankfully it was just a Clone. and the Lion was swiftly and literally punted off the mountain by Ao Lie, But regardless. this was bad, they were getting bold. and Wukong needed to put a stop to it.

Which led to the pilgrims coming up with a solution that would gain massive popularity amongst Demon Royalty, and even be used a few times to settle some of Heaven's suitor-related disputes; The Courting Tournaments. A Series of Trials made by the Bachelor/ette to weed out the weakest of suitors, and leave behind the best options.

At Least, that's Wukong told the public. When in actuality, it was a Fighting Pit for him to get rid of his "suitors". while they went about murdering eachother, he was able to actually work on rebuilding his home. and it worked! For a while.. But eventually the weakest were removed, and the Strongest got locked in a stalemate, And were demanding a solution, So, Wukong gave them one.

In his desperation to get these guys to just LEAVE, and with his brothers insisting on backing him up, a new concept was added to the Courting Tournament; The Bachelor could impose a Champion into the mix, someone close to them or a family member, to act in the demon's place of sorts. And since Ao Lie had just swiftly dispatched one of the strongest of the bunch, the dragon volunteered to be Wukong's Champion. an easy smile aimed at his simian brother that all would be well- He'd win the tournament, and secure Wukong's marital freedom! it would be fun! he hadn't been allowed to REALLY let loose in so long! just think of the laughs they'd have about this all when it was over-

Ao Lie was brutally killed in the Tournament.

Wukong's fury was Biblical. To say the Least, forcing Heaven's hand (more so the Buddha's, really) to capture Wukong's raging war form and allow him a moment to calm down and grieve. Tang Sanzang acting as his Lawyer of sorts, and such a friendship with the reincarnation of the Golden Cicada allowed Wukong to be removed from heaven's consideration of punishment. Seeing as he punished himself enough by practically resetting all the work he and his sworn brothers had done for Mount Huaguo. thankfully, the citizens were able to get behind Water Curtain Cave fast enough. And it was through such negotiations that a proper format for the Courting Tournaments (how the hell were these bastards still ALIVE-!?) was formed;

Should a Demon or Person of High Status find that they have too many suitors to handle individually, they may hold a Courting Tournament, in which Trial by Strength, Wit, Power, and Knowledge of said Demon be held. They could format the tournament however they wished, but there were 3 laws enforced by heaven themselves and insisted upon by The Golden Cicada;

Murder was Forbidden.

Should Said Demon be holding a Courting Tournament, Courtnapping is to be considered inappropriate and automatically disqualifies said offending Suitor.

And Lastly, The Demon may impart a Champion to play in the Tournament in their stead, should they actually choose none of the suitors, however, Said Champion must actually win in order to ensure the Demon's martial freedom for the span of 350 years. (an arbitrary number that 1 Karen in the celestial court insisted upon- rumors stating that they wanted the chance to see this kinda drama repeatedly) and after said amount of time, The Demon would legally be considered eligible again, and may hold another tournament or participate in other Courting Traditions.

And this Worked, For 2,000 years, Wukong was able to legally and safely remain Single in the eyes of Demon Society and Heaven. Until all of his Brothers had died, living out their natural lifespans, or were Sealed away, their own ambitions blinding them to their original values and morals. But not now.. Wukong was alone, with his People and Mountain to protect, as well as his newly announced and introduced Successor, MK.

Will he be able to figure out a way to keep his small army of suitors at bay? Will he be able to protect MK from their pettiness and ire? Or will the shadows finally find themselves ready enough to reclaim their legendary status?

after all, ever true to his own Legend's mythos.

Liu'Er Mihou was alive, and hiding in plain sight.

[m0dernchr0n1cles]

Golden Child vs Scapegoat (Pre-Canon, cont.)

[set in the Black Myth, New Gods AU.]

In my previous post, I made a "Ao Bing = Adora; Nezha = Catra" analysis.

TD;DR: Ao Bing can do no wrong, or else. Nezha can do no right.

So, their reincarnations going to be a continuation of this unstable Catradora dynamic (still haven't decided if it will be romantic or not), and the twist is that they inevitably switch places.

(I will also be using/drawing inspiration from other iterations of Nezha, like LEGO Monkie Kid)

I got to watch Nezha 2, and was shocked by how little I had to change to my story. I actually got more inspiring material work with, especially for other characters, like Ao Guang and Shen Gongbao

This is how their story continues after the War of Deification.

[WARNING: mentions of child abuse, racism, workplace abuse, suicide]

In Heaven

In Heaven, their extreme positions are pushed a bit closer. Ao Bing might not be so praised, and Nezha might receive a bit more prestige.

In Investiture of the Gods, a bunch of people that Nezha killed were resurrected and defied.

Ao Bing was one of them, and became the God of Imperial Canopy Star (華蓋星 huāgàixīng), working under the Ziwei Emperor (紫薇大帝 Zǐwēi Dàdì), or the Great Emperor of the North Star.

He's also the Jade Emperor's personal umbrella carrier.

Nezha becomes the Marshal of the Central Altar (中壇元帥 zhōngtányuánshuài) and the Third Lotus Prince (蓮花三太子 liánhuāsāntàizǐ), a respected warrior and leader of armies.

Ao Bing

Ao Bing is working under one of the Jade Emperor's direct subordinates, but he is still a dragon (a demon) who was wrongfully bestowed with the Spirit Pearl. He'd receive the bare minimum respect, if any. He's disdained for existing, and yet is still expected to do his job, and is harshly criticized just for every imagined thing.

(I also doubt that Ao Bing is able to do anything to help the Dragons, and is mocked when he tried to bring it up).

Ao Bing has finally got what he's (supposedly) wanted, what he worked his life for, what he was born for, and is repaid with workplace abuse.

Shen Gongbao's warnings about, "They'll never accept us" comes true. As a result, Ao Bing feels alone, unsafe, in an extremely hostile work environment.

Nezha, on the other hand, becomes a respected general in the Celestial Army. He's given more opportunities to succeed, and more second chances when he fails. Yes, he's still the Demon Pill, but he has the support of the respected Taiyi Zhenren, which boosts his social standing. He ends up making new friends (Sun Wukong, Yang Jian, etc.) and he is finally able to reach his full potential.

But, now due to his new status, he's given more responsibilities (Celestial soldier, Child protection diety, Filial son, etc.), and he has actual reasons to not let people down.

Nezha finally gets freedom, second chances, and the approval that he desperately craved his whole life. Now, he has to not screw it up. This is compounded by his reputation of being "the Demon Child" and how easy it would be to lose all the prestige that was given to him.

Thus, he gains a bit of a martyr complex, willing to throw himself at into the battle, willing to fight to the end, all to make up for his (mostly imaginary) sins.

We already see that he has an unhealthy need to self-sacrifice in Nezha (2019) and LEGO Monkie Kid

Despite this, they still try to be friends, since they're still new to the whole "immortal member of Celestial Court), but the cracks are showing.

Ao Bing clings to the one person who makes him feel safe in the Celestial Court, where everyone is against him. He sees his only friend splitting time with other people, which makes him anxious that Nezha would ditch "the inferior demon dragon who stole his destiny as the Spirit Pearl" for "better" friends (Yang Jian/Erlang Shen, Princess Iron Fan/Rakshasi, etc.).

Even as an adult with a 9-to-5 job in the government, his father's and master's teachings are still prevalent. What's worse, he is now getting external confirmation of his deepest insecurities.

But he still wants to be Nezha's friend, so he bottles up his feelings for the sake of others, like he always does. We see Ao Bing "shut down" in the movie, when Nezha invites him to his birthday party. Judging by the resigned look and how well he concealed his true feelings means he has a lot of practice.

In many cases of emotional abuse, "shutting down" is a major symptom. It was likely a survival mechanism, since expressing his true feelings would earn him a harsher punishment. From a young age, Ao Bing learned that lying was necessary to staying safe (not just hiding his dragon identity, but avoiding Ao Guang and Shen Gongbao's wrath). He also believe that it will benefit everyone if he stops "complaining" since it would be "selfish" of him to express himself.

The problem is that this isn't making those negative feelings or insecurities go away. It causes them to bottle up and fester, and eventually that comes out in negative ways.

Sound familiar?

What’s worse is that Nezha is just going through life, making friends, having fun, as if nothing happened. He even tries to introduce Ao Bing to some of his “other friends”, which goes predictably poorly.

From Ao Bing’s perspective, Nezha is being flippant and callous. He doesn’t see how Ao Bing is sacrificing his own emotional and mental wellbeing for his best friend. He doesn’t see how Ao Bing is being mistreated in the workplace. He doesn’t see how they are growing more distant from each other.

He especially doesn’t see how Ao Bing desperately needs his best friend during an extremely trying part of his life.

This growing resentment, compounded by his already existing trauma and baggage (thanks Ao Guang and Shen Gongbao) begins to simmer (and eventually boils over).

You know where this goes...

Ao Bing has a lot of pent up rage, and this is make even more clear in Nezha 2

Nezha

Now for Nezha's side of the story...

Nezha is now a member of Heaven's military, a commanding officer responsible for millions of lives: those of his soldiers, and those that he fights to protect. If he falters, he is responsible for millions of casualties. When he makes a mistake, the consequences aren't just him, they're for everyone.

He needs to shape up, to be the bigger man, since it's not about him anymore. It's about the Three Realms, the Heavenly Court, the soldiers, and those that he fails to save. Following his father's role model, he shuts down emotionally, trying to be "the stern soldier", since that's all he knows.

Despite this, there are some benefits. As a respected soldier and deity, he's believed and respected. It's easier to make friends. He tries to be more open and sociable, and is met with open arms and validation. But, on some level, he knows that all this "love" is conditional, tied to his status and skills. With the exception of a few, he becomes disillusioned with the Court of Heaven.

Still, he has opportunities that Ao Bing does not. He does make friends, like Erlang Shen and Princess Iron Fan. As far as everyone is concerned, he has stepped up in the world.

While Nezha is making new friends, he still wants Ao Bing in his life. Ao Bing was the first friend, a stranger who unconditionally wanted him for him. No powers, no political butt-kissing, no manipulation, just unconditional love.

So when Ao Bing starts acting strangely, it confuses him. What's worse is that Ao Bing refuses to talk about his insecurities, meaning Nezha isn't aware of them (or aware of the full extent of Ao Bing’s insecurities), so he doesn't know how to handle them.

Nezha does know that there is a problem, he just doesn't know the root of it. Considering his upbringing, he wouldn't even know how to solve it.

I mentioned in the last post that while Li Jing isn't abusive (a take that I personally love when done well), he is emotionally neglectful and doesn't fully explain what Nezha is doing wrong or how to fix it. As a result, Nezha doesn't have a role model for how to "fix" interpersonal relationships.

I think the best solutions he could come up with is:

A) Pretend the problem isn't there B) Try to get Ao Bing to open up about his issues C) Try to solve the (perceivable) issues on his own

Now, here are the problems with each "solution"...

A) He can't just ignore the problem, it will only cause things to get worse B) As previously mentioned, Ao Bing is "no talk about feelings", so getting him to open up is like pulling teeth (with the risk of causing him to blow up) C) This is the one that causes the most problems...

From Nezha's perspective, Ao Bing is understandably uncomfortable in an unfamiliar situation. Nezha tries to help him, but Ao Bing ends up shutting Nezha out.

Nezha is a "fixer", as we see, he is willing to give his own life for the sake of others (his parents, Jade Emperor, etc.). While he doesn't always express it in the best way, he does want to help people.

Nezha doesn't fully understand what is going on. He wouldn't be fully aware of the discrimination and oppression that Ao Bing and the Dragon Clan have experienced for centuries, but he does realize his friend is being mistreated. But the hostile work environment gets to Nezha as well. Nezha's attempts to help Ao Bing or protect him are likely shut down by Heavenly Bureaucracy, and probing the issue could make things worse for Ao Bing.

There is also the idea of "staying quiet for your own safety", and while Nezha wouldn't do that when standing up for his friends and loved ones, Ao Bing would encourage it to keep Nezha from getting into trouble, since it seemingly keeps things from getting worse.

Expect me to make a post about this later

It’s a classic “Try to please everyone, you end up pleasing no one” situation. Now that Nezha gets a taste of external validation, he’s desperate to keep it. But he also wants Ao Bing to be his friend.

So, he tries to integrate Ao Bing into his new friend group, which goes disastrously. All it does is end up further alienating Ao Bing, who likely lashes out, possibly blaming Nezha for stirring the pot and creating more problems for him.

Nezha tries to help his best friend, only for it to backfire horribly, confirming his own deep-seated self-loathing of being the "Demon Child", who is constantly failing and destroying everything he touches.

This is all compounded by his new military responsibilities.

He is losing his best friend, and he's only making it worse. People are getting hurt and its all because he isn't doing enough. He is letting everyone down, and it's all his fault. He isn't doing enough to be a "good soldier".

Does this sound familiar...

Eventually, Nezha begins to realize the corruption of Heaven, and decides he won't stand for it, which causes further problems between him and Ao Bing. But that's another post...

TL; DR: Thanks to Heaven and how they were each raised, Ao Bing is becoming Catra. Nezha is becoming Adora.

[xylatox]

Bound By Blood and Vengeance | lhs

The lovely Rae has posted again! The witch hunter x witch pairing intrigues me so bad and it's with Heeseung no less (forever downbad for 1 of my 2 biases). Anyways:) unto my thoughts hehe.

Before I even started I saw mcd and was like, wth is mcd I have to look it up, then my brain brained and I died. I am going to lose it at the death scene.

The midnight sky hangs heavy over the sprawling coven hall, its black-stone spires clawing at the heavens like skeletal fingers. The air inside is thick with incense and whispered spells, a choking blend of power and menace. — God, this wording is absolutely amazing.

You step back into the shadows, your heart a furnace of grief and fury. — this expression is absolutely insane oh my goodness

The set up so far is amazing, the world building, impeccable, I am so invested.

"You were dealing with pure evil, good thing you had been made straight from hell clawing at the cage of your soul to pull him down there with you. — I love with when women seek revenge, it makes me so happy, also thus phrasing is amazing again???? I'm definitely going to be gushing about the phrasing for the entirety of this fic, I'm so sorry in advance.

"Magic is not a matter for you to concern yourself with," he says, his tone firm. "Your focus should be on diplomacy and tradition." — I already dislike the King (more than I did before), the way he says this just angers me, but Hee intro🤭 he's so ahh!!

Also I love dynamic between the two?? the banter?? the tension??

The king’s lips press into a thin line, and he drums his fingers against the armrest. "That girl is a threat. Her bloodline alone makes her dangerous. If she’s anything like her mother, she’ll be biding her time, waiting to strike when we least expect it." — the irony, I'm so excited for what is to come.

"No, Your Majesty," Heeseung replies, his gaze briefly flickering to the weapon before returning to the king. "Not yet." The king exhales, his expression hardening. "Good. Let’s hope it stays that way. But if the girl—or any other witch—dares to challenge us, I expect you to use it without hesitation. That blade is our safeguard against their kind. It’s the only thing that can cut through their spells and end them before they wreak havoc." — if this is foreshadowing for what is to come, I am so (not) looking forward to the inevitable.

As he makes his way back through the castle, his thoughts drift to the princess. Her sharp tongue, her probing questions about magic... and the way her eyes seemed to burn with a defiance he couldn’t place. He shakes his head, pushing the thought away. She was a complication he didn’t need right now. The witches were still out there, somewhere, and one of them could be closer than anyone realized. Heeseung tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword, his jaw set. He couldn’t afford to lose focus—not now, not ever. — the irony oh no:((

I didn't expect reader to meet a lady for poison at thr carnival!— "You carry great hatred in your heart, girl." Her tone was not that of judgment but of curiosity, and i bit of understanding. You meet her gaze evenly. "And he carries greater sins." — I love this so much. Also the way Hee just has a hutch that something is off??

Oh. This King is absolutely vile, wow, that's pretty intense.

“Would you really stop a lady who’s in her bleeding from using the bathroom guard?” You had made uncomfortable with your talk of women's duties. — this is so hilarious to me, I would've loved to see Heeseung’s reaction to this statement.

You should be searching for the king’s quarters, not watching the irritating captain of the guard train like some entranced fool. — no but let's be real, imagine the visual.

I will always love the tension between them; the sparing was attractive and I can't put my finger as to why exactly, again maybe it's the tension.

Your fist slams against the case. Nothing. Again, harder. The glass doesn’t even crack. "Open," you whisper, voice raw. "Open, damn you." The magic inside you stirs, a furious storm barely contained. You summon it, let it coil in your palm before slamming your magic against the case. Sparks crackle against the glass, but it remains untouched. Spell-locked. A sob of frustration bubbles up, but you swallow it down. Hot tears slip down your cheeks, your breathing ragged. They mutilated her. Desecrated her. Took her apart and locked away a piece of her like some sick prize. You grip the edges of the case, nails digging into the wood. The weight of loss, of helplessness, crushes down on you, threatens to drag you under. You want to destroy everything in this room, rip apart the shelves, burn this entire wretched castle to the ground. But you don’t have time. Not now. But soon. Your mother’s ring—her body—will not remain here. You will come back. You will tear this place apart if you have to. But first, the king must die. — I feel so empathic towards reader, like my heart breaks for her.

I didn't expect the king to be unharmed???? like I'm so shocked (and invested). For a moment I thought Hee somehow knew it was reader but — Then, slowly, you step closer, tilting your head up at him. "Were you worried, Heeseung?" His throat bobs. His eyes flicker down to your lips—just for a second, barely noticeable—before snapping back up to meet yours. "I'm doing my job," he says, but the words sound hollow even to him. You hum, unconvinced. "Are you?" Silence. — I don't know, thus makes my heart clench.

"I care about you," he repeats, like he’s forcing himself to admit it, to say it out loud. His brows knit together, frustration laced in his voice. "And I hate that I do. But I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you." — I feel sick oh my god. sick,sick,sick.

The kiss omg😭—"You shouldn’t do that," you murmur, your voice breathless. "Do what?" he asks, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Look at me like that." Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, the sound tinged with something like frustration. "Then stop making it so damn hard." — Rae I'm going to insane rn I could scream

“You’ll have to pull out. I cannot become with child Heeseung.” — I died, goodbye.

This King scares me, I always assume now he's going to kill at least 1 person whenever he opens his mouth. Also Hee's gut feeling being right but his refusal to acknowledge it because of how he feels for her?? this is going to end so tragically. Its so sad too, to hear how people talk about reader's mom :((

“I love when a man kneels to me.” You snicker, a laugh falling from your lips in a cascade. “Just a second ago you were pulling away, now look at you.” You were teasing with him, toying around with him. His small smile told you he didn't really seem to mind your teasing, if anything it fueled his desires for you.  — reader is so real for this.

This was bigger than you, bigger than what you felt for Heeseung and you had to continue no matter how much it hurt. — tears in my eyes, genuinely.

“Don’t go.” The words slip from your lips before you can stop them, quiet but heavy with meaning. Heeseung freezes. His hand, which had been reaching for the door, stills. The tension in his shoulders tightens as he slowly turns back toward you, his dark eyes searching yours. He looks almost hesitant, like he’s bracing for something. He waits for you to take it back, for you to tell him he misheard. But you don’t do that, instead you stand there looking at him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world. And maybe, for tonight, he is. — I am devastated oh my god.

Heeseung tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I know you,” he says. “And I love you.” Your breath shudders.  — Rae I'm fucking sobbing what the hell. THE LAST I LOVE YOU BEFORE HE WALKS OUT AHHH😭😭😭

NO WAY THEY FIND OUT SHE ISNT THE PRINCESS BECAUSE OF THE LETTERS OJ WHAT THE FUCKKKK.

But his heart— His heart belongs to her. And no matter how much he tries to bury it—no matter how much it kills him— It always will. Heeseung feels like he’s standing outside of his own body, watching the scene unfold as if it’s happening to someone else. The king’s voice slices through the thick silence. — I love that eventhough she's a witch, Hee is still very much in love with her and isn't immediately filled with disgust and hatred towards her.

The moment between them noo :((( I'm sick, throwing up, I can't do this.

His voice wavers, but the desperation in his eyes is unwavering. “Please,” he begs again, quieter this time. He might as well be on his hands and knees. — he's so in love with her��� — “Am I nothing?” The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, slipping silently down your cheeks. “You’re everything to me,” you choke out. —😭😭 I can't do this

It’s the look in Heeseung’s eyes. So devastatingly beautiful. So, broken. You broke him, you are exactly who you’ve always been. A monster. And you were going to die the death you deserved, in the arms of the man you loved but by the hands of the man you loved. — im crying so hard, you would not believe.

He does not say goodbye. Because he knows he will return. Because he knows he will never stop loving her. Because even in death, she is the only truth he has ever known. — oh my god the end. I'm so heartbroken, this was such a beautiful piece Rae. The way you are with words is amazing. I sincerely hope they are happy together in another life :(

BOUND BY BLOOD AND VENGEANCE ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ l.hs

》 In the kingdom of Aethera, the shadows whisper tales of revenge, betrayal, and forbidden magic. A cunning witch with a flair for deception, has spent years honing her craft for one purpose: avenging her parents’ deaths at the hands of the King. Disguised as a visiting princess from a distant realm, She charms her way into the castle, weaving lies and illusions to mask her true intent—murdering the king. Her plan is flawless, or so she believes, until she crosses paths with Heeseung, the brooding captain of the royal guard. Tasked with protecting the "princess," Heeseung finds her insufferable, too sharp-tongued and confident for his liking. But as they’re forced to spend time together, her wit begins to spark something deeper in him, despite his better judgment.

》 𝔢𝔫𝔥𝔶𝔭𝔢𝔫 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 & 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢...

pairings » witch hunter!heeseung x witch!reader

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 » smut » fantasy » forbidden romance » angst

warnings » smut, oral fem rec, angst, gore, death, murder, dark themes, dark magic, mcd, angst, parental death, 1500s royal ideologies (not entirely accurate), blood, graphic depiction of some death scenes, mainly in reader's pov second person "You" but some scenes in Heeseung's pov, longing, lots of longing.

« 𝔞𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔞𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔞 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔟! »

word count «30.1k »

ONCE UPON A TIME… In a land far far away, where the treetops touched the soft clouds of the sky, and the water sparkled under the glowing sun. Where mountains rose high and in which long, deep caves ran. Where the sea met shore in a collision of tall waves. Where the undead walked among the living. Where the winged flew above the finned. In a land where things beyond any reason and rhyme existed. And amongst those very beings, within the veils of Aethera, there was… 

Prologue. 

The midnight sky hangs heavy over the sprawling coven hall, its black-stone spires clawing at the heavens like skeletal fingers. The air inside is thick with incense and whispered spells, a choking blend of power and menace. You stand hidden among the crowd of robed witches, your heart hammering as your aunt, Mira, ascends the obsidian dais at the center of the room. Mira moves with the precision of a predator, her sharp features twisted into a mask of triumph. Her voice rings clear, cutting through the murmurs of the assembly like the slash of a blade. "Let it be known," Mira declares, her tone dripping with venom, "that my sister, Esme, was a fool. Her lust for power led her to defy the council—to act alone, recklessly, against the king. And now, she is dead."

The word strikes you like a physical blow. Dead. The room blurs as tears sting your eyes, but you refuse to blink them away. You can still picture your mother’s fiery gaze, her defiant smile. Gone? It doesn’t seem real. Mira’s voice rises, commanding the attention of every soul present. "Esme’s actions have left a stain upon this coven, a mark of disgrace that threatens to unravel all we have worked for. The council must act wisely to ensure our survival. As her successor, I motion that we abandon this foolish vendetta against the royal family. Let the king and his ilk live." A wave of murmurs ripples through the hall. Your fists clench at your sides as you listen to the witches’ agreement. Your aunt, the woman who had coldly informed you of your parents’ deaths only hours before, now calls your mother power-hungry and selfish. 

"My sister sought glory and brought ruin upon herself," Mira continues, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "Let her fate serve as a warning to those who would seek to defy this council." The crowd erupts in murmured assent, some nodding gravely, others casting wary glances at one another. You shrink further into the shadows, your nails digging into your palms until crescent moons of pain etch into your skin. Your mother wasn’t power-hungry. She wasn’t selfish. She had been brave, determined to rid the world of the tyrant king who had oppressed your kind for decades. How dare Mira speak ill upon her only hours after her death. The council’s seal burns bright upon Mira’s palm as she raises her hand, swearing her oath to uphold the coven’s decisions. The crowd roars its approval, but your ears ring with the sound of your own heartbeat. You watch your aunt with burning eyes, feeling the injustice of it all sear into your very soul. 

They are cowards, every last one of them. But not you. You won’t let your mother’s death be in vain. You step back into the shadows, your heart a furnace of grief and fury. One day, you vow, you will finish what your mother started. You will avenge your parents and bring the king to his knees—even if it means standing against the coven itself. As the council hall fills with chants and the rustle of robes, you slip away, unseen. Your path is set, your purpose clear. The king’s days are numbered, and you will stop at nothing to see justice served. 

The cold night air bites at your cheeks as you sneak through the hidden tunnels beneath the coven hall. Every step echoes in the silence, but you’re too determined to let fear stop you now. The moonlight above guides your way as you slip out into the open, the dark forest swallowing you whole. You’ve heard whispers in the coven—rumors of a royal procession. The king is welcoming a princess from a neighboring kingdom to learn the traditions and history of Athera. The thought is your first glimmer of a plan. If you can reach the castle, you can get close to the king. And if you can get close to the king, you can kill him.

The journey to the village square is long, but you’re light on your feet, moving through the shadows like a wraith. When you arrive, your pulse quickens at the sight of the royal carriage docked outside the saloon. Its intricate gold detailing gleams in the torchlight, and the sound of boisterous laughter drifts from inside as the guards enjoy their meal and drinks. You approach cautiously, your heart pounding. The guards are distracted, but you can’t afford any mistakes. Muttering a quiet incantation under your breath, you weave a charm spell, your words wrapping around the nearest guard like a silken thread. His expression slackens, and he gestures for you to pass, oblivious to the danger. What a punk. So easily taken down, is the king so stupid as to not have his guards under protection that wavers spells. Amateur. You scoffed at your hatred for him. 

The carriage door creaks softly as you open it. Inside, the princess sits on a plush seat, her gown shimmering like moonlight. Her eyes widen in alarm when she sees you. Her blonde hair bright under the minimal light seeping through the closed curtains of the carriage. Her chest heaved at the sight of you, clearly frightened. Just how you liked it. A scared little privileged girl who had not even the slightest idea of how cruel the real world is. Growing up with a king for a father and a queen for a mother, spoon fed with a gilded spoon. You tsked at the thought. It made your next move all that easier to accomplish. "Who are you?" she demands, her voice trembling. "Guards!"

Before she can scream again, you lunge forward, your dagger flashing in the dim light. Sinking the knife into the side of her chest without so much as another protest. The struggle is brief, her cries fading into silence. You catch your breath, staring at her lifeless form. There’s no time for hesitation. Stripping her gown, you exchange your rough clothes for her regal attire, pulling the hood of her cloak low over your face. With practiced efficiency, you shove her body to the far side of the carriage. You’ll deal with it soon enough. Moments later, the guards return, oblivious to the change. The carriage lurches forward, and you wait until the village lights are distant before opening the door and pushing her lifeless form out into the night. You had no regrets. None. This is what needs to be done, for your parents. The world is now rid of one less pretty princess who had lived and loved ten times more than you ever had. You fought a smirk from gracing your lips, pure evil instincts kicking in. 

The muffled thud of her body hitting the ground is followed by distant shouts of alarm. You don’t look back. The screams of the villagers grow fainter as the carriage speeds toward the castle, carrying you closer to your destiny. You sit back against the cushioned seat, your fingers tightening around the dagger hidden beneath your cloak. Soon, the king will pay for everything. For taking your parents far too early. For being an arrogant, no good tyrant. You couldn't wait to spill his blood. You were actually giddy. The towering gates of the castle loom before you, their iron bars glinting in the moonlight. The carriage comes to a halt, and the driver announces your arrival with a booming voice. You steady your breathing, keeping your head bowed as the door opens. A pair of guards escort you inside, their armored boots clanking against the stone floor. The grand hall is a marvel of opulence. Chandeliers dripping with crystals cast a warm glow over gilded walls and intricate tapestries. Your eyes catch every detail, memorizing the layout as your heart pounds beneath the layers of the princess’s gown.

The king and queen stand at the far end of the hall, their regal presence commanding the room. The king’s sharp eyes study you as you approach, his mouth curling into a welcoming smile. The queen’s gaze is softer, but no less piercing. They are everything you expected—and everything you loathe. Tall, graceful. As hard as stone. Your heart leaped in your chest but you would not allow the disease of anxiety to plague you. You were stronger than that. "Welcome to Athera," the king says, his voice rich and commanding. "We are honored to have you here." You forced a snarl down at his voice alone. 

So instead you curtsy deeply, keeping your expression demure. "Thank you, Your Majesties. It is an honor to be here." 

"You must be tired from your journey," the queen says, her voice as smooth as silk. "We have arranged for a nursemaid to attend to you. She will show you to your chambers and ensure you have everything you need." 

"You are most kind," you reply, forcing a polite smile. Your hands are steady, but the weight of the dagger hidden beneath your cloak reminds you of your true purpose. The king steps closer, his imposing frame towering over you. "We look forward to hearing about your homeland and sharing our traditions with you. Tonight, you will dine with us. It will be a chance to begin your education in the ways of Athera." 

"I would be delighted," you say, inclining your head. The thought of sitting across from him at the dinner table, so close yet unable to strike, makes your blood boil. But patience is a weapon, one you are learning to wield. Even if your hatred for him is at an all time high you must remind yourself of the ultimate goal here. Not only do you want to kill the king, you also wish to make him suffer, in the most unimaginable ways. You had never known how your parents died, or what the nature of it was but based on the horrifying stories told about the king's prisoners you could only assume the worst. You were dealing with pure evil, good thing you had been made straight from hell clawing at the cage of your soul to pull him down there with you. A maid appears at your side, bowing low before gesturing for you to follow. You allow her to lead you through the labyrinthine halls of the castle, your mind racing with possibilities. Each step brings you closer to the moment you’ve dreamed of: the moment the king pays for his crimes. For now, you must play the part of the princess, but soon, the mask will come off—and the real game will begin.

The maid leads you to your chambers, a room so grand it feels like stepping into a dream—or a trap. The ceiling arches high above, painted with scenes of celestial beauty, and the furnishings are fit for a queen: a massive canopy bed draped in silk, a polished mahogany desk, and a window seat overlooking the sprawling castle gardens. You fight to keep your expression neutral, though the opulence threatens to overwhelm you. "This will be your room during your stay," the maid says with a bow. "A bath has been prepared for you. Shall I assist you, or would you prefer privacy?" You had never had someone to dote on you, even when your mother was alive. You sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. 

You give her a small, dismissive wave. "I can manage for now. Thank you." She nods, retreating with a final bow. Once alone, you let out a breath, shedding the heavy cloak and feeling the weight of your dagger hidden in the folds of your stolen gown. The luxurious bath beckons, but you remain cautious, examining the room for anything amiss. When you’re satisfied that no prying eyes or hidden spells lurk, you strip off the dress and slip into the steaming water. The warmth eases the tension in your muscles, but your mind remains sharp, replaying every moment since you entered the castle. The king’s piercing gaze. The queen’s soft, calculated smile. They seemed so at ease, so secure in their kingdom, but that security would be their downfall. When the water begins to cool, you step out and wrap yourself in a robe. A knock sounds at the door before the maid returns, this time with a tray of delicate bottles and brushes. You're especially jumpy. Learning to be extra cautious. You were in enemy territory completely undetected. 

"I’ve come to prepare you for dinner," she says, setting the items down. She moves with practiced efficiency, brushing and arranging your hair into an elaborate style that feels foreign on your head. Her hands are gentle, but the intrusion feels invasive, a reminder that every moment here is a performance. You could never be fully comfortable, fully relaxed. Not under the watchful eyes of the royals and all who serve them. "Do you like it?" she asks when she’s finished, holding up a gilded mirror. 

You glance at the reflection of a girl you barely recognize—poised, elegant, nothing like the witch who crouched in the shadows of the coven. "It will do," you say curtly, standing to allow her to help you into another dress. This one is finer than the last, adorned with jewels and embroidery that shimmer in the candlelight. 

When you’re finally ready, she steps back with a small smile. "You look lovely, Your Grace. The king and queen will be most pleased." You nod, hiding the dark satisfaction that simmers beneath your calm exterior. Let them be pleased. Let them believe I am harmless. A pair of guards and the nursemaid walk you to the dinning hall where your dinner will take place. The dining hall is a spectacle of wealth and grandeur. A long table stretches the length of the room, laden with golden plates and crystal goblets. Servants move like shadows, ensuring every detail is perfect. The king and queen rise as you enter, their smiles warm and inviting. "Ah, our honored guest," the king says, motioning for you to sit beside him. You glide to the seat, each step measured and deliberate.

"Thank you for this generous welcome," you say, your voice soft but steady. The king studies you as you begin to eat. His questions come slowly at first—polite inquiries about your homeland and upbringing. You answer carefully, spinning a web of half-truths and vague pleasantries.

"And what do you hope to learn during your time in Athera?" he asks, cutting into a piece of roasted meat.

You pause, as though considering your words. "Your Majesty, I wish to understand the traditions and history that make this land so revered. To gain the wisdom that only a kingdom as ancient as yours can provide." The queen smiles at this, but the king narrows his eyes slightly, as if testing the sincerity of your response. Before he can press further, he gestures to a man standing near the far wall. 

"This is Captain Lee Heeseung," the king says. "He is my most trusted guard and will oversee your safety during your stay." Heeseung steps forward, bowing slightly with an air of quiet authority. His dark eyes meet yours, and you sense he’s already assessing you, searching for weaknesses. 

"An honor to serve, Your Grace," he says. His voice is steady, but there’s a spark of curiosity in his tone. You incline your head, feigning disinterest. "The honor is mine, Captain." The king seems satisfied with the exchange and continues speaking. But when you inquire about magic in the kingdom, his expression hardens. You ask of magical beings he has here, perhaps prying too far but you did not care much. Being here meant making sacrifices. 

"Magic is not a matter for you to concern yourself with," he says, his tone firm. "Your focus should be on diplomacy and tradition." 

Your lips tighten, but you force a smile. "Of course, Your Majesty. Forgive my curiosity." You bit back every harsh wish you could utter at him, biting your tongue almost to the point of bleeding. The conversation drifts to other topics, but your mind lingers on his dismissal. Magic is none of your concern. The words echo in your thoughts like a challenge, feeding the embers of your anger. You’ll prove him wrong. You’ll prove them all wrong. Magic was your entire being. It coursed through your veins at this very second. Born and bred a witch, the king didn't know the true first thing about what Magic truly was. Not unless the asshole possessed it himself, which he didn't. As far as you heard he did his bidding in the creatures he held captive in this very castle. He was a coward. 

The evening wears on, and when the meal concludes, the king rises to offer a toast. His words are full of pride and hope for the future, but you hear only arrogance. You lift your goblet, hiding your true thoughts behind a mask of gratitude. One day, this kingdom will bow to you. One day everyone will know of the Bloodborn witch who outsmarted and conquered the tyrant king. For now, you bide your time. Tonight, you’ve taken your first step into the heart of Athera. Soon, the real work will begin. 

After dinner you're more than eager to get out of the confines of your room, you were just itching to scope out the castle and what it entailed. There was just one tiny problem. Your guard dog Heeseung was permitted to walk with you every step you took. The moon hangs high over the castle as you step out onto the garden path, the crisp night air brushing against your skin. The opulent gardens are a labyrinth of perfectly trimmed hedges, vibrant blooms, and marble fountains that glimmer under the silvery light. It should be peaceful, the perfect setting for you to gather your thoughts and refine your plan, but the sound of boots following closely behind shatters the illusion. "Is this truly necessary?" you ask, throwing a glance over your shoulder at Heeseung, who trails a few paces behind. 

"The king insisted," he replies, his tone clipped. He doesn’t bother to hide the annoyance in his expression as his dark eyes meet yours. "I don’t particularly enjoy babysitting, either." 

You huff, turning away from him and focusing on the path ahead. "I hardly need a babysitter."

"Then why am I here?" Heeseung mutters under his breath. You fought the urge to crack him over the head with a tight closed fist. You didn't need a low life guard treating you like some weak girl who couldn't hold her own head up. Fuck that. 

You shoot him a sharp look. One laced with venom, and ash laden tongue. "Because the king is clearly overprotective." 

"And because you're a guest," he counters, his voice edged with sarcasm. "Guests don’t wander around royal gardens unescorted, no matter how stubborn they are." 

You stop abruptly, forcing him to do the same. "Stubborn?" You crossed your arms over your chest, your nails digging into the skin of your arm to stop yourself from lashing out on him and doing something irreversible. Heeseung folds his arms across his chest, just like you had.  "That’s one way to describe it. Most princesses would relish the chance to stroll under the stars with the captain of the guard. You seem more annoyed than honored."

"Honored?" You scoff, your eyes narrowing. "To be followed around like a child who can’t be trusted to think for herself? If that’s what you call honor, I’d rather not have it." Heeseung’s brow arches, and for a moment, his irritation gives way to curiosity. "You’re not like other princesses, are you?" 

"Perhaps that’s because I’m not as complacent as they are," you snap, taking another step forward. "I’ve seen enough of this world to know that women are treated like ornaments—delicate, fragile things meant to be admired and controlled. It’s infuriating." His gaze sharpens, and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "Strong words for someone dressed like a jeweled ornament herself." You let a low hiss leave your lips at your growing frustration. 

Your hands clench at your sides, but you hold your ground. "This gown doesn’t define me. And neither does your opinion." Heeseung chuckles dryly, though there’s a flicker of something else in his expression—respect, perhaps, or maybe amusement. "You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that. But spirit doesn’t mean much in a place like this." He was giving you some kind of rundown you hadn't asked for, treating you like an idiot. 

"And why is that?" you ask, your voice icy. Your body cold from the fury swirling in your veins. "Because this kingdom isn’t built on ideals. It’s built on power, control, and tradition." He steps closer, his tone dropping to something quieter but no less intense. "If you want to survive here, you’d better learn to play by the rules." 

"I make my own rules," you reply, lifting your chin defiantly. You’d be cursing yourself for your behavior later, but now you couldn't help but let the spit fire fall from your lips. The tension between you crackles like lightning in the air, but neither of you looks away. Finally, Heeseung sighs and takes a step back, his expression hardening again. "You’re going to make my job difficult, aren’t you?" he says, shaking his head. 

“Yes.” was all you responded with. And you'd give no other explanation to it. Heeseung probably wondered what kind of trivial trouble he faced ahead but he surely didn't know it was much more dangerous than that. This wasn't just some head strong princess fighting to stay somewhat afloat in a world akin to men. You were a bloodthirsty, wishfully avenging witch who would stop at nothing to see her enemy, the King, dead. He had not even an inclination of a clue. The silence stretches between you as you continue your walk, the garden’s beauty muted by the clash of wills. Heeseung doesn’t speak again, and you’re grateful for the reprieve. Every step solidifies your resolve, every glance at the castle walls a reminder of the kingdom you’ve infiltrated. Heeseung might think he understands power and control, but he knows nothing of the storm brewing inside you. Let him underestimate you. Let them all underestimate you. Soon, they’ll realize the true extent of your will—and the price of underestimating it. When you finally return to your chambers, you glance back at Heeseung, who remains at the door, his expression unreadable.

"Goodnight, Captain," you say, your voice laced with the faintest hint of sarcasm. But also a bit of amusement. 

"Goodnight, Your Grace," he replies, his tone matching yours. As the door closes behind you, you can’t help but feel the night has been a small victory. You’ve made your first impression on the castle—and its people. And though Heeseung may prove to be an obstacle, he’s also a challenge, one you’re determined to overcome. For now, you let your thoughts settle as you prepare for the days to come. The game has begun, and you’re ready to play it to win. The heavy oak door closes with a quiet thud behind you, sealing off the noise of the castle. Your chambers are grander than anything you’ve ever known—rich velvet drapes, a bed large enough to drown in, and shelves lined with books whose gilded spines catch the flickering light of the fire. But none of it feels real. The luxury, the warmth, the illusion of safety—it’s all a lie. 

You slip out of the heavy gown, casting it aside as if shedding a skin that doesn’t belong to you. Your reflection in the ornate mirror catches your eye, and for a moment, you stare. The princess’s face looks back at you, her delicate features framed by your freshly styled hair, but the defiance burning in your gaze is all your own. You turn away, pulling a well-worn leather satchel from beneath the bed. Its contents are simple but vital: a few personal belongings, a small book of spells, and a dagger you’d hidden before anyone could search your things. The weight of the dagger is comforting as you place it on the bedside table, a silent reminder of your mission. The fire crackles softly as you settle onto the plush rug by the hearth, spreading a stack of books in front of you. You’ve managed to gather a modest collection about the castle, the royal family, and the kingdom’s history—enough to keep your mind occupied, or so you thought. 

Your fingers trace the faded ink of an old map of Athera, your lips silently forming the names of its towns and landmarks. But no matter how hard you try to focus, your thoughts keep drifting back to him. Heeseung. The way he’d looked at you in the garden, his dark eyes sharp and unreadable, as if he could see through your every facade. The way he’d dismissed you as stubborn and spoiled, as if you were no different from the pampered nobles he’d sworn to protect. The way his words had challenged you, igniting a spark of defiance you couldn’t shake. You scowl, slamming the book shut with more force than necessary. "Infuriating," you mutter under your breath, as if saying it aloud will exorcise the thought of him from your mind. It doesn’t. Instead, you grab your spellbook, flipping through its pages with restless energy. The familiar symbols and incantations should be a comfort, but even your magic feels dull tonight. You murmur a spell to conjure a small orb of light, watching it hover in the air like a firefly, but the satisfaction is fleeting. The orb winks out, leaving you in the dim glow of the fire. 

Why does he bother you so much? He’s just another guard, another obstacle in a castle full of them. And yet, his words linger, needling at the edges of your thoughts. You hate the way he made you feel—challenged, unsettled, seen. Shaking your head, you push the thought aside and return to the books. The king is what matters, not some arrogant captain of the guard. You remind yourself of the plan, of the vengeance that fuels you. You’ll learn everything you can about this castle, this kingdom, and the man who sits on its throne. Heeseung is nothing but a distraction, and distractions have no place in your mission. Still, as the fire dwindles to embers and the castle settles into silence, his voice echoes in your mind: “You’ve got spirit.” 

You grit your teeth, shoving the memory aside as you extinguish the lamp. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, and you can’t afford to let him—or anyone else—get in your way. As you lay down, the shadows of the room seem to whisper promises of the chaos you’ll bring to Athera. And yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, a quiet, infuriating thought remains: Heeseung may not be as easy to forget as you’d hoped. 

-

The next morning arrives with the soft knock of your nursemaid, her presence dragging you from a restless sleep. The golden sunlight streaming through the tall windows feels almost mocking, a stark contrast to the cold determination that weighs heavy in your chest. You dress quickly, donning yet another gown far too frilly for your taste, and endure the nursemaid’s fussing over your hair with forced patience. By the time you arrive at the study hall, you’re already in a foul mood. The room is grand, with floor-to-ceiling windows draped in fine silks and shelves brimming with ancient tomes. At the far end of the room, a frail man in scholar’s robes stands by a chalkboard, his spectacles perched precariously on the tip of his nose. His presence is as unimposing as the droning voice that greets you. "Ah, Princess," he says, bowing stiffly. "We shall begin with a comprehensive overview of Athera’s founding and its noble lineage." 

You sigh inwardly, suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. As you take your seat at the front of the class, you catch movement out of the corner of your eye—Heeseung, leaning against the wall near the door. His arms are crossed over his chest, his expression a mixture of boredom and irritation. He’s clearly as thrilled about this arrangement as you are. The scholar drones on, his voice a monotonous hum as he recites the kingdom’s history. Something about treaties, alliances, and a war long past. You try to focus, but the words blur together, slipping through your grasp like sand. Your gaze drifts to the window, where the gardens stretch out in the morning light. The vibrant colors of the flowers and the rustling of the leaves call to you, a welcome escape from the suffocating walls of the study. He talks of magical beings. Dragons, werewolves, creatures in the sea, creatures in the sky. "Princess, are you paying attention?" the teacher’s voice snaps you back to the present. His stern gaze pins you in place, and you force a polite smile. 

"Of course," you lie, straightening in your chair. But your mind is already elsewhere again, plotting and scheming. How could anyone care about the history of treaties when the present holds so much more promise for chaos? In the corner, Heeseung shifts, his boots scraping lightly against the stone floor. His gaze meets yours for a fleeting moment, and you catch the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Is he laughing at you? You bristle, sitting up straighter. 

The teacher drones on, oblivious to the silent exchange. "And so, The King’s unification of the eastern territories laid the foundation for the peace we enjoy today..."  You stifle a yawn, your gaze flicking back to Heeseung. He looks as disinterested as you feel, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he leans against the wall. 

"Do you find this as thrilling as I do, Captain?" you mutter under your breath, barely audible. 

His eyes narrow slightly, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward. "Riveting," he murmurs back, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Though I imagine it’s more tolerable when you’re not staring out the window." Your cheeks heat, and you turn your attention back to the teacher, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a retort. The exchange leaves you flustered, though you can’t quite decide if it’s from embarrassment or irritation. The lesson drags on, and by the time the scholar finally sets down his chalk, you’re convinced an entire day has passed. "We’ll continue tomorrow with the origins of the royal family’s insignia," he announces, as if that’s something to look forward to. 

You stand quickly, smoothing your skirts as you prepare to leave. Heeseung falls into step behind you, his presence a constant shadow. As you walk through the corridors, the silence stretches until you can’t bear it any longer. "You seemed awfully comfortable back there," you say, your tone sharp. "Do you always hover like a ghost, or is it just for me?" 

Heeseung glances at you, his expression unreadable. "It’s my job to keep you safe. I don’t have to enjoy it." 

"Safe from what?" you scoff. "The dust on those books? The unbearable monotony of castle life?" 

He stops abruptly, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "Safe from whatever danger your enemies might bring. Or," he adds, his voice low, "whatever danger you might bring yourself." The weight of his words hangs in the air, and for a moment, you’re at a loss. Then your lips curl into a smirk. "I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Captain." You continue down the hall. Heeseung may be a nuisance, but he’s also observant—and that makes him dangerous. You’ll need to keep your guard up around him, even if he’s nothing more than an obstacle in your greater plan. The day isn’t over yet, and you still have work to do. 

After the lesson, you wander down the grand corridors of the castle, the heavy weight of boredom pressing against your chest. The day has been insufferable—yet another dull recounting of history delivered in a monotonous drone, the same names and dates hammered into your skull until they blurred together. You’re not sure if it’s exhaustion or frustration that drives your next decision, but the thought of retreating to your chambers feels unbearable. "I want to go to the library," you declare suddenly, glancing back at Heeseung, who’s trailing behind you with the enthusiasm of someone heading to their own execution. 

He raises a brow, not even trying to mask his irritation. "The library? What for? Didn’t you just spend hours listening to all that history nonsense?" 

"I didn’t ask for your opinion, did I?" you reply sharply, spinning back toward the hallway ahead. "Some of us like to expand our knowledge." There was a lot you needed to learn about the king and more specifically this castle if you were going to properly find a way to kill him. "You mean some of us like to make other people’s lives harder," he mutters, loud enough for you to hear. 

You stop abruptly, turning to face him with an arched brow. "Oh, I’m sorry. Is being my guard not entertaining enough for you? Should I organize a parade in your honor?" Heeseung rolls his eyes, falling into step beside you instead of keeping his distance. "Entertaining is the last word I’d use to describe this job. Babysitting a princess who doesn’t act like one isn’t exactly the highlight of my career." 

"Good," you say with a saccharine smile. "Because I’m not a complacent little princess who needs constant coddling." You held your hide with triumph. Heeseung was just another man who had thought you weak, he was in for a rude awakening that was for certain. "That’s obvious," he mutters, but you catch the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. When you reach the library, the grandeur of the space strikes you all over again. Towering bookshelves stretch to the ceiling, their dark wood polished to perfection, and the scent of parchment and old ink fills the air. It’s quiet, serene, and exactly what you need after the grating monotony of the lesson. 

"Stay there," you order, gesturing vaguely to a corner. "You’ll ruin the atmosphere if you breathe too loudly." 

"Believe me," he says, leaning casually against a pillar, "I have no desire to ruin whatever grand intellectual pursuits you’re pretending to have." Ignoring him, you approach the nearest shelf, your fingers grazing the spines of the books as you scan the titles. But after a moment, your curiosity gets the better of you. "Speaking of pursuits," you say, casting a glance over your shoulder, "why is it that no one here seems to talk about magic?" 

Heeseung’s posture stiffens slightly, the smirk fading from his face. "Why do you care?" It was an odd reaction, one you were watching closely. Why did everyone seem to tense up when magic is talked about? Isn't Aethera filled with endless amounts of magic and creatures unhuman. This was not something that was taboo, it should be normal. "Because it’s fascinating," you say, turning to face him fully. "Magic is power, creation, mystery... Why wouldn’t I care?" You knew everything about magic, how much of magic did Heeseung really understand? It was obvious he did not possess any magical abilities and unless he could shapeshift into a man it didn't seem he was a magical being at that. 

"It’s dangerous," he replies curtly. "That’s why." The answer was short and it annoyed you. Who was he to tell you? You had to remind yourself that he didn't know who and what you really were. "Everything is dangerous," you counter. "Swords, fire, ambition. That doesn’t mean we ignore it. I’d think someone like you would understand that." 

"Someone like me?" he echoes, his eyes narrowing. "You’re a soldier, aren’t you? A protector. Surely you see the value in power," you press, taking a step closer. "Unless, of course, you’re afraid of it." 

Heeseung’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he crosses his arms, his tone clipped. "Magic has its place. But you seem a little too interested in it." 

"Why shouldn’t I be? Don’t you ever wonder about it?" you ask, watching him carefully. "Or are you just another guard who sees the world in black and white?" He doesn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretches between you. Finally, he sighs, his gaze hardening. "I don’t have magic, if that’s what you’re asking." 

The admission doesn't surprise you, causing a laugh to bubble up inside of you "None at all? That’s... unfortunate." The corners of his mouth twitch downward, and his eyes darken. "What’s that supposed to mean?" You decided to tease him, to rile him up a bit. 

"It means," you say with a shrug, "I would’ve thought someone with your... demeanor might have at least a little magic. Even the tiniest spark." 

"Not everyone needs magic to survive," he says sharply, his voice lowering. "Some of us rely on skill and discipline. But I guess you wouldn’t understand that." 

"Skill and discipline?" you echo, unable to resist pushing further. "Is that what you tell yourself while others wield power you can’t touch?" As far as he knew, you didn't possess a magical ability but still teasing him was the highlight of this dreadful day. His glare is sharp enough to cut, and he takes a step forward, closing the distance between you. "I don’t need magic to be stronger than most people you’ll ever meet. And I don’t need it to see through people like you." 

"People like me?" you ask, tilting your head. You were appalled at his blatant candor. It was almost insulting. "You hide behind clever words and fake smiles, pretending you’re better than everyone else," he says, his tone as biting as his stare. "But you’re just as flawed as the rest of us—if not more." 

His words hit harder than you expect, and for a moment, you falter. But then you square your shoulders, lifting your chin. "At least I’m not afraid to reach for power when I see it. Unlike you." Heeseung exhales sharply, his frustration visible in the tight set of his jaw. "You think you know everything, don’t you? But let me tell you something, Princess—power without control is just chaos waiting to happen." 

"And control without power is just cowardice," you shoot back. Your blood boiling, heat soaring through your veins, heating your cheeks. The air between you crackles with tension, neither of you willing to back down. Finally, Heeseung turns away, his voice quieter but no less firm. "You don’t know what you’re talking about." 

"Maybe I don’t," you say, retreating to the shelf you were examining. "But I know enough to see that you’re scared of something you can’t admit." He doesn’t respond, and when you glance over your shoulder, you catch the faintest flicker of something in his expression—resentment, maybe, or something deeper. It vanishes just as quickly, replaced by his usual stoic mask. You pull a heavy tome from the shelf, the weight of it grounding you as you carry it to a nearby table. As you settle into the chair and open the book, you steal another glance at Heeseung. He’s still by the pillar, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the room. For once, the thought of irritating him doesn’t bring you any satisfaction. Instead, his words linger in your mind, echoing louder than the scratch of your pen against the paper as you take notes. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You’re here for a purpose, and nothing—not even an infuriating guard—will distract you from it. 

-

The sound of boots against marble echoes faintly as Heeseung strides through the castle halls toward the king’s private chamber. He moves with purpose, his posture straight and disciplined, but his mind is far from focused. The conversation with the princess in the library still lingers, her biting words replaying in his head like a song he can’t escape. "Power without control is just chaos," he mutters under his breath, as if reaffirming the truth to himself. He shakes his head, forcing the distraction aside. There are more pressing matters to deal with. 

The guards stationed outside the chamber bow their heads as he approaches, stepping aside to allow him entry. Heeseung pushes open the heavy wooden door, the warmth of the king’s study enveloping him. The room is richly appointed, filled with books, maps, and the faint scent of parchment. The king sits behind a wide desk, his imposing frame leaning over a document, but he looks up as Heeseung enters. “Heeseung.” the king greets, gesturing for him to approach. "What news do you bring?" Heeseung crosses the room, bowing slightly before standing at attention. "Your Majesty, the witches have remained quiet for now. The council is still fractured after what happened with Esme. Most of them are cautious, unwilling to draw attention." 

​​The king leans back in his chair, his sharp eyes narrowing. "And the daughter?" Heeseung hesitates for a fraction of a second, his expression tightening. "She went missing not too long ago. No one knows where she is or what she looks like. The coven has done an exceptional job of erasing her trail. We’ve searched the surrounding areas, sent informants to neighboring regions, but nothing has turned up." 

The king’s lips press into a thin line, and he drums his fingers against the armrest. "That girl is a threat. Her bloodline alone makes her dangerous. If she’s anything like her mother, she’ll be biding her time, waiting to strike when we least expect it." 

"I understand, Your Majesty," Heeseung says, his voice steady. "I’ve increased surveillance on the coven. If they make a move, we’ll know about it immediately." The king rises from his chair, pacing slowly across the room. His hands clasp behind his back, his expression thoughtful. "Good. But I want you to remain vigilant, Heeseung. The witches are not as divided as they may seem. Their hatred for this crown runs deep, and I will not let another insurgent rise under my watch." 

Heeseung nods, his fingers twitching slightly at his side. "Understood, Your Majesty. I’ll continue monitoring them closely." The king stops in front of a display case, its glass gleaming under the warm light of the room. Inside rests a single weapon—a dagger with an obsidian blade that seems to absorb the light around it. The hilt is engraved with ancient runes, and the very air near it feels charged with power. "You haven’t had to use it yet, have you?" the king asks, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity as he nods toward the blade. 

"No, Your Majesty," Heeseung replies, his gaze briefly flickering to the weapon before returning to the king. "Not yet." The king exhales, his expression hardening. "Good. Let’s hope it stays that way. But if the girl—or any other witch—dares to challenge us, I expect you to use it without hesitation. That blade is our safeguard against their kind. It’s the only thing that can cut through their spells and end them before they wreak havoc." 

Heeseung’s hand unconsciously brushes against the hilt of his sword, though he feels the weight of the king’s words more than his weapon. "You have my word, Your Majesty. I won’t let them get close." 

"See that you don’t," the king says, turning to face him fully. His gaze is sharp, his tone commanding. "The witches are not to be underestimated, Heeseung. Their magic is insidious, and they’ve infiltrated kingdoms before. We don’t even know how many of them might be near us, hiding in plain sight. Keep your eyes open—and your blade ready." 

Heeseung inclines his head. "Of course, Your Majesty." The king studies him for a moment longer before nodding in dismissal. "Go. Report back to me if there’s any sign of activity from the coven." Heeseung bows deeply before turning on his heel and exiting the chamber. The weight of the conversation settles over him like a shroud, the king’s words ringing in his ears. As he makes his way back through the castle, his thoughts drift to the princess. Her sharp tongue, her probing questions about magic... and the way her eyes seemed to burn with a defiance he couldn’t place. He shakes his head, pushing the thought away. She was a complication he didn’t need right now. The witches were still out there, somewhere, and one of them could be closer than anyone realized. Heeseung tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword, his jaw set. He couldn’t afford to lose focus—not now, not ever. 

-

The morning sun spills golden light across the castle grounds as you stand by the grand entrance, waiting for your reluctant escort. The crisp air carries the distant hum of the city waking beyond the castle walls—the sound of merchants setting up stalls, the laughter of children, the scent of fresh bread drifting from the bakeries. You can almost taste the freedom of the outside world. Almost. But, of course, you aren’t truly free. A sigh escapes your lips as you hear the familiar sound of armored boots approaching. Heeseung stops beside you, arms crossed, looking as thrilled about this excursion as he has about every other time he’s been assigned to you. His expression is one of pure exasperation, like he’d rather be facing a horde of assassins than babysitting a foreign princess in the city streets. "Let’s get this over with," he mutters, adjusting the sword strapped to his hip. "Where exactly do you need to go?" 

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. "I heard there’s a traveling carnival near the market today. I’d like to see it." His brow furrows. "A carnival?" He looks you up and down, as if trying to decide whether or not you’re serious. "You mean to tell me you want to waste time with games and fortune tellers?" 

"You say ‘waste time,’ I say ‘cultural experience,’" you counter, offering a saccharine smile. "It would be a shame to visit Athera and not witness such a grand attraction." Heeseung sighs through his nose, clearly debating whether or not to argue. "Fine," he grumbles after a long pause. "But don’t wander off." You hum in agreement, already planning exactly how you’ll do just that. The carnival is a whirlwind of color and sound. Performers juggle flaming torches, musicians play lively tunes, and vendors shout over the crowd, boasting their wares. Children run past, their hands sticky with honeyed treats, and silk-clad fortune tellers beckon visitors into their tents. It’s an assault on the senses—but more importantly, it’s a perfect place to disappear. 

"Stay close," Heeseung warns, scanning the crowd with practiced vigilance. You pretend to admire a display of glass trinkets, then gasp as if something catches your eye in the distance. "Oh! A mirror maze!" You turn to him, feigning excitement. "Let’s go in!" 

Heeseung groans. "You’ve got to be kidding me." 

"Oh, come now," you say, grabbing his wrist before he can protest. "Surely a fearless captain of the guard isn’t afraid of a few reflections?" His jaw tightens. "I’m not afraid of anything." 

"Then prove it," you challenge, pulling him toward the entrance. His grumble is lost beneath the laughter of passing carnival-goers as you drag him inside. The moment you step into the maze, you’re surrounded by endless versions of yourself, your reflections stretching infinitely in every direction. The air is thick with the scent of candle wax and aged wood, and the flickering lanterns overhead cast eerie shadows along the mirrored paths. You take a slow step forward, the sound of your boots muffled against the carpeted floor. The maze is designed to disorient, to make one question what’s real and what’s merely a reflection. Even the flicker of candlelight bends strangely, making it hard to tell if the passage ahead is truly open or just another illusion. 

Heeseung exhales sharply behind you. "This is ridiculous," he mutters, glancing around warily. His reflection appears hundreds of times over, each version of him scowling in frustration. You can’t help but smirk. "What’s the matter, Captain? Losing your sense of direction?" 

He glares at you through the glass. "No. But I know a trap when I see one." You press a hand against one of the mirrors, watching as the pressure sends a ripple through the illusion. "And yet, you walked right in with me," you tease, stepping forward with confidence. "That means either you trust me or you’re a fool." Heeseung doesn’t reply, but his silence is answer enough. The two of you move deeper into the labyrinth, the paths twisting in unpredictable patterns. At one point, you think you see the exit, only to step forward and bump into cold glass. Another time, Heeseung’s reflection appears beside you, making you jolt—only to realize he’s actually several feet away. The maze is playing tricks, forcing both of you to second-guess every turn. 

But unlike Heeseung, you know exactly what you’re doing. You let your fingers graze the mirrors as you walk, feeling for subtle shifts in temperature and texture. It’s a trick your mother taught you long ago—how to sense when an illusion is stronger, when the air bends just slightly differently. Your way out is clear. You just need to make sure Heeseung doesn’t follow. "Stay close," he orders, his voice firm. You smile to yourself. "Of course." Your voice like silk as you mutter the words. 

You take a sharp turn, slipping through a narrow passage where the reflections fold over themselves like endless corridors. You move faster now, ducking under one of the low archways of glass, letting the maze do its work. Heeseung hesitates behind you, briefly lost in the overlapping images. Then, you act. You dart into one of the mirrored alcoves, pressing yourself against the cold surface. The way the mirrors are angled makes it seem as though the passage continues straight, even though you’re standing just off to the side. Heeseung rushes past you, too focused on keeping up to notice that you’ve stopped. 

​​A few seconds pass. Then, his footsteps fade. You let out a slow breath, stepping out of your hiding place. The reflections shift again, swallowing Heeseung deeper into the maze while you double back toward the hidden exit. By the time he realizes he’s been tricked, you’ll already be gone. 

You slip through the narrow streets of the market, weaving between clusters of merchants and townsfolk, the scents of roasted nuts, spiced cider, and fresh bread thick in the air. The colorful banners overhead sway lazily in the breeze, casting shifting shadows over the cobblestone path. But your focus remains sharp. You know exactly where you’re going. Behind you, Heeseung is pushing through the crowd, his irritation palpable. He hasn't realized yet that you lost him in the mirror maze on purpose, only that you’re suddenly too far ahead for his liking. 

You pick up your pace, slipping into a cramped side alley where a wooden sign hangs above a darkened shop. The paint is faded, but the symbol etched into the wood is unmistakable—an open palm with an eye in the center. The sign of an apothecary. You step inside, and immediately, the scent of dried herbs and aged parchment wraps around you like a cloak. The shop is dimly lit, with shelves stacked high with jars of powders, roots, and liquids. Small bundles of lavender, sage, and bloodroot hang from the ceiling, their fragrance mingling with the faintly acrid smell of something more potent. 

A hunched old woman stands behind the counter, her fingers gnarled like tree roots as she grinds something into a fine powder with a mortar and pestle. She doesn’t look up as you approach. "You're late," she rasps. 

You hesitate for only a fraction of a second. "Am I?" 

Her milky white eyes flick up to meet yours. "No. But I like to keep customers uneasy. It keeps them from wasting my time." You smirk despite yourself. "Then I won’t waste yours."

You lower your voice, leaning in slightly. "I need something strong. A poison. One that can kill quietly, without immediate suspicion." The old woman tilts her head, her sharp gaze scrutinizing you. Then, with slow deliberation, she sets down her pestle and shuffles to a shelf behind her, running her fingers over rows of tiny glass vials. "Death comes in many forms," she murmurs. "Painful or painless. Swift or slow. Do you wish them to suffer?" 

“Yes.” You answered honestly. “I want it to hurt.” The words leave your lips like a blade unsheathed, sharp and final. The old woman pauses, then turns slightly, considering her selection. "Painful, then. I have something fitting." She plucks a dark glass bottle from the shelf, turning it in her hands before setting it on the counter between you. "Widow’s Thorn. It seeps through the body like fire, tightening the lungs, sending agony through every nerve. A slow, excruciating death. He will beg for it to end before it takes him." 

A cold smile tugs at the corners of your lips. "Perfect." The woman watches you for a long moment. "You carry great hatred in your heart, girl." Her tone was not that of judgment but of curiosity, and i bit of understanding. You meet her gaze evenly. "And he carries greater sins." 

She hums in approval before placing her gnarled hand over the vial. "It is not cheap," she warns. "Nor is it a toy." You slide a coin pouch from your sleeve, setting it on the counter with a soft clink. "I understand." The woman studies you for another long moment before removing her hand. You pick up the vial, feeling the cool glass between your fingers. 

"You’re no ordinary noble," she muses. "Your eyes are too sharp. Your hands too steady." You meet her gaze evenly. "And you ask too many questions." You hiss, your jaw tense. The old woman chuckles, a dry, rasping sound. "Perhaps. But take care, girl. Poison is a cruel death, and cruelty has a way of staining the soul." You slip the vial into the folds of your cloak, nodding once before turning toward the door. 

As you weave your way back through the winding streets, the hum of the carnival grows louder, the scent of roasted nuts and melted sugar filling the air. Lanterns sway overhead, casting flickering patterns along the cobblestone paths. You slip effortlessly into the crowd, blending among the laughter and shouts of eager festival-goers. Just as you step past a fire-breather’s act, a strong hand clamps around your wrist. You spin, already knowing who it is. 

Heeseung glares down at you, his jaw clenched tight, his dark eyes burning with irritation. “Where were you?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “I was right where you left me.” 

His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make his frustration clear. “Don’t play games with me,” he hisses. “You disappeared.” You pull your wrist free, dusting off your sleeve as if his mere touch sullied it. “Maybe you were the one who got lost.” 

His brows furrow, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “I wasn’t the one who suddenly vanished into thin air.” 

You smirk. “Then maybe you should be better at your job, Captain.” Sending him a mocking nod just to further piss him off. Heeseung exhales sharply, stepping in closer, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?” 

Your smirk doesn’t falter, but inside, a flicker of unease coils in your stomach. “And what exactly am I doing?” He studies you, his gaze raking over every inch of your face like he’s trying to decipher some hidden code. Then, he shakes his head. “I don’t know yet,” he admits, voice low and firm. “But I will.” You hold his stare, refusing to be the first to look away. 

Then, with a casual shrug, you turn on your heel, striding toward the heart of the carnival. “Try not to lose me again, Captain,” you call over your shoulder. His sigh of frustration is lost beneath the clamor of the crowd, but you don’t need to hear it. You know he’s fuming. And you relish it. 

The vial of poison sits heavy in your pocket, the glass cool against your fingertips as you walk through the dim corridors of the castle. The evening hums with quiet activity—servants moving about with trays of food, guards standing at their posts, the murmur of distant conversations blending into the ambiance of wealth and order. You keep your pace measured, controlled, your heart steady even as anticipation thrums through your veins. The kitchens are alive with motion, filled with the mouthwatering aroma of roasted meats and warm bread. Flames crackle in the hearth, casting flickering light over the bustling staff. No one notices you lingering near the long oak table where steaming pots of stew are being ladled into bowls for the servants' evening meal. No one sees the small flick of your wrist as you pull the vial from your sleeve, tilting just enough for a single drop of the deadly liquid to disappear into the bubbling broth. it dissolves instantly, colorless and scentless. Perfect. Satisfied, you slip away, vanishing into the corridors before anyone can notice your presence. 

Dinner in the grand hall is an affair of indulgence and formality. The king sits at the head of the table, the queen beside him, both of them poised in their regal authority. The table stretches long, lined with glistening silver and crystalline goblets brimming with wine. Candles flicker against the polished surface, casting an intimate glow over the lavish setting. You are seated further down, close enough to play the role of the polite, eager-to-learn princess, but not too close to draw unwanted attention. Heeseung stands by the wall, arms crossed, his sharp gaze sweeping the room. You can feel him watching you, though you do not meet his eyes. Your hands rest lightly in your lap, your fingers curling against the fabric of your gown as you wait. And then it happens. The sound of hurried footsteps. A muffled cry from the hallway. 

​​The heavy doors burst open, slamming against the stone walls. A maid stumbles in, her face ashen, her apron twisted in her trembling fingers. Her breath comes in sharp, panicked gasps.  “Your Majesty!” she cries, eyes wild. “A-a servant—he collapsed! He’s dead!” The room stills. The queen sets down her goblet with quiet precision. The king barely moves, his gaze turning toward the distraught woman as if she were little more than a nuisance. 

“What did you say?” His voice is calm, almost lazy, but there is an undercurrent of something else—something cold, something dangerous. The maid’s throat bobs as she swallows. “T-they say… it was poison, Your Majesty.” 

You suck in a breath, widening your eyes just enough to sell the performance. A low murmur rises among the nobles at the table, whispers of concern and speculation threading through the air. “Poison?” you echo, your voice trembling ever so slightly. You place a delicate hand over your chest, as if the very notion disturbs you. The king exhales slowly, setting his goblet down with deliberate grace. He does not look surprised. He does not even look angry. He looks bored. 

He lifts his fingers, and the nearest guard steps forward. “Bring me the chef.” The murmurs grow louder as the order is carried out. The tension in the room tightens, a string pulled taut, ready to snap. Servants shift uncomfortably, the flickering candlelight making their faces look gaunt and uneasy. You sit perfectly still, your posture straight, your expression frozen in careful distress. Minutes stretch long before the doors open again, and the head chef is dragged into the room, his face pale with sweat. His apron is still dusted with flour, his hands trembling as he is forced onto his knees before the king. The silence is suffocating. 

The chef’s lips tremble. “Your Majesty,” he gasps, bowing his head so low his forehead nearly touches the marble floor. “I swear upon my life, I would never—” The king tilts his head, studying the man as one would study a fly that has landed in their wine. “Do not lie to me.” His voice is quiet, but the weight of it crushes the air from the room. “A man is dead. Someone is responsible.” 

The chef shakes his head violently. “It wasn’t me! I have worked in this kitchen for years! I would never—” The king lifts a hand, a simple flick of his wrist. The command is unspoken, but the nearest guard knows what it means. Steel flashes in the candlelight. A single stroke. A sickening, wet sound. The chef’s head hits the polished marble floor with a dull thud. Blood pools in thick, slow streams, spreading out like ink on parchment. A servant gasps. One of the nobles flinches. But no one speaks. You inhale sharply, letting your fingers tremble as you press them to your lips, your eyes wide with horror. Inside, your heart races—not with fear, but with something else. Power. 

The king sighs, as if exhausted by the whole ordeal. He picks up his goblet and takes a long, unbothered sip of his wine before turning his attention back to the table. “My apologies for the disturbance,” he says smoothly. “Shall we continue?” And just like that, the feast resumes. Conversation stirs back to life, noble voices rising once more, the clinking of silverware against porcelain filling the void left by the dying man’s last breath. You lower your gaze, the picture of a shaken princess, but inside, your mind is alight with possibility. The poison worked. Now, all that’s left is to decide when the king will drink his own dose. And when he does, you will make sure his suffering is slow. Painful. Unforgettable. 

The morning light filters softly through the high windows of your chambers, casting delicate golden patterns across the marble floor. The events of last night linger in your mind like the ghost of a dream, the image of the chef’s head hitting the cold stone floor replaying itself over and over. The king’s lack of hesitation, the way the entire room returned to feasting as though nothing had happened—it only fuels the fire within you. Today, you will continue your plan. After dressing, you step into the hallway where, as expected, Heeseung is not waiting for you. 

Instead, another guard stands in his place—a man taller, broader, but lacking the quiet sharpness that Heeseung always carried like a second skin. His armor gleams, freshly polished, his stance stiff and professional. You slow your steps, letting irritation seep into your voice. "Where is Heeseung?" you ask, folding your arms as you tilt your chin up slightly. 

The guard, clearly not accustomed to being questioned, hesitates for a moment before responding, "Captain Heeseung is taking a personal day, Your Highness." Your brows lift in surprise. "A personal day?" The words feel foreign in relation to Heeseung. He never struck you as the type to take time for himself, not when he carried that ever-present scowl and duty as if they were armor. 

The guard shifts slightly, looking uncomfortable under your scrutiny. "Yes, Your Highness. He did not say when he would return, only that he would be back when needed." You study the man, noting the slight tension in his stance, the way his hand stays a little too close to the hilt of his sword. You’re not the only one unsettled by Heeseung’s absence. “Interesting,” you muse, keeping your voice light, as if this information does not bother you. But it does. Something is off. Heeseung doesn’t just disappear. He doesn't get days off. And though you should welcome the reprieve from his constant watchful presence, you find yourself… unsettled. Not because you miss his company—certainly not—but because Heeseung’s absence means unpredictability. And unpredictability is dangerous. 

For now, you will play along. You give the guard a measured look before sighing dramatically. “Well, I suppose that means you will have to endure escorting me today.” 

The man straightens. “It would be my honor, Your Highness.” Annoyingly polite. You roll your eyes. “How unfortunate for you.” And with that, you turn on your heel, already planning your next move. Wherever Heeseung is, you will find out soon enough. 

-

You had to get away from this guard. He was dumb, unmoving. He didn’t speak and barely moved. You could outsmart him, escape. There’s no time to waste. “I’m going to the washroom” You spoke quickly, not giving him much time to respond. “Wait-” The guard said, hand stretched out. 

“Would you really stop a lady who’s in her bleeding from using the bathroom guard?” You had made uncomfortable with your talk of women's duties. He bowed his head, eyes not meeting your own. Coward. Pathetic coward. What kind of man gets squeamish at the thought of blood? The guards stationed outside the hall barely acknowledge you as you sweep past them, your head held high, posture regal. The trick to sneaking around isn’t to skulk in the shadows—it’s to make people believe you belong wherever you are. And right now, you belong anywhere you damn well please. The deeper you go into the castle, the more the corridors narrow, the lavish decorations thinning out as you approach restricted areas. You slow your steps, eyes scanning for anything useful—an unguarded door, an overlooked passageway, something that will lead you closer to the king’s private quarters. 

You turn a corner and pause. Through an open archway, the scent of steel and sweat lingers in the air. The sound of a blade slicing through air, followed by the heavy thunk of metal embedding into wood, echoes through the hall. You step closer, careful to keep yourself hidden behind a pillar, and peer inside. There he is. Heeseung stands in the center of the training room, sleeves rolled up, his tunic damp with sweat. His usual pristine appearance is gone—his hair tousled, his expression hard with focus. But it’s his hands that capture your attention. A dagger twirls effortlessly between his fingers, moving so fluidly it’s as if it’s an extension of his own body. He flicks his wrist, and the blade slices through the air before burying itself into the target at the far end of the room. 

Bullseye. 

Without hesitation, he pulls another dagger from his belt. Spins it. Throws. Another perfect hit. Again. And again. Each throw is precise, calculated, deadly. You watch in silence, captivated despite yourself. You’ve seen skilled fighters before—your own mother had trained you in combat, in magic—but Heeseung moves with an effortless grace that is as infuriating as it is impressive. You wonder if he even realizes how dangerous he looks right now. Then, as if sensing your gaze, Heeseung stills. Your breath catches. For a split second, you think he’s caught you. But he only exhales, rolling out his shoulders before retrieving his knives from the wooden targets. The tension in your body eases slightly, though your mind remains alert. You shouldn’t be here. You should be searching for the king’s quarters, not watching the irritating captain of the guard train like some entranced fool. The rhythmic thunk of steel embedding into wood echoes through the training yard. Heeseung moves with effortless precision, each throw of his blade landing dead center on the target. His stance is steady, his expression unreadable, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes—a quiet intensity that speaks of years of discipline.

You watch from the shadows, hidden behind one of the stone pillars framing the open-air training ground. He doesn’t notice you at first, too focused on the fluidity of his movements, the weight of the blade in his grip. But after a few minutes, his motions slow. His shoulders tense ever so slightly. Then, as if some unseen force pulls his gaze, he turns. His eyes lock onto you, narrowing the moment he registers your presence. For a flicker of a second, surprise flashes across his face, but it’s quickly replaced by something sharper—anger. 

“Why are you alone?” he demands, striding toward you. “Where’s your guard?” You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Somewhere, I suppose.” Heesseung looks angry; you wouldn't tell if the redness was from his prior workout or anger. His jaw tenses. “And he just let you wander off?” 

You offer him a lazy smile, tilting your head. “I suppose he did.” Heeseung exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” His voice is low with frustration as he moves to usher you back inside. “Come on, let’s go. You shouldn’t be out here.” But you don’t budge. “No.” 

His steps falter, his brows knitting together. “No?” You cross your arms. “I want to spar.” 

He scoffs. “Absolutely not.” 

“I insist.” 

“I don’t care.” 

You tilt your head, eyes gleaming with something he can’t quite place. “Afraid I might win?”

His expression darkens. “Afraid I’ll break you.”

You step closer, raising your chin defiantly. “Try.” For a moment, he says nothing. There’s a war in his gaze, hesitation battling irritation, but something about your confidence—your audacity—chips away at his resistance. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he relents. “Fine,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders. “A few rounds. That’s it.”

The sparring circle is a wide-open space in the center of the training grounds, enclosed by a low fence. Heeseung steps in first, rolling his sleeves up as he retrieves two training daggers. He tosses one to you without warning, but you catch it easily, twirling it once in your grip. He eyes the movement with quiet appraisal before stepping into position. “Try to keep up,” he says.

You smirk. “Likewise.” Then he moves. He’s fast, striking without hesitation. You barely dodge his first attack, sidestepping at the last second before blocking his next strike with your blade. The clash of steel rings through the air. Heeseung doesn’t let up, forcing you backward, testing your reflexes. You knew he was skilled, but this—this is something else. Every move is calculated, precise. He’s relentless, but so are you. You don’t fight like a princess. You fight like a survivor. And soon, Heeseung realizes that. The match intensifies. You anticipate his strikes, dodging just enough to throw him off balance, forcing him to adjust. He sees it now—the sharp intelligence behind your movements, the way you don’t just react, but plan. And then, just as he thinks he has you cornered—you outmaneuver him.

With a sharp pivot, you twist out of his reach, knocking his blade off course. Before he can recover, you close the distance, pressing your dagger against his throat. Heeseung stills. The only sound is your heavy breathing, the pounding of your heart, the weight of the moment hanging between you. His dark eyes search yours, something unreadable flickering in them. Then, his voice—low, measured. “Who are you?” You tilt your head, pressing the blade just a little closer, enough to make a point. Then, voice soft, you ask,

“I don’t know. Who are you? Do you ever truly know who you really are?” The question lingers between you like smoke, curling into the air. His breath is shallow, his gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment—just a fleeting moment—you both forget yourselves. Your faces are close. Too close. The sharpness of the fight melts into something else, something neither of you acknowledge but feel all the same. His eyes flicker to your lips. Your grip on the dagger tightens. But before anything can happen, before the tension snaps—you pull away. Slowly, deliberately, you lower the blade, stepping back just enough to let the moment pass. Heeseung exhales, something unreadable in his expression. You smirk, tossing the blade back to him. “Good match.” Then, without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him standing in the circle, breathless and utterly at a loss for words. 

That night, the castle feels different. A hush has settled over its grand halls, a silence deeper than usual, as if the walls themselves are holding their breath. A storm churns in the distance, flashes of lightning illuminating the arched windows, followed by the low rumble of thunder rolling across the land. The wind rattles against the stone, whispering through the cracks, but inside, everything remains still. It is the perfect night to disappear. Hushed whispers of a ball being thrown had been thrown about the castle like a plague. Every staff member was occupied with making it as grand as possible for the king and queen, no one would even notice you moving throughout the castle like a wraith in the night. You move like a shadow through the corridors, your cloak wrapped tightly around you, masking the movement of your form. The guards are stationed at their usual posts, their movements predictable, their patterns unchanged. You’ve studied them, memorized them, and now you slip past with ease, ducking into alcoves and timing your steps to the rhythm of their shifting patrols. 

The grand halls of the upper castle give way to narrower passageways as you descend, leaving behind the golden glow of chandeliers for the dim flicker of torches. You pass cold stone walls lined with forgotten paintings, their gilded frames dulled with dust, their subjects long since faded into irrelevance. Down here, the air is thick with something ancient, something heavy that clings to your skin and settles in your lungs. You need to go deeper. You recall the books you pored over in the library, the pages that spoke of the castle’s underbelly—of vaults hidden beneath layers of stone, of corridors long abandoned by those who walk in the daylight. The king is a collector, a hoarder of power. His vaults hold relics of immense magical strength—artifacts stolen, bought, or seized by force. Somewhere in this castle, he has hidden them away, locked behind spells and steel, guarded by something more fearsome than any soldier. The thought of it quickens your pulse. A kitsune. 

The old texts mention it only in passing, never in detail. A fox spirit of great power, bound to the king by means unknown. A guardian of his most prized possessions, watching over them with an unwavering gaze. The mere idea of it is enough to make most people turn away, abandon their curiosity. But you are not most people. Your fingers brush against the cool stone wall as you tread carefully down a spiraling stairway, your ears straining for any sound beyond your own heartbeat. The deeper you go, the more the castle shifts. The polished grandeur of the upper levels fades, replaced by something older, something untouched by time’s gentle hand. Here, the walls are raw, uneven, carved by those who built the kingdom’s foundations centuries ago. The torches burn lower, their light flickering against carvings worn down with age. Whispers of history cling to the very air, as if this place remembers all that has passed within its depths. 

Then, a feeling washes over you—like a change in pressure, like stepping into the eye of a storm. Magic. It hums in the air, subtle yet undeniable. The taste of it lingers on your tongue, thick and electric, coiling through the corridor like an unseen force. You are close. Your breath is steady as you move forward, every step measured, every sense heightened. You know better than to rush. Whatever lies ahead is more than mere locked doors and guards with steel. This place breathes magic. And somewhere in the depths of this castle, hidden behind layers of spellwork and shadow, the kitsune waits. You continue in the shadows until you come upon a door. The heavy door looms before you, thick with iron reinforcements and etched with sigils of protection. It’s unmistakable—this is where the king hides his most treasured artifacts, his most dangerous secrets. But it’s not unguarded. Two men stand at either side, their hands resting lazily on the hilts of their swords. They’re not expecting trouble—why would they? No one should be foolish enough to wander this deep into the castle, let alone pose a real threat. That works in your favor. 

You take a steadying breath, smoothing out the frantic beat of your heart before stepping forward, letting panic seep into your features, widening your eyes, letting your breath hitch as if you've been running for your life "Please!" Your voice is rushed, desperate. "I— I think I’m lost. I don’t know how I got down here, I was just trying to find my way back, and then—" You swallow, letting your hands tremble. "There were voices. I heard something. I got scared." 

One of the guards furrows his brow. "How did you even get down here?" He eyes you warily, shifting his stance. "I— I don’t know," you stammer, stepping closer, your body language frantic. "I was exploring, and then I took a wrong turn, and then suddenly I was just… here." They exchange glances, their suspicion flickering into something softer—concern. You’ve played your part well. "You shouldn’t be here, Princess," the other guard says, his voice gruff but not unkind. "This area is off-limits. We’ll escort you back—" 

Before he can finish, you move. A whisper of power curls from your lips, the incantation slipping through the air like a snake through grass. The first guard barely has time to react before his head jerks violently to the side, the sickening crack of bone snapping echoing through the stone corridor. His body crumples to the ground. The second guard recoils, horror flashing in his eyes. "Witch!" he bellows, drawing his sword and charging at you. You barely have the strength to lift your hand, but you don’t need much. Another whisper of your spell, and his charge is cut short—his neck twists sharply, and he collapses in a lifeless heap beside his comrade. Your breath comes ragged and uneven. Magic floods through your veins, but it takes from you as much as it gives. Your limbs are heavy, exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders like a weight. The price of your power. You don’t have time to dwell on it. Stepping over their bodies, you press a hand to the iron door. Magic thrums beneath your fingertips, woven through the metal itself. The king is cautious—he wouldn’t leave his treasures unprotected. But you are not just anyone. 

Summoning what little energy you have left, you press your palm against the seal and begin to whisper another spell. The lock trembles. The air crackles. Then, with a final pulse of energy, the door groans and clicks open. You push forward, slipping inside, knowing your time is running out. The chamber hums with power, its air thick with ancient magic, the weight of centuries pressing down on you. The sconces along the walls flicker with eerie blue fire, casting shifting shadows over the stolen artifacts—daggers humming with curses, crowns still stained with dried blood, vials of glowing liquid that pulse as if alive. Your fingers skim over them, barely paying attention. None of it matters. None of it will help you kill the king. 

Then you see it. A small glass case, set apart from the others. You step closer, your breath catching in your throat. Inside the case, a severed finger rests on a velvet cushion. For a moment, your mind refuses to understand. The skin has shriveled with time, the bone just barely visible beneath. But your eyes lock onto the ring—silver, inlaid with dark opal that shimmers with hues of deep purple and green. It was your mothers ring, your mothers finger. A sharp inhale stabs through your ribs. You know this ring better than anything. You remember tracing the intricate metal work as a child while curled up in her lap. You remember the way she twisted it absently when she was lost in thought, the way candlelight flickered against its surface as she cast spells in the dead of night. And now, it sits before you—severed, encased, displayed like a grotesque trophy. Your hands shake as you press your fingers against the glass, breath fogging up the surface. No. No, no, no. A cold, empty feeling spreads through your chest, then morphs—growing hotter, sharper. Your vision blurs, rage and grief mixing into something unbearable. 

Your fist slams against the case. Nothing. Again, harder. The glass doesn’t even crack. "Open," you whisper, voice raw. "Open, damn you." The magic inside you stirs, a furious storm barely contained. You summon it, let it coil in your palm before slamming your magic against the case. Sparks crackle against the glass, but it remains untouched. Spell-locked. A sob of frustration bubbles up, but you swallow it down. Hot tears slip down your cheeks, your breathing ragged. They mutilated her. Desecrated her. Took her apart and locked away a piece of her like some sick prize. You grip the edges of the case, nails digging into the wood. The weight of loss, of helplessness, crushes down on you, threatens to drag you under. You want to destroy everything in this room, rip apart the shelves, burn this entire wretched castle to the ground. But you don’t have time. Not now. But soon. Your mother’s ring—her body—will not remain here. You will come back. You will tear this place apart if you have to. But first, the king must die. 

Your shoulders heave as you force yourself to turn away, scanning the shelves with red-rimmed eyes. Then, something catches your attention. A slender vial, shimmering deep crimson in the dim light. You reach for it, your fingers brushing over the cold glass. The moment you pick it up, you feel the power inside—dense, ancient, raw. Dragon’s blood. A weapon unlike any other. Your grip tightens around the vial. The grief clawing at your chest hardens, sharp and unyielding. This will have to be enough. With one last glance at the case—the last piece of your mother left in this cursed place—you turn and slip out of the chamber, your pulse a war drum in your ears. You don’t look back. But you swear, with every shattered piece of your heart, that you will return. 

The next morning, the castle is a different place. Tension clings to the air like a storm about to break. The usual murmur of servants and guards is replaced with sharp orders and hurried footsteps. Every corridor you pass seems to hold hushed voices, uneasy glances, hands gripping weapons a little too tightly. Something is wrong. When Heeseung arrives at your chambers, his expression is carved from stone. His dark eyes, usually filled with a mixture of irritation and exasperation when he looks at you, are unreadable. "Get up," he says shortly. "You're expected at breakfast." 

You stretch your arms above your head lazily, feigning disinterest, but you study him closely. His jaw is tense, shoulders rigid beneath his uniform. "What’s with the fuss this morning?" you ask, tilting your head as you sit up. Heeseung doesn’t answer right away. He exhales through his nose, as if debating what to tell you. Finally, he settles on: "There was an intruder in the castle last night." Your stomach twists, but you keep your expression neutral. "An intruder?" you echo, feigning mild curiosity. His eyes flick over to you, sharp and assessing. "Two guards were killed. Their bodies were found near the lower levels of the castle." 

You force yourself to frown as if this is just terrible news and shake your head. "How awful," you murmur. "Who would be foolish enough to break into the king’s home?" Heeseung is still watching you. Too closely. "They don’t know yet," he says after a moment, his tone carefully measured. "But the king is furious. He’s ordered every entrance locked down. No one enters or leaves without permission." 

You hum, slipping out of bed. "Good thing I have no reason to leave, then." Heeseung scoffs, shaking his head as if he finds you exhausting. "Just get dressed," he mutters. "You're not skipping breakfast." As you move to change, your back turned to him, your mind races. They're already searching. They're already tightening security. If they realize why someone broke in—if they even suspect it was for the vault—you might not have as much time as you thought. You press your lips together. No. It doesn’t matter. The plan hasn’t changed. If anything, this only confirms what you already knew—this kingdom is built on blood and fear. You need to be careful, but you won’t stop. 

As you fasten the last piece of your attire, you catch Heeseung watching you in the reflection of the mirror. He looks as if he wants to say something—his brow furrowed, his mouth pressing into a line—but he says nothing. You turn to him with a smirk, masking the unease curling inside you. "Lead the way, my dear guard," you say lightly. Heeseung rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. You follow him out into the castle halls, stepping into a kingdom on edge. 

You stand before the ornate mirror in your chambers, staring at your reflection. The grand dress draped over your body is a masterpiece—rich fabric embroidered with delicate golden threads, dark as midnight yet shimmering under the candlelight. You look every bit the part of a royal guest, a princess attending a grand ball. But beneath the surface, beneath the layers of silk and jewels, you are something else entirely. Tonight, you are a weapon. Your fingers tighten around the small vial hidden in your palm. The Dragon’s blood. The forbidden elixir, the essence of an ancient and untamed power. You uncork it carefully, the scent metallic and sharp, like the crackle of fire before it engulfs everything in its path. Slowly, you tilt the vial, letting a single drop roll onto your tongue. The effect is instant. A current of heat rushes through your veins, not burning, but igniting something deep within. Your magic, once a slow ember, roars to life, curling through you like smoke, like lightning trapped beneath your skin. Your fingertips tingle, your senses sharpen. You feel more. More alive, more powerful, more capable. The exhaustion from the night before—the drain of breaking into the king’s vault—fades into nothing. 

You exhale, gripping the vanity table to steady yourself. You had been unsure, hesitant even, that you were strong enough. But now? Now, there is no doubt. Tonight, you will make your move. You turn back to the mirror, watching as your expression settles into something unreadable. Calculated. Regal. Deadly. The ballroom will be filled with nobles, lords, ladies, and dignitaries from far-off kingdoms. A perfect spectacle. A perfect place for a queen to fall, for a kingdom to be thrown into chaos. For a tyrant to meet his end. Straightening your posture, you give yourself one last look. This is it. 

The ballroom is alive with opulence—golden chandeliers dripping with light, polished marble floors reflecting the grandeur of silk and velvet swirling across them. The music is intoxicating, the scent of perfumed nobles and honeyed wine thick in the air. Laughter rings out, conversations swirl around you, but you hear none of it. Your mind is elsewhere. Your pulse pounds like war drums beneath your skin. You move through the crowd with effortless grace, a smile painted onto your lips as if you belong here. As if you’re not plotting the death of a king. But Heeseung is there. As always. His presence is suffocating, shadowing your every step like a second skin. His dark eyes flicker over you, unreadable, his stance tense yet controlled. He doesn’t speak much, but his gaze tells you enough. I’m watching you. You raise your chin, offering him an easy smile before returning to the conversation at hand. A nobleman drones on about trade routes, his voice a low hum beneath the sound of the orchestra. You nod, feigning interest, but your thoughts are far from politics. You need a distraction. Your fingers twitch at your side, hidden beneath the folds of your gown. You reach for the magic simmering beneath your skin, feeling it coil and tighten, waiting to be used. Just enough to pull Heeseung away��to make him focus on something else. You cursed yourself for the tiny bit of shame you felt for using magic on Heeseung but you had to do it, you had no other choice. 

You glance toward the great dais, where the king sits, adorned in his gilded robes, his expression that of a man who believes himself untouchable. Disgust coils in your stomach, but you keep your expression neutral. Soon, he will fall. You slip away from the conversation, weaving through the guests, searching for the right moment. The right opportunity. The plan was simple: a small, unseen pulse of magic. A subtle stroke of power, like a whisper through the wind, meant to strike the king down where he sits. Undetected. You reach deep, letting the dragon’s blood hum within you, amplifying the magic you summon. Your lips barely move as you utter the incantation beneath your breath, sending the spell toward the king, unseen and deadly. But something is wrong. The moment the spell leaves your fingertips, something repels it. A force stronger than your own—like an invisible wall caging him in. Your power slams into it, rebounding with such force that the air crackles, sending a ripple of energy through the room. 

And then— The chandeliers flicker. The music halts. A gust of unseen force whips through the ballroom, unsettling gowns and ruffling hair. A gasp spreads through the crowd like wildfire, confusion crackling in the air. The king is unharmed. And your magic has failed. Panic seizes your chest. All around you, nobles murmur in confusion, their gazes darting about the room, trying to make sense of the disruption. Chaos brews. Guards immediately rush forward, swords drawn, shouts echoing against the gilded walls. The tension is thick, palpable, the scent of fear curling through the air. "Find the culprit!" someone yells. Your breathing is unsteady, your pulse racing. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. And then A hand clamps down on your wrist, strong and unyielding. Heeseung. And before you can say another word he’s pulling you outside towards the grand doors of the ballroom amongst the chaos. The night air is crisp, wrapping around you in cool tendrils as Heeseung all but drags you out of the grand ballroom. His grip is firm but not bruising, a silent urgency radiating from him as he pulls you through winding hallways and out into the open garden. The moment your feet hit the damp stone path, the doors click shut behind you, muffling the panicked voices and frantic movements inside. 

Moonlight washes over the garden, casting silvery shadows across the sculpted hedges and trickling fountains. The scent of night-blooming flowers clings to the air, but there’s no time to admire the beauty around you—not when Heeseung turns to you with that sharp, assessing gaze, his chest rising and falling just a little too fast. "Sit," he commands, his voice clipped and breathless. You scoff, arms crossing over your chest. "Excuse me?" Instead of answering, he steps closer, his eyes sweeping over you with meticulous precision. He looks frantic, almost wild, like a man searching for something just out of reach. His hands hover, unsure, before finally settling on your wrist, fingers pressing against your pulse as if to confirm that you are, in fact, still alive. "I'm fine," you snap, trying to pull away, but his grip tightens just enough to stop you. 

"Stop," he murmurs, and this time, his voice is different. Lower. Almost pleading. Something in you hesitates. His hands move with surprising gentleness, brushing over your arms, ghosting across your shoulders, grazing your waist. Every touch is clinical, precise—searching for wounds, hidden injuries, anything that could explain the tension in his jaw, the way his brows remain furrowed even as he finds nothing. A strange warmth pools in your stomach. You shove it down. "You’re acting like you care," you say, the words sharper than you intend. 

His jaw clenches, his fingers twitching before he pulls away like you've burned him. "Don’t flatter yourself," he mutters, raking a hand through his tousled hair. Your lips curl in amusement despite yourself. "Then stop acting like you were about to have a heart attack over me." His gaze flickers, something unreadable passing through his expression before it hardens. "You could have been hurt," he grits out, like admitting it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. You blink. The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. A beat of silence stretches between you, thick and charged. 

Then, slowly, you step closer, tilting your head up at him. "Were you worried, Heeseung?" His throat bobs. His eyes flicker down to your lips—just for a second, barely noticeable—before snapping back up to meet yours. "I'm doing my job," he says, but the words sound hollow even to him. You hum, unconvinced. "Are you?" Silence. The space between you feels impossibly small. Heeseung is still close, his breath warm against your skin, his scent—something dark and woodsy, laced with steel—curling around you. Your pulse pounds in your ears, the remnants of adrenaline mixing with something else. Something more dangerous. For a fleeting moment, you wonder what would happen if you reached up, if you closed that final inch between you. If you tilted your chin just a little higher— no. 

“Yes, doing my job.” He said again not meeting your piercing gaze. You scoff. "Your job? Is your job doting on me like I’m some fragile, innocent, doe-eyed princess?" You take another step toward him, closing the space he’s put between you. "Why are you so obsessed with making sure I’m okay?" Heeseung clenches his jaw, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, you think he won’t answer. But then— "It’s my duty," he grits out. "As the king’s guard, it’s my responsibility to protect the people." 

You roll your eyes. "The people. How noble of you." You cross your arms over your chest. "That doesn’t explain why you—the ever-dutiful Heeseung—seem to be more concerned about me than anyone else." He stares at you, his nostrils flaring slightly, tension coiling in the set of his shoulders. His lips press into a thin line like he’s fighting something, some war within himself. Then, finally, he exhales. And when he speaks, his voice is lower. Rougher. "Because I care about you." Your breath catches. His confession hangs between you, raw and unguarded. He looks almost regretful for saying it, as if the words left his mouth before he could stop them. 

You swallow, heartbeat hammering. "You—" 

"I care about you," he repeats, like he’s forcing himself to admit it, to say it out loud. His brows knit together, frustration laced in his voice. "And I hate that I do. But I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you." You should say something. You should throw some quip back at him, something sharp and taunting. But the way he’s looking at you now—dark eyes flickering with something intense, something dangerous—steals the words from your tongue. The air between you shifts. Neither of you move, but the gravity between you pulls tighter, like a thread stretched to its breaking point. You can feel the heat of his body, the restrained tension radiating from him like a caged storm. His gaze dips to your lips. You don’t think. You just act. You grab the front of his shirt and pull him down to you. His lips crash against yours, rough and unrelenting. It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s desperate. You hadn’t been touched for what seemed like forever, the feeling of a man's hands running up and down your body had felt foreign. You were not experienced but you weren't a virgin eachother. Action was hard to come by in the coven believe it or not. Heeseung makes a low sound in the back of his throat, something between frustration and need, as he presses you back against the stone wall. His hands are on you—gripping your waist, sliding up your arms, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s trying to ground himself, to remind himself that you’re real. 

Your own hands tangle into his hair, pulling, needing him closer, needing more. He growls against your lips, his grip tightening on your hips as he pushes against you. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat pounding just as wildly as your own. The kiss deepens, turns hungrier, more fevered. You nip at his lower lip, and he exhales sharply, his fingers tightening on your waist. His control is slipping—you can feel it in the way his breathing turns ragged, the way his hands grip you like he’s afraid to let go. For a moment, the rest of the world ceases to exist. There is no ball, no king, no duty or vengeance. Just this. Just him. His hands grip your waist, fingers pressing into your hips as he backs you against the cold stonewall of the secluded garden. Your breath hitches as the contrast between the chill of the stone and the heat of his body sends a shiver down your spine. Heeseung feels it—his grip tightening, his fingers curling into you as if he wants to pull you closer, eliminating the space between you entirely. You don’t speak your tangle of tongues and teeth speaking for you. 

You respond in kind, your hands sliding up his chest, over the rapid rise and fall of his breaths, until they find their way to his hair. You tug—harder this time, just to see what he’ll do. Heeseung groans against your lips, the sound reverberating through your bones, and in retaliation, he presses his body flush against yours. A gasp slips from you at the overwhelming sensation of him—his warmth, his strength, the way he fits against you so perfectly it almost feels inevitable. You’re drowning in him, lost in the way his lips move against yours—urgent, searching, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you. The air between you crackles with something electric, something undeniable, something that neither of you can ignore anymore. His hands wander, sliding up your sides, over the delicate fabric of your gown. When his fingers skim the bare skin of your arm, you shudder. Heeseung notices. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, something dangerously close to reverence. "You shouldn’t do that," you murmur, your voice breathless. "Do what?" he asks, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Look at me like that." Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, the sound tinged with something like frustration. "Then stop making it so damn hard." 

Your heart stutters. And then his lips are on yours again, softer this time—lingering, savoring. His hands cradle your face like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, his thumbs brushing gentle strokes along your jaw. It’s different now—less rushed, less desperate, but no less intense. He pushes you up against the moss covered wall of the royal garden, his breathing slightly labored. “We should stop.” He pants out his breathing hitting your face, his lips hovering over yours. 

“We should.” You nodded, “But I don't want to.” You muttered. You reattach your lips to his refusing to acknowledge the world around you, to ignore the fact that you very well could get caught in this garden with the captain of the king's guard lips attached to yours. You found it hard to care, not when his hands were roaming your body like he owned it. Like he wanted to eat you whole and you’d let him. You’d let him skin you alive, picking at you layer by layer until you laid bare in front of him. You didn't have the time for that. No matter how badly you wanted to take your time with him you simply couldn't. You had to be quick and you had a sharp feeling that wouldn't bother Heeseung much. 

“I want you.” You hissed out. Your hands reach to cup his face. “Let me have you.” Heeseung’s face changed from shock to lust in such an instant you thought you might have imagined the change. 

“This is wrong.” He shook his head, stepping back not even an inch. It looked like it pained him to move even the slightest. Like it would kill him to not be touching you. You felt the same. “Who cares.” Your voice was light, airy. It almost sounded desperate, a tone you had never heard from yourself. You didn't know whether to be embarrassed or not. Standing here begging a man to take you. You had never been so vulnerable before and it scared you. This wasn't what you were here for, you had one mission and that was to kill the king not fall in love. Your mouth and body seemed to have a mind of its own. You shook your head, stepping forward, your hand landing on Heeseung’s arm. 

“It’s Okay.” You whispered. “Do you want me, Heeseung?” You asked, your voice stern as your eyes searched his.  

“I-” He started out but you shook your head, asking him once again. “Do you want me?” 

“Yes.” Heeseung said without much more hesitation. His lips were back on yours before you could utter another word. His tongue mingled with yours. It was exhilarating and mind numbing, a great escape away from everything that plagued your mind as of late. His hands pawed at your skirts, inching them up slower and slower. It was if he was hinting at it, like you both hadn’t just agreed to do this. Your hands reached for your skirts pulling them up hastily. 

“Don’t beat around the bush.” You pant. “Fuck me.” Your words served as a catalyst for Heeseung’s growing lust. His hands worked on his belt and then his pants yanking them down just enough to free himself. Your chest heaved up and down feeling constrained in your very tight corset. “You’ll have to pull out. I cannot become with child Heeseung.” 

Heeseung nodded his head but said nothing, almost as if he wanted to ignore the topic. You understood that completely. You didn’t want to stop and think of what the two of you were actually doing and what it would cost if you were caught, no that would be disastrous. It would ruin your entire plans and everything you had worked so hard for you. You shook the thoughts away, you didn't need to over complicate things now. Heeseung’s lips met your neck in a haste. His lips trailed down the column of your neck until it reached your collarbone and lower. His mouth attaching to your cleavage and hands cupping your breasts over your dress. 

“Are you ready?” He asked you, his eyes meeting yours. You nodded at him. You needed him to do something, now. You watched only his face as you felt him lift your skirts a bit more for more access. His hands sliding over your bare thighs. His eyes flicked down only for a moment before you felt him at your entrance. The two of you were silent but the sound of your silence was loud enough. You didn’t need words, not when your need for each other spoke for you. You felt him slide into you with slow ease. His breath catching but his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Oh god.” You muttered out. Your voice was wispy and almost airy but you couldn't help it, just the initial stretch of Heeseung had felt like a tiny piece of heaven that you hadn't known you needed until you got it. “Is this ok?” He asked as he made shallow thrusts into you with only his tip going in and out of you. 

“Yes.” You hissed. “More.” Heeseung’s hips moved faster against yours. You tried your best at keeping your noises low in your throat. You didn't know if guards were wandering around the garden or not. Heeseung’s soft moans are the main source of noise between the two of you as he hurriedly rutted into you like a ravaged dog in heat. Your back bumping against the moss covered all over and over as Heeseung worked himself over you. 

You looked up at Heeseung with doe-like eyes. Sweat dripped from his brow, his mouth slightly agape. “That feel good?” You asked him with a slight smirk. Heeseung’s eyes met your own with a bewildered look. 

“So fucking good.” He grunted, slamming his lips against yours more rough than before. A squeak left your lips at the contact bracing your hand behind you on the wall. “Such a pretty pussy for a pretty little princess too.” His words caught you off guard, he was dirty talking to you. And it was so fucking hot. 

“Yeah?” You asked breathily, running your hands over his clothed chest. “You like using my tight little princess pussy don’t you? Fucking me so good.” Heeseung groaned, groping at your ass over your dress. His thrust became less coordinated, more rushed. 

“Fuck. Yes.” Heeseung grunted each snap of his lips bringing you that much closer to your end, heat bubbling in your core ready to explode. And explode it did, like a blinding light you reached your end convulsing around Heeseung’s cock like a starving whore. Your hand stuck to your mouth to cover the sounds that spilled from your lips. Heesung watched you intently, his eyes drinking in your haze of lust like he was under a spell and he didn't care. Soon Heeseung was pulling away in a haste causing a gasp to leave your lips. His hand moved up and down himself, a groan leaving his lips as he spilled his spend all over his hand, making a mess of himself. 

Only silence hung in the air after as the both of you caught your breath. Heeseung washes his hands off in the fountain in the garden. Heeseung turns to you, his face flush, he reaches a hand out to you cupping your cheek gently, still no words fading between the two of you. Still, you’re silent, so silent you could hear a pin drop. You stared up at him watching as his eyes intently bounced around your face, probably taking what had just happened between the two of you. You could feel the shifted energy between the two of you. Things have changed, no matter how much you didnt want them to, they did. A distant noise from the castle—a door opening, the faint sound of voices—pierces through the haze, snapping you both back to reality. Heeseung tenses first. He pulls back slowly, his breathing heavy, his lips still parted as if he might say something. But he doesn’t. Instead, he releases you and just like that, the spell between you breaks. You stare at each other, caught in a silence thick with unspoken words. Then Heeseung swallows, straightens his posture, and takes a step back. "We should go inside," he says, his voice rough. You nod, though your body still hums with the memory of his touch. Neither of you say anything else as you make your way back toward the castle, but one thing is clear—whatever just happened between you, whatever this is…it’s far from over. 

The war room is thick with tension, the air heavy with the weight of failure. Heeseung stands rigid before the king, his jaw clenched, hands behind his back in a position of forced composure. Across the long table, the king and queen sit side by side, their expressions carved from stone—one of fury, the other of calculation. "How," the king begins, his voice dangerously even, "was there an intruder in my castle, undetected, and yet none of you useless guards managed to catch them?" No one dares to answer. The other high-ranking guards are present, standing along the edges of the room, their heads slightly bowed in shame. The captain shifts uncomfortably beside Heeseung, but he too says nothing. 

The king slams a fist onto the table. "A witch," he seethes. "We know it was a witch. What we don't know is how they got in, how they killed my men, and what the hell they were looking for!" Heeseung remains silent, staring ahead at the flickering torches along the stone walls. His mind replays the scene over and over—the slaughtered guards, their twisted bodies, the power that had killed them. It was magic. Dark magic. "We found no trace of them," The captain finally says, his voice tight. "No lingering presence of a spell, no indication of their path in or out. It's like they vanished into thin air." 

"They used magic," The queen interjects coolly, her eyes sharp as a dagger. "That is what witches do." Her tone had Heeseung’s skin prickling with a sense of fear. "Then why didn't we sense it? Why didn’t our barriers—" He started. 

"Because they are getting stronger," The king snaps. His gaze falls to Heeseung now, pinning him in place. "You have been keeping tabs on them, have you not? Watching their movements, ensuring they don’t have the power to rise again? Did you fail me, Heeseung?" The weight of the king’s words settle deep in his chest, heavy and suffocating. Heeseung straightens. "No, Your Majesty," he replies firmly. "We have been monitoring the council and the remaining witches closely. There has been no sign of a rebellion, no whisper of an attack. If there is an unknown witch at work, then they are acting alone." 

The king's lip curls. "And yet they managed to infiltrate my home." Heeseung has no response to that. The king exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He is furious, but there is something else beneath his rage—something colder, something more dangerous. A deep-seated hatred, burning just beneath his skin. The queen tilts her head, studying Heeseung carefully. "And what of the stolen artifacts?" she asks. "Has there been any sign of what was taken?" 

"A vial of dragon’s blood," One of the guards answers. "Nothing else was missing." The room goes deathly silent. Heeseung curses under his breath. The king's fingers twitch against the table. "Dragon’s blood," he murmurs, his tone turning sharp. "And you all think nothing of this? Do you not know what that blood does?!" A shiver rolls through the room. Everyone knows. Dragon’s blood enhances magic. Strengthens it. Sharpens it. The king rises from his seat slowly, his gaze flickering toward the shadows of the room. "This was no ordinary thief," he says, more to himself than anyone else. "This was a witch preparing for something." His voice hardens as he turns back to them. "Find them. I don’t care what it takes—double the guards, search every crevice of the castle, and burn every witch’s den in this kingdom if you have to. I want their head." 

A chorus of "Yes, Your Majesty," follows. Heeseung says nothing, simply inclining his head. He should be agreeing. He should be vowing to track this witch down, to put an end to this threat before it grows. And yet, Something gnaws at the edges of his mind, an uneasy whisper he refuses to acknowledge. The magic. The precision. The cleverness. His thoughts flicker—just for a second—to her. To the princess. To her uncanny way of maneuvering around the castle, her endless curiosity, the way she always asks about magic, as if she understands it more than she lets on. The way she had moved against him in their sparring match—controlled, sharp, deadly. And last night. The way he had kissed her. The way she had felt against him when they were intimate. Could it be—? No. He shoves the thought away before it can take root. It’s impossible. The princess was raised in the east, far from the magic-infested ruins of this kingdom. There is no way she could be tied to witches. No way she could have been the one to— No. Heeseung forces the thought from his mind, locking it away. It’s just a coincidence. That’s all. Nothing more. 

The castle is restless the next morning, an undercurrent of tension crackling through the air like a coming storm. Servants rush about, their voices hushed, their movements careful. Guards patrol every corridor, hands tight around their weapons. The nobles murmur amongst themselves, their eyes darting toward the throne room as whispers slither through the grand halls. "A witch," someone hisses near you as you glide past. "Inside the castle. Undetected. Can you imagine?" Another voice responds just as high pitched "Brazen enough to try and kill the king!" You roll your eyes, a smirk on your face. "They should burn them all, just like before." Your jaw tightens, your nails pressing into your palms so hard they nearly break skin. You keep walking, silent, unassuming. But with every step, the whispers become harder to ignore. Then– words that would make any daughter break. "It’s just like what happened years ago... with her—with that whore of a witch." 

Your breath halts. Ahead of you, a gilded sitting room lies open, sunlight spilling through arched windows onto plush velvet furniture. A small group of noblewomen are gathered there, draped in silks, laughter like chiming bells. They sip from delicate porcelain teacups, their words laced with venom, utterly unaware of the storm they are inviting upon themselves. "She thought she could kill the king—thought she was worthy of a crown instead.” 

"And look where she ended up—stripped of her magic, betrayed by her own people, her head taken before she could even beg for mercy." The edges of your vision darken only anger simmering in your blood. You step closer, silent as a shadow. "They should have burned her body instead of scattering it like filth." Your blood roars in your ears, your heart pounding in your chest. "At least the king took a trophy," one of the women sneers, swirling her tea idly. "That ring of hers—how pathetic. As if a simple bauble could ever make a witch a queen." The world around you stills at the realization. Your mother. They were talking about your mother. Your breathing slows. The fire inside you, carefully stoked and contained for so long, now flares into something feral, something uncontrollable. 

But they don't know. They don't know who you are, what you're capable of. They don't know that your anger speaks for itself and that your magic is the greatest weapon you yield, but they were about to find out. A slow, measured breath slips past your lips. The air hums with power as you lift your fingers, just enough to let your magic slither through them. Invisible. Deadly. The woman in the center, the one with the sharpest tongue, freezes mid-sip. Her teacup hovers just below her lips. She gasps, eyes going wide but then her whole body stiffens. A shudder rolls through her frame, the muscles in her throat working against an invisible force. The porcelain cup slips from her fingers, shattering against the floor. A single crack, and then—snap. 

Her head jerks violently to the side, the sickening sound of bone breaking echoing through the room. She crumples instantly, collapsing forward onto the table, lifeless. There was a moment of silence, a fleeting moment you quite enjoyed. But then– screams. Blood curdling screams that brought you only joy. The other women scramble back, knocking over teacups and trays in their blind panic. One of them shrieks, hands clamped over her mouth as she stares in horror at the limp, twisted form before her. You let the sound wash over you, slow satisfaction curling through your chest. Without a word, you turn on your heel and walk away, your steps light, effortless. The wails of the noblewomen ring through the corridor behind you, a discordant symphony of fear and hysteria, but you don't look back. You don’t have to. Because for the first time in years, you feel like your mother’s daughter. 

Evening descends upon the castle, casting long shadows through the stone corridors. You sit by your vanity, absently tracing the rim of a goblet with your fingertip, waiting. The distant sounds of hurried footsteps and hushed voices in the halls tell you the kingdom is still shaken, still trying to piece together what happened this morning, and at the ball. A knock raps at your chamber door and you already know who it is. You can sense, feel him. "Come in," you call, voice smooth, controlled. The door creaks open, and Heeseung steps in, his usual composed demeanor in place, but there’s something tense about the way his shoulders sit. His eyes flick over you—your carefully arranged hair, the gown draped over your form, the utter calmness in your posture. His gaze lingers on your face a beat too long before he clears his throat. "Dinner," he says simply. 

You arch a brow. "Just us?" This would be the first time since you’ve arrived where you wouldn't be having dinner with the King and Queen. "The king and queen are otherwise occupied. Security measures." Heeseung mutters his gaze avoiding yours. "How intimate," you remark dryly, standing and brushing past him. His scent lingers—leather, steel, something faintly smoky. You don’t miss the way he exhales sharply, as if steeling himself, before following after you. 

The dining chamber is much smaller than the grand halls you’re used to. The table is modest in comparison, only set for two. Silver candleholders flicker between the untouched dishes. The air is thick—too quiet, too heavy with something unspoken. You take your seat, watching Heeseung as he settles into his own across from you. He’s stiff, guarded, too preoccupied with the food before him to even look at you. You let the silence drag, waiting for him to say something. But of course, he doesn’t. You stab a piece of meat with your fork. "Are we going to pretend it didn’t happen?" His eyes snap up to you narrowing slightly as if to dare you to keep going. So, in turn you do. Testing the limits was your favorite pastime after all. You tilt your head, feigning innocence. "The sex," you clarify, twirling the utensil between your fingers. Heeseung tenses. "This is neither the time nor the place." 

"Then when is, Heeseung?" You lean forward slightly, voice laced with challenge. "After another failed assassination attempt? Perhaps over breakfast? Maybe I should schedule it between my courtly duties and plotting treason." His jaw tightens. "Don’t," he warns. His cool tone had you hot. You had to remind yourself that this was not the time for that. You roll your eyes, exhaling dramatically. "You’re being ridiculous." 

He sets his knife down with a sharp clink, the muscles in his arms flexing as he pushes his chair back. "Come with me." You blink, caught off guard as he stands abruptly and moves to your side. Before you can protest, his fingers curl around your wrist—not harsh, but firm. "Heeseung���" 

"Not here," he mutters, already dragging you from your seat. You follow, your pulse a slow, deliberate thrum beneath your skin. He doesn’t let go, guiding you through the corridors with determined strides, past watchful guards and dimly lit hallways. Then, The library doors swing open, swallowing you both into the quiet expanse of towering shelves and candlelight. The scent of parchment and ink wraps around you, thick and familiar. Heeseung doesn’t stop until you’re deep inside, far from any prying eyes. He finally releases you, exhaling sharply as he runs a hand through his hair. "You shouldn’t talk about it so carelessly." You cross your arms. "Why not?"

"Because it’s dangerous." His voice is low, but edged with something raw. "Because it shouldn’t have happened."A slow smirk tugs at your lips. "But it did." Heeseung looks at you then—really looks at you. His expression flickers between frustration and something else, something that makes your breath hitch for just a fraction of a second. "Tell me," you continue, stepping closer, forcing him to meet your gaze. "Are you regretting it?" His lips part slightly, but no words come out. His fingers twitch at his sides, as if resisting the urge to reach for you. You tilt your head. "Or are you afraid of what it means?" His silence is answer enough. 

The tension in the library crackles like a storm on the verge of breaking. The dim candlelight flickers, casting shadows across the towering shelves and the ancient tomes lining them. Heeseung is still standing stiffly before you, arms crossed, jaw clenched—like if he lets himself relax for even a moment, everything will spiral out of control. “We can’t,” he says finally, his voice tight, like he’s forcing the words out. “If anyone caught us—if the king found out—we’d both be dead.” You let out a soft, amused laugh, tilting your head. “Is that what you’re so worried about?” You take a step closer, watching the way his body reacts—how his breath shortens, how his fingers flex. “Death?” His brows knit together. “It’s not funny.” 

“On the contrary,” you murmur, your voice teasing, edged with something darker. “It’s absolutely hilarious. The great Heeseung, right-hand to the king, reduced to a nervous wreck over a kiss and a quick fuck.” His eyes flash with irritation. “That’s not—” 

“Not what?” You’re in front of him now, close enough to catch the faint scent of steel and cedarwood clinging to him. “Not true?” He swallows hard but doesn’t move away, anyone could see that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. He craved you and you were in no position to deny him of that satiation 

“We can’t keep doing this,” he grits out, though the way his gaze flickers to your lips betrays him. “It’s dangerous.” You hum, tilting your head, running your fingers down the front of his shirt like you’re smoothing out invisible creases. His breath catches. “Dangerous is what makes it exciting,” you whisper, fingers drifting lower, pressing lightly against his stomach. His muscles tense under your touch, like he’s fighting himself, fighting this, fighting you. “Stop,” he breathes, though he makes no move to actually stop you. 

You smirk. “You don’t want me to stop.” His hands clench at his sides, a war waging within him, but you know you’ve already won. You can feel it in the way his body leans ever so slightly toward yours, in the way his breath turns heavier. “Tell me to go,” you challenge, your voice softer now, but no less daring. “Tell me you don’t want this.” Silence. And suddenly, A sharp inhale, a flicker of something feral in his eyes. And then his hands are on you—gripping your waist, pulling you forward in one swift motion until your back is pressed against the bookshelf behind you. Your breath stutters just as his lips crash into yours, no hesitation this time, no careful restraint. It’s all heat and desperation, months of tension unraveling at once. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, like he’s making up for lost time, for all the times he’s told himself no when his body screamed yes. 

Your hands tangle in his hair, fingers pulling, dragging him impossibly closer. He groans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, sending heat pooling low in your stomach. You press up against him, feeling the way his body shudders at the contact. His fingers dig into your hips, bruising, possessive, like he’s trying to imprint himself onto you. It’s reckless. It’s foolish. And neither of you care. Too caught up on the feeling of one another to carefully consider what you could lose, only what you could gain. The library was quite save for the two of you. Your heavy breathing the only sound in the grand room. Heeseung’s hands gripped at your skirts much like he did the other night. 

He lifted them high enough to expose you. “I’ve been thinking about this pretty little pussy since the other night.” He grunted. “We don’t have enough time but I think I can take a little taste can’t i?” You were nodding before he could even get the words out, your head bobbing up and down in excitement. Pure unadulterated excitement. It was comical, almost pathetic but you didn't care, you needed him anyway you could get him. Heeseung fell to his knees, your skirts still tightly gripped in his hands. 

“I love when a man kneels to me.” You snicker, a laugh falling from your lips in a cascade. “Just a second ago you were pulling away, now look at you.” You were teasing with him, toying around with him. His small smile told you he didn't really seem to mind your teasing, if anything it fueled his desires for you. 

“I may be kneeling princess but soon you're going to be the one begging like a peasant.” He smirked up at you, the edges of his mouth slightly curved sexily. The heat simmerring in your belly only heightened your need for him and soon you were whining, lifting your hips to show him just how much you needed him to do just something, anything. “Don’t you worry.” He tsked “I’m going to take such good care of you.” 

Without another words his mouth was on you, his tongue lapping at you like no tomorrow. Your hands found purchase on his shoulder as you steadied yourself. “Oh my god.” You hissed, biting your lip to keep your noises at bay. Heeseung groaned against your core, the vibrations sending tingles up your spine and furthering the pleasure coursing through your veins. His hands found your hips gripping them tightly in his hands under your gown skirts. 

Your hands made their way from the bookshelf behind you down your own body until they reached your breasts cupping them in your hands for extra stimulant, Heeseung’s tongue explored every inch of your most sensitive bud sucking on it like his life depended on it. You tried your best to keep your noises at bay as you occasionally let a squeak and small moan out here and there. 

Heeseung continued to suck and lick at you, your end hearing like a freight train. “I-i’m almost-” You gasped, finding it hard to cough the words out. “I know.” Heeseung said smugly as he came up for air. Your legs shook, thankful for Heeseung’s hands holding you upright. If it weren't for that you would surely be a puddle of yourself on the floor before you. It took almost no time for your end to slam into you. A single squeak left your lips before you're clamping your hand over your mouth to silence yourself. Heeseung continues to work on you throughout your orgasm granting you a spectacular end. 

Heeseung let go of your thighs, straightening himself out as you caught your breath. Much like the garden the two of you only stared at each other in silence, not daring to utter even a single word. The silence was short lived as the sound of rustling outside the library tore the two of you apart, breaking the haze you were currently in. Luckily whoever was outside didn't feel the need to enter the library but the noise itself had Heeseung on edge. “We should get you to your chambers.” He mumbled, reaching a hand out for you to take. You stared at it for a moment as if it were a foreign object you had never seen before. You took his hand in yours letting him guide you out of the library doors.  

The candlelight flickers in Heeseung’s chambers, casting restless shadows against the stone walls. He lays on his back in bed, eyes trained on the ceiling, his body exhausted but his mind refusing to quiet. He knows what they’re doing is reckless. Stupid, even. He runs a hand down his face, trying to scrub away the memories of her—her scent, her warmth, the way she pressed against him in the library as if she knew exactly what kind of power she had over him. Heeseung has always prided himself on his discipline, on his control. But with her… He groans and turns onto his side, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace. His duty is to the kingdom. To the king. To law and order. If anyone found out about this—about them—there would be no mercy. No hesitation. The king would have his head on a spike, and hers—hers would be paraded through the streets as a warning. 

His stomach churns at the thought. But then, a far more dangerous thought slithers in, unbidden. What if they ran? The idea is so ridiculous he almost laughs. He doesn’t run. He doesn’t abandon his duty. But then he thinks of her again—of the fire in her eyes, of the way she moves like she belongs to no one but herself. She’s different. Not just from the princesses he’s known—meek, obedient, trained to be silent. No, she’s different from everyone. The way she speaks. The way she carries herself. The way she looks at him like she’s measuring him up, testing him, waiting to see what he’ll do next. The way she knows things—things she shouldn’t. A seed of suspicion takes root in his mind. 

What if she’s not who she says she is? He thinks of the whispers, the rumors in the castle, the king’s paranoia about witches. He thinks of the way the attack at the ball had no clear culprit, no weapon, no trace. And then he thinks of her—of the way she smiles to herself when she thinks no one is looking, like she’s keeping a secret the world isn’t ready for. No. Heeseung shakes his head, as if to physically push the thought away. He’s being ridiculous. She’s just… unpredictable. Stubborn. Impossible. But not a witch. He refuses to believe that. 

The next morning, the castle is alive with tension. Servants whisper behind cupped hands, guards double in numbers at every corridor, and the heavy clang of armor fills the halls. At breakfast, the king and queen stand before the court, their expressions grave. The king’s voice is sharp, cutting through the uneasy murmurs. "Until we discover the source of this treachery, the castle will remain under lockdown. No one leaves, no one enters without my explicit permission. Anyone found conspiring against the crown will be executed on sight." A chill runs through the room. Your grip tightens around your fork until your knuckles ache. Lockdown. The word presses against you like an iron cage, closing in. 

This means you're getting closer. The king is scared. He knows his time is running out. You just need one final way to get to him. But then, your mind betrays you. Because instead of the king, instead of strategy and bloodshed, instead of magic—your thoughts drift to him. Heeseung. You can feel his eyes on you, watching from across the room. Even now, you know he’s keeping track of your every move, shadowing your steps in silence. You remember the way his touch lingered, the way his lips felt against yours, the way he made you forget—just for a moment—who you are, what you are meant to do. And for one foolish, fleeting second, you let yourself wonder. What if things were different? What if you weren’t bound by revenge, by the weight of your mother’s legacy? What if you were just a girl, and he were just a boy? But you are not just a girl. And he is not just a boy. You shove the thoughts down, swallowing hard. You call yourself a fool for falling into something so dangerous, so impossible. For even considering the possibility of anything beyond this mission. You are here for one purpose. And soon, the king will be dead. 

The silence between you is louder than it has ever been as you walk to your rooms. The castle corridors stretch long and empty, the flickering torchlight casting your shadows against the cold stone walls. Each step echoes, the sound ringing in your ears, a cruel reminder that this night is slipping away too fast. Heeseung walks beside you, quiet as ever, his posture rigid with something unreadable. But you can feel it. The weight of the things left unsaid. The hesitation in the way he slows his pace just enough, like he’s not quite ready for this walk to end. Neither are you. And yet, the door to your chambers appears before you too soon. 

You stop. Heeseung does too, standing just a breath away, his gaze unreadable in the dim lighting. Your heart hammers against your ribs. It feels unbearable—this thing stretching between you. The knowledge that the moment you step inside this room, something will shift. You won’t be able to undo it. So you do the only thing you can. You grab his collar and pull him to you, crashing your lips against his. 

Heeseung tenses, his breath catching against your mouth. For a fraction of a second, he doesn’t move, stunned by your sudden desperation. Then, he breaks. His hands find your waist, gripping tight as he kisses you back with something raw, something close to ruin. It’s not soft, it’s not slow—it’s everything you’re both afraid to say. It’s everything you’re about to lose. our fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him, trying to pull him closer, closer, closer—because this is the last time. You feel it in the way his hands tremble against you, in the way his breath shudders when he pulls away just slightly, his forehead pressing to yours. "Wait—" he starts, his voice hoarse, hesitant, but you shake your head instantly, your grip tightening on his shirt. "Don’t—" your whisper barely makes it past your lips. Your eyes burn, your throat tight. "Please don’t say anything." 

Heeseung swallows thickly. His hands twitch at your waist before they slowly fall away. You take a step back. Then another and the distance feels unbearable. Your fingers ghost over the doorknob, hesitating for a fraction of a second before you turn it, stepping inside. You don’t dare look at him again. You can’t. The door closes between you with a soft, final click. You lean against it, pressing your forehead to the wood, your breath shaking as you squeeze your eyes shut. On the other side, you know he’s still there. You can feel him. Standing in the hallway, hands clenched into fists, fighting the same war you are. Seconds pass. Then minutes. And then—his footsteps, Slow. Hesitant. Fading. When he finally walks away, he takes a piece of you with him. And when you slide to the floor, pressing your trembling fingers to your lips, you wonder if you’ll ever get it back. You wonder if what you were doing was worth it, and you determine it is. This was bigger than you, bigger than what you felt for Heeseung and you had to continue no matter how much it hurt. 

You sit there for what feels like hours, your back pressed against the door, your fingers still tingling from the ghost of Heeseung’s touch. You curse yourself. How could you be so stupid? Falling in love with the captain of the guard—the king’s most loyal soldier. It was reckless. Dangerous. A mistake you never should have allowed to happen. You clench your fists against your dress, trying to push away the warmth still lingering on your skin from where his hands had been. But no matter how much you tell yourself it was foolish, your heart still aches. Because for a moment, just a moment, you had allowed yourself to feel. You shake your head, jaw tightening, because love just wasn’t enough. Love wasn’t enough to stop you, it couldn't be. Not when the weight of your mother’s death still sat heavy in your chest. Not when the memories of your people being hunted and slaughtered played over and over in your mind like a curse that would never leave you. 

The king needed to die and you needed to be the one to do it. If not for your mother, then for yourself. You push yourself up from the floor, shaking off the weakness trying to sink into your bones. You weren’t weak. You weren’t fragile. You were ruthless. A damn good witch. No matter what your aunt had said. No matter how the coven had doubted you. No matter how Heeseung had looked at you as if you were something to be protected, when all your life, you had fought to stand on your own. You move across the room, mind already calculating. You would need to act fast. The castle was locked down, but that meant the king’s guard would be scattered, spread thin. You could use that. You could use them. A smile, slow and sharp, spreads across your lips. No matter how much your heart screamed against it—no matter how much Heeseung’s face haunted you—you would not falter. Because this was your destiny and you would see it through to the end. 

Morning light filters through the grand windows of your chambers, casting golden streaks across the floor, but you don’t move from the edge of your bed. Your plan is set. You should feel ready. Steady. But instead, your hands won’t stop trembling. You press your palms against your lap, willing the weakness away. A knock sounds at your door. You know who it is before he speaks. “Princess.” Heeseung’s voice is firm, but there’s an underlying softness beneath it. “I brought you breakfast.” You force yourself to stand, moving with a measured slowness as you approach the door. You can’t afford to falter now. 

​​When you open it, he’s standing there, tray in hand, gaze unreadable. His dark eyes search yours for something—maybe a sign that you’re okay, maybe something more. You don’t give him anything. You reach for the tray, but before you can grab it, Heeseung’s foot moves forward, blocking the door from shutting in his face. You sigh sharply. “Move.” 

“No.” His eyes narrow, suspicion creeping into his voice. “You’ve been locked away all morning. What’s going on?” 

​​“Nothing.” You hiss, silently begging for him to just leave. Heeseung scoffs. “You expect me to believe that?” 

You glare at him. “Why do you care?” He steps inside before you can stop him, setting the tray on the nearby table. Then, without hesitation, he turns to you and takes your hands in his. You stiffen. “Let go.” He doesn’t. His grip is warm, steady—just like it was the night before when you tried to push him away. “Tell me the truth,” he says. “What’s wrong?” You grit your teeth. “I told you, nothing is—” 

“I don’t believe you.” You yank your hands away, stepping back. “Then you’re a fool.” Heeseung exhales sharply. “Maybe I am.” You scoff, crossing your arms. “Everything we did was a mistake.” Something flickers across his face, quick and sharp. Hurt. Good, it's better this way. You’ve been selfishly allowing yourself to fall in love with someone you can never truly have. You lift your chin higher, forcing yourself to deliver the final blow. “I used you, Heeseung. You were convenient. That’s all.” 

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t lash out. He doesn’t give you what you want. He just looks at you. It infuriates you. “You should be angry,” you snap. “You should hate me.” 

“I don’t.” He argues, his voice rough with unshed emotion. “Why not?” You asked. You were desperate for him to stop, to give up. But he doesn't. “Because I know you.” His voice is quiet now, but there’s an undeniable strength beneath it. “And I know you’re lying.” Your breath catches. 

Heeseung steps closer, gaze never wavering. “If you want to hurt me, you’ll have to do better than that.” You clench your fists. “I don’t care about you.” His lips twitch, and then he laughs.  Heeseung’s laugh was a melody you wished you could bottle and keep forever, in a tiny little vial tucked away to keep the memory of this moment and how you felt in it alive. Even if fleeting, it would be worth it. To remember that even when you wished he would give you up and leave, he wouldn’t. “You really expect me to believe that?” 

“Yes.” He just stares at you. Unmoved. Unyielding. And then he does something unexpected—he lifts a hand and gently cups your cheek. Your entire body locks up. His touch is careful, hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. But you don’t. His thumb brushes along your cheekbone, voice dropping lower. “Tell me you feel nothing, and I’ll leave right now.” You swallow hard. The words are right there. You can say them. You should say them. But your throat closes up. Silence stretches between you. Heeseung exhales, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, but there’s no humor in it. Just quiet understanding. “You can lie all you want,” he murmurs. “But not to me.” His hand falls away. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until he steps back. “If you don’t want me here, say the word,” he says. “And I’ll go.” 

“Don’t go.” The words slip from your lips before you can stop them, quiet but heavy with meaning. Heeseung freezes. His hand, which had been reaching for the door, stills. The tension in his shoulders tightens as he slowly turns back toward you, his dark eyes searching yours. He looks almost hesitant, like he’s bracing for something. He waits for you to take it back, for you to tell him he misheard. But you don’t do that, instead you stand there looking at him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world. And maybe, for tonight, he is. 

Heeseung crosses the room in a heartbeat. His hands come up to cradle your face, his touch firm yet gentle, like he’s afraid you’ll shatter. And then his lips are on yours—hot, desperate, claiming. You kiss him back just as fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. You can taste the longing, the fear, the hunger between you, and it terrifies you how much you need this. How much you need him. Clothes fall away, fingers trace over bare skin, mapping out the parts of you no one else has ever touched. His lips leave a burning trail along your neck, your shoulders, your collarbone. Every kiss feels like a promise neither of you can keep. This is different from the garden and the library. The emotions are stronger, the need more than just lust. He lays you down with a reverence that makes your chest ache, his body covering yours, warm and solid and real. And for a little while, just a little while, you allow yourself to forget. Forget why you’re here. Forget what you have to do. Forget that you’ll never get to have this again. Forget that, that thought scares you more than anything else. And when it’s over, when you’re lying in his arms, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the weight of reality crashes down on you. 

Tears slip from your eyes before you can stop them. Heeseung notices immediately. He shifts beside you, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at you. His fingers trace lightly over your cheek, catching a stray tear. “What’s wrong?” His voice is hoarse, gentle. You shake your head, forcing a small, unconvincing smile. “Nothing.” Cursing yourself for looking so brittle, so weak. His brow furrows, unconvinced. “You’re crying,” he says, brushing another tear away with his thumb. “That’s not nothing.” 

You inhale sharply, turning your head away. Because if you look at him—if you really look at him—you’ll break. You can’t afford to break. Heeseung shifts again, his body warm against yours. Then, out of nowhere, he says something that steals the air from your lungs. “Let’s leave.” Your breath catches in your throat. You turn your head back toward him, your lips parting in disbelief. “What?” 

“Let’s leave,” he repeats, his voice surer now. “Tonight. Right now. Just the two of us.” You sit up, clutching the sheet to your chest. “Heeseung, you don’t know what you’re saying.” Leaving would mean that coming here was for nothing. You couldn't do that, you needed to see this through for your mother. “Yes, I do.” He sits up too, his hands reaching for yours. “We can leave this place behind. Disappear. Go somewhere no one will find us. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Your heart clenches so hard it’s painful. He means it. He really means it, and you’re going to have to deny him. You can see it in his eyes, the unwavering sincerity, the quiet desperation. He’s not just saying it to comfort you. He truly believes you could run away, start over, be free. And for a fleeting moment, you want to believe it too. But you can’t. You squeeze your eyes shut. “You don’t know the real me, Heeseung.” He exhales a soft, disbelieving laugh. That goddamn laugh. “Of course, I do.” 

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “You don’t.” Heeseung lifts your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles. His lips brush against your skin as he speaks. “I know that you hate being treated like you’re fragile. That you sneak out just because you can. That you act like you don’t care, but you do. More than anyone I’ve ever met.” His voice lowers, softer now. “I know you pretend to be heartless, but you’re not. You’re stubborn and reckless and the smartest person I’ve ever known.” Heeseung tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I know you,” he says. “And I love you.” Your breath shudders. 

Heeseung has no idea how much those words shatter you. Because for all the ways he knows you—for all the truths he’s uncovered—he’s still blind to the one that matters most. You swallow against the lump in your throat. “I can’t.” His brows draw together. “Can’t what?” You don’t answer. You can’t. He studies you for a long moment, realization flickering in his gaze. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” he says quietly. 

You close your eyes, gripping the sheets beneath you. Heeseung’s voice drops lower. “What is it?” Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words. Then, finally, you whisper, “Please… just go.” The pain from the moment was unbearable. Having to turn him away when you didn't want to. When your heart screamed at you to pull him close and never let go. Pain flashes across his face. His jaw clenches, his throat bobbing with the effort to swallow whatever he wants to say. He stands, gathering his clothes in silence. You stay where you are, gripping the sheets, digging your nails into the fabric to keep from calling him back. Before he leaves, he pauses at the door. He turns his head just slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you.” Then he walks out. And this time, you let him go. 

Something was wrong. Heeseung could feel it. Being called to the King’s quarters almost immediately after returning to his rooms after his night with the princess. Something was wrong. Heeseung barely makes it to the king’s quarters before the weight in his chest starts to crush him. The halls are lined with guards, their grips tight on their weapons, their expressions grim. The air crackles with tension, heavy and suffocating. It feels like a noose tightening around his throat. He forces himself forward, each step heavier than the last. The moment he steps inside, he sees them. The King, the Queen And a group of high-ranking officials gathered around a long table, their faces drawn in grim lines. The candlelight flickers ominously, casting eerie shadows across the room. The doors slam shut behind him and Heeseung swears his heart in his stomach bile rising up his throat. 

“My king,” he greets, bowing his head. He was trying to be graceful, trying to mask the pure terror coursing through his veins. The king doesn’t acknowledge the gesture. Instead, he lifts his gaze, sharp and knowing, and says, “Captain. Tell me… what do you know about the princess?” Heeseung’s heart stutters in his chest. He swallows thickly, keeping his voice steady. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?” The king doesn’t answer right away, furthering Heeseung’s racing heart. Something was wrong. Instead, he picks up a folded parchment from the table. Heeseung notices the broken wax seal—an unfamiliar crest pressed into the dried crimson wax. “These letters,” the king begins, “have come from her kingdom.” His tone is measured, calm—but there’s something deadly lurking beneath the surface. “They have been arriving for weeks. All addressed to the princess.” 

Something cold curls in Heeseung’s stomach. “Then… why hasn’t she responded?” Heeseung asks carefully, forcing the words past his lips. “That is the question, isn’t it?” the king muses. Then he slams something onto the table. It’s a portrait. The parchment unfurls slightly from the impact, revealing a detailed oil painting of a young woman. Heeseung’s breath catches. It’s her. Or at least… it’s supposed to be. But it isn’t her. Not the woman he kissed. Not the woman he made love to. Not the woman he held in his arms. His stomach twists violently. The girl in the portrait has the same regal posture, the same air of nobility, the same crown resting atop her carefully styled hair. But the features are all wrong. The shape of her nose, the curve of her lips, the sharpness of her jawline—none of them belong to the woman he knows. 

The realization crashes into him like a blow to the chest. “No,” he breathes, shaking his head. “That’s not—” “Not the girl staying in our castle?” The King finishes, his lips curling into something almost amused. The room feels like it’s closing in. His lungs won’t fill properly. His ribs feel too tight, too constricted. His world is breaking apart piece by piece. How could she have lied so long? To everyone. To him? Is that what she meant when she said he didn't know the real her? The king leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the wooden armrest. “This is the real princess,” he says, voice laced with cruel amusement. “The one we were supposed to receive.” 

The blood in Heeseung’s veins turns to ice. His ears ring. His heart pounds so loudly it’s deafening. “She’s an imposter,” The King states plainly, his voice hard and unwavering. The Queen makes a disgusted noise. “Not just an imposter,” she sneers. “A witch.” The word slices through Heeseung like a blade toppling his world over. Shattering his entire being. A witch? No. It couldn't be. Something.is.wrong. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He can’t. 

“She’s been hunting me,” the king continues, his voice dripping with satisfaction, as if he’s already won. “Planning my execution under my very roof.” Heeseung wants to deny it. Wants to fight it. Wants to claim it’s impossible. But deep down, something inside him unravels. Because it is possible. It makes sense. The late-night disappearances. The questions she never answered. The flashes of power he felt but ignored. The way she always seemed to have a secret buried behind her eyes. The realization knocks the air from his lungs. He had suspected. He had wondered. But he never believed. Because believing would mean losing her. And now—Now, he has lost her. A sharp breath rattles through his chest. He forces himself to stay still, to keep his expression unreadable, to keep the pain from showing. But it’s there. It’s tearing him apart from the inside out.

He can still feel her touch, still taste her on his lips. Still hear the way her voice broke when she told him she couldn’t. She had known this moment was coming. That’s why she kissed him like it was the last time. That’s why she cried. She knew. And she let him love her anyway. “Find her,” the king commands, dragging Heeseung back to the present. “Search the castle. The kingdom. I want that witch’s head.” Heeseung stiffens. The words are an execution order. His pulse roars in his ears. He forces himself to bow, to keep his voice steady as he murmurs, “Yes, Your Majesty.” But his hands tremble as he clenches them into fists. Because for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to do. His loyalty is to the king. His duty is to the crown. But his heart— His heart belongs to her. And no matter how much he tries to bury it—no matter how much it kills him— It always will. Heeseung feels like he’s standing outside of his own body, watching the scene unfold as if it’s happening to someone else. The king’s voice slices through the thick silence. 

“The body that was found, dumped from the carriage that night…” He leans forward, his expression grave yet victorious, as if he’s piecing together a puzzle he’d been struggling with for too long. “It was her. The real princess.” A sick, suffocating weight crashes down on Heeseung’s chest. He remembers that night. The gruesome discovery. The way the body had been barely recognizable, left for the elements like discarded waste. At the time, they had assumed it was the work of bandits, of those who wanted to send a message to the crown. But it wasn’t. It was her. She had done it. She had killed the princess. Taken her place. Deceived them all. She had deceived him. Heeseung sways slightly, his grip tightening at his sides. 

​​“Captain.” His head jerks up at the king’s call. The king watches him carefully, expression unreadable, before he asks, “Do you have it on you?” For a moment, Heeseung doesn’t understand. Then the king clarifies. “The witch’s knife.” The words nearly send Heeseung to his knees. His fingers twitch at his belt, where the blade sits, unseen but ever-present—a weapon forged to cut through the magic that ran through the veins of people like her. He feels sick. Heeseung grits his teeth, schooling his expression into one of careful indifference. “Yes,” he says, forcing his voice to remain even. “I have it.” 

The king hums in approval. “Good,” he says. “Then it’s time to put it to use.” The words ring through Heeseung’s skull like a war drum. “Bring her to me,” the king orders. “I want that witch dragged before me in chains.” His gaze flickers to Heeseung’s belt, where the blade rests. “And you will be the one to strike her down.” The world tilts. Heeseung can hear his own breathing, shallow and uneven. He has killed before. It is his duty. His purpose. His role. But never like this. Never her. Never the only person who has ever made him feel. He forces himself to nod. It is the only response he can manage without his voice betraying him. The king smirks in satisfaction, leaning back in his chair. “Go,” he commands. “Find her.” Heeseung turns stiffly, barely hearing the murmurs of approval from the gathered officials, The Queen’s quiet mutter of disgust. He walks toward the doors, each step heavier than the last. His fingers brush against the hilt of the knife. The one meant for her. The woman he kissed. The woman he loved. His heart cracks wide open, but there is no time to bleed. Because the next time he sees her— He will have to kill her. Something was wrong. 

The air is thick with dampness, the scent of mold and stone clinging to your skin as you navigate the winding tunnels beneath the castle. Your heart pounds against your ribs, steady and strong, the only thing grounding you as you press forward. You don’t have much time. If everything goes according to plan, the king won’t see the next sunrise. The thought steadies you. You move like a shadow through the catacombs, tracing the steps you memorized, hands gliding along the rough walls. You can feel the pulse of magic thrumming in the stone, remnants of old spells woven into the foundations of the castle. If you close your eyes, you can almost hear whispers, ghosts of the past murmuring secrets only the dead could know. 

You shake off the feeling. There’s no room for hesitation. Not now. Your plan is simple—efficient. Slip into the king’s chambers through the passage hidden beneath the castle, snap his neck, and vanish before anyone can piece together what happened. No spells. No weapons. Just you. Just justice. The idea of feeling his life slip between your fingers, of watching the fear dawn in his eyes when he realizes his power can’t save him—it’s almost intoxicating. But then he flickers in your mind. Heeseung. For a single, damning moment, you think of the way he looked at you last night, the way his hands held you like you were something precious. How his voice had cracked when he told you he loved you. And how you said nothing in return. Your throat tightens, but you shove it down. Love is not enough to stop what must be done. You push forward. The tunnels twist and stretch before you, endless in their darkness, but you know exactly where you're going. The passage that leads into the king’s private chambers is ahead. You’re nearly there— Cold steel presses against your throat.

You stop. Your body tenses, every instinct in you screaming to move, to fight, but the blade is firm, unforgiving. A single wrong move could end it all before you even reach the king. You feel power coming from it. Radiating off of it. It stung like poison. Was this a witch killing knife? 

"Going somewhere?" The voice is low, familiar, and it guts you. Your pulse jumps. Slowly, carefully, you tilt your head just enough to see him. Heeseung. Oh god it was Heeseung. His face is carved from stone, eyes dark, unreadable. The knife in his hand does not waver. He looked destroyed, shattered against beyond repair. But he also looked angry, he knew. He knew who you were and even though that should scare you it didn't. You had oddly felt a sense of overwhelming relief. You weren't hiding from him anymore. Your breath comes slow, measured. “Move.”

He doesn’t. You try again, this time sharper, steel behind your words. “Move, Heeseung.” His grip tightens. “Tell me where you’re going.” His voice is quiet, but there’s something underneath it, something raw. A slow, careful inhale. “You already know.” There was no use in lying to him anymore. You refused to do it, you owed him that much at least. His jaw tenses. A muscle in his cheek jumps. But he doesn’t move the blade. The cold metal seeping into your skin stinging you and boiling your blood. A small part of you knew you deserved this. For lying to him for so long, for allowing yourself to fall in love with a man who you could never have. A man who would hate the person, the thing you truly were. He didn't know the real you. You had warned him. for the first time since you entered the tunnels, doubt creeps in. Not in your plan. Not in your abilities. But in him. Would he really stop you? Would he really— would he kill you? 

The reality hurt. You’d kill him if you had to, no matter how much you didn't want to. No matter how much it would hurt you, end you even. You'd do it. For your mother and her legacy you'd do what you had to do. It's what you came here for. “You don’t want to do this,” you whisper, softer this time. Heeseung exhales sharply through his nose. “Don’t I?” The words land like a blow. Your fingers twitch at your sides. You could use magic. Could throw him back, run before he can get up. But you don’t. Instead, you say, “I know you.” Heeseung flinches. Not visibly—no, no one else would notice—but you do. You see the slight hitch in his breath, the way his grip falters for just a moment. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper— “You don’t know me at all.” 

The words sink into your skin, cold and unrelenting. Your chest tightens. And for the first time— You wonder if you've already lost. No matter what happened in this tunnel you were losing. The blade at your throat is trembling. Not steady. Not certain. Not like Heeseung at all. His breath is ragged, uneven, as if the very air around him is too thick to swallow. His grip on the hilt of his knife is white-knuckled, his knuckles straining under the force of it, but it’s not just from anger. It’s something deeper—something fragile, teetering on the edge of breaking. 

“Is it true?” His voice is hoarse, almost quiet, but the weight of it crashes into you like a tidal wave. You don’t answer. You can’t. Not when you knew he already knew the answer. Vocalizing what he already knew would make it too real for him. You were a betrayer, a murder, a witch. His chest rises and falls too quickly, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. His fingers flex around the knife, and when you still don’t respond, something in him snaps. “Is it true?!” His voice cracks, raw and agonized, and it cuts through you like a blade sharper than the one at your throat. 

Your heart hammers against your ribs. Your mouth is dry. Your hands are shaking, but you force yourself to meet his eyes—his desperate, frantic, broken eyes. You should lie. You should tell him no. You should take the last remnants of his belief in you and hold on to them—but it’s too late for that. The truth is already there, clawing its way out of you, forcing itself into the space between you. You can’t lie to him anymore. You wouldn’t. Your lips part. Your voice is barely a whisper. “…Yes.” The silence that follows is suffocating. Heeseung stares at you, wide-eyed, as if you’ve just struck him. His grip on the knife wavers, but he doesn’t lower it. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, his gaze never leaving yours. He looks at you like he doesn’t know you. Like everything you were to him has just unraveled at his feet, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but the ruin of whatever you were. “Why?” His voice is barely there, hoarse and hollow.

The lump in your throat grows, threatening to choke you. You don’t want to tell him. You don’t want to tell him. But there’s nothing left to hide. The weight of your past has already reached him, coiling around his throat just as it has yours. Your hands tremble, your nails digging into your palms, as you force yourself to speak. “He murdered my mother.” but he knew that already? Didn’t he? The words taste like ash on your tongue. You watch as Heeseung’s entire body goes rigid. His expression—pain, anger, disbelief—flickers for only a moment before he schools it into something unreadable, something distant. But you can still see it. The horror. The realization. The unbearable ache. Your voice wavers. “The king ordered her death. He butchered her, Heeseung.” You take a shaky breath, one that barely fills your lungs. “He tore her apart. Took her from me. My father too.” 

Heeseung doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. You take a step closer. He doesn’t retreat, but the hand holding the knife lowers—just slightly. “I was just a child,” you whisper. The words crack at the edges. “I had no one. My coven abandoned me. I had to make my own way in this world, and every single day, I have had to live with what he did.” Your breath shudders in your chest. Your eyes burn. “I was never going to be a princess, Heeseung.” There is no anger in your voice anymore. No rage. No fire. Just grief, raw and aching, an open wound that never healed Heeseung clenches his jaw so tightly that the muscles twitch, his hands trembling at his sides. His grip on the knife loosens. He looks at you like he’s trying to understand. Like he’s trying to see you through the haze of betrayal. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he whispers, “I’ll let you go.” Your stomach plummets. His gaze is pained, torn apart at the seams, but he holds it steady. 

“I’ll tell them I couldn’t find you.” His voice shakes. His lips press into a thin line as he swallows down something thick and heavy. “I’ll let you escape, just—” He takes a deep breath, ragged and uneven. “Just leave. Never come back.” Your heart pounds, hammering against your ribs with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. His hand twitches. His free hand almost reaches for you, but he stops himself, curling his fingers into a fist instead. “So I don’t have to hurt you,” he murmurs, voice breaking. His eyes flicker over your face, memorizing you. Holding on to the pieces of you he still recognizes. “Please.” You should take the offer. You should run. But you can’t. Not anymore. You were way too far in. You weren’t a quitter. You weren’t weak and you’d fight until your dying breath. Killing the King was the only option for you. Not running. You’d never run. Never. 

The silence between you stretches like a blade—thin, sharp, and deadly. Heeseung is still trembling, his breath unsteady, his fingers twitching as if he doesn’t know whether to reach for you or push you away. His body is tense, wound so tight it looks like it might snap under the weight of what you’ve done—of what you’re about to do. You can see the war raging behind his eyes. The part of him that wants to trust you. The part of him that still loves you. And the part of him that has been trained his whole life to protect his kingdom—to protect the king who raised him. He takes a step closer. The knife is still in his hand, but his grip is loose, uncertain. “One last time,” he says, voice cracking under the weight of it. “I’m begging you. Please. Just leave. Disappear. Run. I’ll make sure no one follows you. I’ll say you vanished into the night, that I searched and searched, but I couldn’t find you.” His voice wavers, but the desperation in his eyes is unwavering. “Please,” he begs again, quieter this time. He might as well be on his hands and knees. 

For a second you imagined a life where you agreed where you left and lived a hate free life. Where you lived a life not plagued by an unruly anger for the one who took your mother from you. How would it feel to hide away from the rest of the world and be content. Maybe in a small cabin, under the mountains. With Heeseung. Heeseung would be there. And you'd be married with so many children you could never be bored. That life wasn't possible. You’d be an idiot to have such fantasies because life was never fair. The ache in your chest is unbearable. You wish you could lie to him. You wish you could tell him what he wants to hear, just to take the anguish out of his voice. But you can’t. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady the storm inside you, but it’s impossible. “I can’t.” He flinches.

“I’m sorry, Heeseung,” you whisper, your throat thick with emotion. “I can’t leave. Not if he’s still alive.” His expression twists, pain flashing through his face like lightning across a stormy sky. His hands clench into fists, his whole body trembling, and for a moment, you think he might drop the knife. But he doesn’t. His jaw tightens. His breath shudders in his chest. “Why?” His voice is barely a whisper, but the agony in it cuts through you like a thousand knives. “Why is your revenge more important than your life?” You swallow hard, blinking back the tears burning in your eyes. “Because it’s all I have left.” The words hang in the air between you, suffocating. Heeseung stares at you, his face unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes—they are shattered, hollowed out by something deeper than just heartbreak. His grip on the knife tightens.

“My mother deserved better than to die screaming, being torn apart” you whisper, voice shaking. “She deserved justice. And if I don’t do this—if I let him live—then I am nothing. I will have nothing.” Heeseung’s face twists with something you can’t quite name. And then, in a voice so low and broken it barely reaches your ears, he murmurs, “And what about me?” Your breath catches. “What am I to you, then?” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Am I nothing?” The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, slipping silently down your cheeks. “You’re everything to me,” you choke out.

And it’s the truth. Heeseung’s face crumples. His shoulders shake. His entire body is wrecked with the weight of those words, of what they mean—of what they don’t mean. Because love isn’t enough. Not for you. Not for him. Your need to fight for your mother’s memory is stronger than the love blooming between you. And his duty—his oath—to protect his king is stronger than his love for you. It has to be. It has to be. Heeseung lets out a choked breath, somewhere between a sob and a broken laugh. He drags a hand through his hair, gripping at the strands like he’s trying to rip himself out of his own body, as if he can’t stand the weight of his own thoughts. “Tell me you hate me,” he whispers suddenly. You stiffen. “Tell me you used me.” His voice is thick, unsteady. “Tell me none of it meant anything, and I’ll—” He shakes his head, voice trembling. “I’ll let you go.” You squeeze your eyes shut. You could. You could say the words and make it easier for him. You could cut him open and make sure he never has to grieve you. You could turn him against you so he doesn’t have to hurt when this ends. But you’ve already hurt him enough.

You open your eyes, looking at the man who has made you question everything. The man who, against all odds, made you feel again. The man you love—but can never have. And you shake your head. “I won’t lie to you.” A tear slips down Heeseung’s cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away. And then, after a long, shuddering breath, he lifts the knife once more.Not trembling this time. Not uncertain. Because if love isn’t strong enough to stop either of you—then neither is hesitation. The dagger slides between your ribs, sinking into your flesh with a slow, devastating finality. The pain is instant—white-hot, searing, an agony unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. But what truly breaks you isn’t the blade. It isn’t even the poison, creeping through your veins like liquid fire. It’s the look in Heeseung’s eyes. So devastatingly beautiful. So, broken. You broke him, you are exactly who you’ve always been. A monster. And you were going to die the death you deserved, in the arms of the man you loved but by the hands of the man you loved. 

Tears stream down his face, his lips parted in silent devastation. His hands tremble as he lowers you gently to the ground, cradling you like you’re something fragile, like you aren’t already breaking apart in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, his voice barely more than a breath. He presses his forehead against yours, his body shaking with grief. “I had to. I—I didn’t have a choice.” You can feel the poison sinking its claws into you, stealing the strength from your limbs, making it harder to breathe. The world around you begins to blur at the edges, fading like a dream unraveling into nothing. You reach up with what little strength you have left, your fingers curling over his. He’s still holding the dagger, his grip tight like he can’t bear to let go. Blood spills between your fingers, warm and thick, but you don’t care. 

You squeeze his hand. “It’s okay,” you whisper, voice weak, shaking. “This was the only way to stop me.” And it was the truth. You would only give him the truth. Heeseung lets out a broken sound, something between a sob and a gasp. His other hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you before you slip away. “I wouldn’t have stopped,” you confess, blinking through the haze clouding your vision. “You know that, don’t you?” You let out a sharp breath “Because-..because you know me.” You laugh a little, it's short and winded but it's a laugh and it was real. He nods, his shoulders heaving with every ragged breath. More tears slip down your face, mingling with the blood pooling beneath you. “You did the right thing.” 

Heeseung flinches, his grip on you tightening like he can somehow keep you here. “No,” he whispers, shaking his head. “Don’t say that.” his voice trembled, tears still falling from his eyes and down his cheeks. “But you did,” you insist, coughing as blood spills from your lips. You can taste the bitterness of it, the iron tang. “You did the right thing, Heeseung. I—I’m glad you did.” Your chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths. The darkness is creeping closer now, curling around the edges of your vision, but you fight to keep your eyes open. Just for a little longer. Just to see him one last time. “I love you.” The words come out in a fragile whisper, but they are real. They are everything. A sob tears through him, raw and wrecked. He presses his lips to your forehead, his tears falling against your skin. “I love you too,” he breathes, voice shaking. 

You smile, just barely. And then your body stills. Heeseung feels it the moment you slip away. The last breath leaving your lungs. The way your fingers relax, the light in your eyes dimming until there’s nothing left but the hollow, empty silence. His heart shatters. A broken, strangled cry rips from his throat, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you against him as if that will bring you back. His whole body shakes with grief, his face buried in your hair. The dagger is still in his hand. The blood is still warm. And the weight of what he has done—the weight of losing you—crushes him whole. 

Epilogue. 

Heeseung kneels before the king, head bowed, hands clenched so tightly at his sides that his nails threaten to pierce his skin. His face is carefully composed—stoic, unreadable—but inside, he is unraveling. “I failed, Your Majesty,” he says, voice low, heavy with carefully measured regret. “The witch is gone.” Silence falls over the throne room, thick and suffocating. The king’s fingers drum against the armrest of his gilded throne, his expression dark with fury. Heeseung does not flinch beneath his gaze, does not waver even as the weight of his own lie threatens to crush him. 

“Gone?” the king finally echoes, his tone sharp. “How?” Heeseung lifts his head slightly, just enough to meet the king’s eyes without betraying the storm of emotions raging inside him. “By the time we reached the catacombs, she had vanished without a trace. The guards and I searched the tunnels, the corridors, the perimeter of the castle. There was no sign of her.” The queen scoffs, folding her arms across her chest. “And you expect us to believe that a single witch, after all the effort she put into infiltrating our home, simply decided to flee?” 

Heeseung forces himself to nod, his jaw tightening. “Yes, Your Majesty.” The king exhales sharply through his nose, his displeasure clear. He shifts in his seat, fingers stilling against the polished wood of his throne. “No trace at all?”

“No.” The lie tastes like ash on Heeseung’s tongue. The king curses under his breath before waving a dismissive hand. “Find her.” Heeseung bows his head again. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He doesn’t wait to be dismissed. He knows the conversation is over. The king is furious, but he believes him. Or, at the very least, he has no choice but to. Heeseung turns on his heel and strides out of the throne room, keeping his shoulders squared and his pace steady. Every step feels heavier than the last. Because the truth is buried deep beneath his feet. 

-

The forest is quiet, the only sounds are the whisper of the wind through the trees and the distant calls of night creatures stirring from their slumber. The moon hangs low in the sky, casting silver light over the clearing. Heeseung stands at the edge of the earth he has disturbed, his breath unsteady as he looks down at the freshly turned soil. This was where the king had left her mother to rot. A shallow grave in an unmarked place. Forgotten, discarded like she was nothing. Heeseung couldn’t give her justice. He couldn’t save her. But he could give her this. He had carried her here himself, long after the dagger had stolen the last warmth from her body. He had cleaned the blood from her skin, brushed the hair from her face, whispered apologies that she would never hear. And then, with shaking hands, he had laid her to rest beside her mother. Not in an unmarked grave. Not forgotten. He had carved a name into the wood he placed at the head of the mound of earth. Not the name of the princess she had stolen, not the lie she had lived. Her true name.

The name that had been taken from her the night the king slaughtered her mother. Heeseung takes a shaky breath, sinking to his knees beside her grave. He presses a hand to the cold ground, his vision blurring. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, the words barely a breath. The wind moves through the trees, rustling the leaves like a sigh. Heeseung closes his eyes. For the first time in his life, he wishes he had never been born in this kingdom. That he had never sworn an oath to the king, never pledged his loyalty to a crown soaked in the blood of innocents. For the first time in his life, he wishes he had been brave enough to run away with her. But there are no second chances. No rewinding time. So he sits in silence, keeping vigil over the woman he loved, mourning the life they never got to have. And when the sun begins to rise, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson, Heeseung finally forces himself to stand. He does not say goodbye. Because he knows he will return. Because he knows he will never stop loving her. Because even in death, she is the only truth he has ever known. 

taglist. (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4

[watchingwisteria]

aziraphale, the one who gave the first human exiles his flaming sword as both a source of protection and warmth, who did not look on them as sinners deserving of destruction but people entitled to the best chances possible, has never once looked at crowley, a heavenly exile, with anything other than compassion and a desire to protect. from their first meeting, he never wanted anything bad to happen to him. when crowley slithers up to him in eden, he treats him like an equal rather than an adversary. when crowley appears, his eyes fill with love and excitement, his gaze turns soft and hesitant, his whole body seizes with joy of seeing him. crowley might typically the one to seek him out, but aziraphale has always welcomed him home.

[conclaveyaoi]

imagine being married to someone who is fully convinced you're going to hell "because" of past mistakes you made when in your younger years – mistakes he smirks at during dinner with a stranger btw – and so he pretty much convinces you to undergo severance simply because he believes innies have souls and this way he can have a part of you making him company in heaven? divorce is not enough, a marvelous love affair with a handsome italian-american man who wants to see you again is required