#princes x royal reader

[eightmakesonebraincell]

ateez as royals who fall for you (hyung line)

read maknae line here

genre: royalty!ateez x fem!reader, fluff, angst, smut, crack, a brainrot and smutfest of royal tropes

length: 12.8k

c/w: very nsfw scenes - mdni, explicit language (dirty talk, swearing, insults), death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, heavy & mature themes (sex work, murder, assassination, execution, mentions of misogyny)

a/n: this has simultaneously been the pride and joy of my life and the bane of my entire existence for the last 2.5 months 🥴 and tumblr is an inept incapable CLOWN who cannot handle the full 24k worth of bullet points so here is the hyung line first - maknae line coming soon (yumi @sorryimananti-romantic can vouch for my unsuccessful 3-hour attempt at formatting them into a single post)

hongjoong

pov: you're the king's royal courtesan

“fuck,” hongjoong lets out a deep growl from within his chest as his head dips down to rest against the crook of your neck. “you’re just as tight as last time”

when your hips involuntarily buck from the pleasure, he nudges your thighs further apart and keeps your wrists pinned above your head

he can’t help but let out another groan when he feels your walls clench around his cock as you adjust to his thickness

“i thought- god,” a moan escapes you after he thrusts his hips against you, “thought you never fucked the same woman twice”

“i don’t,” he simply says

and it’s true

hongjoong is one of the youngest princes to have ruled during the kim dynasty, having risen to power after the previous king succumbed early to an unknown illness

he has the choice and selection of all the courtesans available within the palace and outside its walls

hongjoong also has a reputation of being highly sought after by everybody, not just amongst courtesans

it’s not only because he is devilishly handsome, knows how to properly fuck somebody dumb, and is the literal king

the main thing that makes him so desirable and unreachable?

he never sees the same courtesan more than once

“yet here you are,” you hook your legs around hongjoong’s waist to gain leverage and meet his thrusts with your own hips, “between my legs for the second time”

you smirk when he curses and throws his head back

his grip on your wrists tightens and his voice drops dangerously low

“the first time doesn’t count because i was meant to see lady chae. so really, this is the first time i’m requesting for your services”

he silences you from retorting by pressing a bruising kiss against you, lips messily attaching to yours before trailing down the sharp angle of your jaw to bite your neck

you are a courtesan for people of nobility and royal status

part of the ‘house of flowers’ and commonly referred to as ‘flower courtesans’, you and the other women are highly-sought after for the companionship you offer

you are well protected by the house of flowers though - the services of companionship that you provide is requested by your client, but is ultimately accepted or rejected by you

lady chae, another of the flower courtesans and one of your closest friends, is requested by the king for her services

it is quite clear what it is going to entail and you both spend several of the following nights giggling and whispering scandalously to one another

whether the rumours about his stamina will be true

whether lady chae will be the first to break his one-fuck rule

except when the day of the meeting comes around, she spikes a sudden fever

lady shin, the head of the house of flowers, takes all but one look at her before ordering her to bed rest despite both of your attempts to, albeit unconvincingly, persuade lady shin that chae’s fever would only serve to help make the king’s dick warmer

lady shin is not amused to say the least

with the last minute hitch, the king agrees for you to be sent out to him as a replacement instead

and you end up being the flower courtesan who he breaks his reputed rule for

(lady chae is initially jealous, understandably)

(but very quickly, she appears to be even more excited than you are as she combs through your undergarments for the “sluttiest set” that she can find)

your attention is brought back as hongjoong flicks his tongue over your hardened nipples, continuing to drag his length in and out of you while your back arches off the bed

you tease in between short breaths, “are you really bringing up another woman’s name while you have your cock inside me?”

“you brought it up first,” he reminds you, accentuating his answer with timed thrusts

you grind your hips against his, chasing more friction against your clit as you feel your high approaching

“why?” he snakes one of his hands down between your connected torsos to rub messy circles against your clit, smirking as he asks, “are you getting jealous already?”

for that, you clench down hard on his cock, immediately feeling the way it throbs inside of you as you bring him closer to his orgasm too

“as if. fuck off”

your words are hardly audible from the whines that are leaving your mouth due to the added pressure of another finger against your clit from your retaliation

“i’m close,” hongjoong releases his grip on your wrists so that he can straighten his body, anchoring his hand on your hip instead so that he can fuck you and rub your clit with his other hand with renewed vigour

when you hear him groan, “cum for me,” the string snaps and your whole body quivers in his hold as your orgasm washes over you

hongjoong’s hips gradually stutter to a pause, an occasional thrust inside your clenching pussy as he milks out the rest of his cum inside of you

he finally eases himself out of you and hums in satisfaction as he watches his cum slowly leak out of you

hongjoong drops down beside you, toned chest covered in a sheen layer of sweat as it rises up and down with his pants

when your fuzzy mind has cleared a little from the blissful haze of your orgasm, he strokes his fingertips along the side of your thigh, along the curve of your ass, and over the dip of your waist just under your breasts as he says, “you better not be jealous. first one to get jealous loses”

“if anyone’s going to get jealous first, it’s you,” you scoff back

he raises an eyebrow

oh yeah?

he shoves his leaking cum back inside of you and fingers you to another orgasm

now that shuts you up

for a man who barks, he sure has no bite, because you find yourself being notified by lady shin several days later of yet another request for your services under the king’s name

and another request turns into another

and every single time, hongjoong makes sure that the only word leaving your lips for those many hours is his moaned name

but at the same time, the more you and hongjoong meet, the more he just savours in your simple companionship

he asks you to teach him how to embroider because you’ve mentioned before it’s how you like to spend your free evenings

he rifles through your bag of materials that you bring

you smack his hand away at the carelessness with which he’s upturning everything

“what’s this?” he holds up a large, wooden hoop before trying to fit it through his head, “a necklace?”

“i wonder if people know they appointed an idiot to be king,” you say as you gently unscrew the hoops and demonstrate how to align a piece of fabric between the rings

he watches with interest as you screw the outer hoop tighter until the fabric is nice and taut and then repeat the process so you both have one to work with

you have to help hongjoong thread his needle too, because apparently the king’s fingers are only good for scissoring you open

you weave your own needle through the fabric at a slow pace whilst telling him the different names and uses of the stitches you’re showing him

except, when you look up to see if he’s following?

his own hoop has been abandoned to one side and he’s leaning against his hand as he gazes cheekily at you

“were you even paying attention?”

he sounds a little too confident when he answers not at all

in return, hongjoong shows you how to write hanja the next time you meet

he positions himself behind you with his hand over yours as he guides you through different characters stroke by stroke

he claims that there are specific ways of applying pressure to the brush so he has to be holding your hand at all times

you most definitely roll your eyes several times but you indulge him anyway

there are a lot of giggles and teasing pushes when you accidentally dip the end of your sleeve into the ink and you try to spread it onto his robes too

(the calligraphy may or may not become forgotten when hongjoong pins you down to stop your cheeky behaviour, because things naturally escalate whenever he has you under him)

you two do eventually manage to finish one decent-looking scroll of characters which he ends up gifting you so that you ‘don’t forget’ about him when you’re not with him

when you walk back into the house of flowers, the hanging scroll perks lady shin’s interest as you walk past

“hongjoong taught me how to write my name today”

lady shin waggles her eyebrows at you suggestively because of how casually you refer to the king, for which you nudge her with a shoulder

she laughs then asks to have a look

you unravel the paper to show her but then she makes a funny noise

“that’s not your name? these are the characters for- oh,” she cackles scandalously to herself, as if she has made a secret discovery

“what does it mean?” you hurry to clarify

you wouldn’t put it past him to have taught you a crude phrase instead, like ‘best tits’ or ‘biggest ass’

lady shin lets out an amused exhale, handing the scroll back to you

“it says, my flower”

you’re looking at those exact characters from where you lay on your bed when a knock sounds on your door several days later

lady shin steps into your room with a warm smile as you greet her

“you have an appointment with lord min tomorrow, but the king has just inquired about your service availability for tomorrow,” she informs you. “would you like me to give him the usual answer?”

this isn’t the first time a clash has occurred, particularly with the increasing frequency with which hongjoong requests to see you

you have always told lady shin to ask for hongjoong’s pardon and to offer him an alternative time or day, because in the end, you still need to maintain a professional and admirable reputation as a flower courtesan

and as you open your mouth to tell her ‘yes’, your eye catches the scroll hanging on your wall

my flower

you hesitate

“actually,” you look away from the hanja, “i’ll see hongjoong.”

lady shin gives you a motherly smile as she nods in understanding and closes the door behind her

the next day you see him, he excitedly points out the large tambour frame in his room that he bought just a few days prior, claiming you two can work on a big embroidery patch together now

you give him one look then demote him back to the small embroidery hoop because he still hasn’t learnt his basic stitches yet

(that’ll teach him to not pay attention when you’re demonstrating, ha)

you relent and end up going through the different stitches with him again anyway

and you find that he’s actually not that bad with embroidery once he’s actually focused on the task at hand

it’s nice, basking in each other's presence while he threads his little square of fabric and you work with the large frame you have now essentially claimed as yours

not that hongjoong minds; he did buy it solely to make you happy

and then you offhandedly mention that someone had gifted you a handkerchief with your initials embroidered on one of the corners the other day

“i actually have it on me, in fact,” and you take it out from where it’s tucked into your waist so that you can show him

he juts out his chin as he peers down at the delicate letters, huffing, “it’s pretty, i guess”

then as an afterthought he tacks on, “bet i could do a better job”

“are you jealous right now, kim hongjoong?”

said man is hellbent on avoiding your eyes as he picks up his needle and thread again

“no i’m not!”

“whatever you say,” you smirk

after that day though, you don’t receive another request from hongjoong to meet until two weeks later

which, in the grand scheme of things, really isn’t much

but in comparison to the frequency at which you are used to seeing him, the frequency at which your body is used to having him, it is much too long

you are almost beginning to wonder whether you shouldn’t have brought up the handkerchief gift

yet, he greets you with his usual teasing squeeze of your waist, dangerously close to your ass

you make a move to follow him through the doors to his chambers but he turns around to produce a silk cloth

he starts to blindfold you, whispering sultrily, “i have a surprise for you”

you feel the hairs on the back of your neck raise at his tone

guiding you inside, hongjoong gently pushes you down so that you sink into the plush duvet of his bed

“do you trust me?” he whispers

trying not to dwell on the urge to lick your dry lips, you answer, “of course”

you feel him tugging slowly on the string that holds the front of your corset together, loosening your dress with tenderness like you are a fragile gift

you shiver when your shoulders are suddenly exposed to the cold air

and then the sensation is followed by the warmth of hongjoong’s soft exhales along the expanse of your collarbones as he leans closer to fully disrobe your shoulders

you have to remind yourself to keep breathing

“you can look now,” he tells you

you remove the silk cloth from around your eyes, unsure of what to expect

it takes a few blinks to readjust your vision to the room around you but then your eyes finally focus

and you gasp

there, hung on the wall with its striking viridian green, shimmering threads and intricate swirls on glorious display, is quite possibly the most stunning dress you have ever laid eyes upon

“try it on,” he encourages

but as you step closer, you realise the lacing across the front of the corset and running down the sleeves of the top dress is in fact, not lacing

it’s patchy

it’s uneven

it has empty areas

but it is no doubt embroidery

“did you…did you make this?” you reach out a hand to lightly caress one of the embroidered flowers, not quite daring to believe that hongjoong would go to these lengths for you

“of course,” he wraps his arms around you from behind and presses a light kiss against your temple, “i’m not losing to a lousy handkerchief”

“is that why you disappeared for two weeks?”

you let out a laugh, sinking into his embrace, because the image of the great king holed up in his chambers for days on end, hunched over your dress with a needle, thread and frown on his face is just too endearing

he lets out a warning huff as he turns you around in his embrace to face him

upturning his hands, he shows you the tips of his fingers and grumbles, “i poked myself so many times for you and you laugh at me?”

you bring his hands closer to your face, pressing light kisses to his fingertips as you smile, “thank you, joong. i love it so much, i really do”

he looks at you impossibly soft

under his tender gaze, something suddenly rushes to your very core

you hold one his hands steady in front of your lips then swirl your tongue out in an experimental lick over his fingers

it’s almost captivating how quickly his pupils dilate and zero in on your tongue

so you dare to bring his fingers into your mouth

you suck on them a little harder

a little deeper

and then you moan around his fingers, “i want you”

he lets out a groan himself, feeling the front of his breeches tighten as his cock twitches

“i- fuck, i didn’t give the dress to you in hopes that it would lead to this,” yet despite his words he is stepping you backwards so that he can pin you against the wall

“i know, but i want you,” you palm his growing bulge, your knees going weak at how hard he already is. “and i need you. now.”

he doesn’t need further encouragement

he shoves the remainder of your clothes aside before inserting his fingers roughly between your folds

it doesn’t take long for him to bring you to your first orgasm, curling his fingers relentlessly as you ride them

he spreads your cum over your pussy and you buck your hips with a whine when he circles over your clit briefly

then he’s turning you around and bending you over, one of your hands bracing against the wall, your other arm held behind your back by hongjoong’s firm grasp

“fuck, you’re so wet,” his whole body shivers with pleasure as his cock slips right into you

the obscene sounds of his hips slapping against your ass and your slick being pushed back into your hole over and over again fill the room

and to the clenching of your pussy from another orgasm, hongjoong also cums into you with a guttural groan of your name

he gently carries you to his bed and lays you on top of the covers

he leaves your side for a moment and you listen to him rummage through something while you try to regain control of your quaking legs

when he comes back, you feel him gently spreading your legs and then the ticklish sensation of a soft cloth along your inner thighs

a whine escapes your lips when he rubs over your sensitive clit and hongjoong grips your thigh a little tighter

“be careful what pretty sounds you’re making if you can’t handle another round”

it isn’t until he finishes cleaning you up and lies down next to you to start wiping himself down that you look over and realise what it is that he’s been using this whole time

your mouth drops in disbelief

when hongjoong notices your expression, he smirks, “the man who gave you this has no idea his handkerchief is being used to clean my cum off your thighs”

“hongjoong!” you flush with a laugh. “you are definitely jealous, aren’t you?”

“yes, i’m fucking jealous,” he growls, “you’re the only one i want. you’re the only woman i’ve been requesting for since i’ve seen you. and i want to be the only one who gets to have you, too”

you confess, “well, you can have all of me. because i’ve started refusing other people just for you”

he looks at you for another moment before he’s suddenly straddling your hips

“change of plans,” he says breathily, “i need you again”

“very good plan,” you grind up against him

and then you pause, mirth starting to bubble in your throat, “one last thing though”

hongjoong looks down with amusement in his own eyes, wondering what could possibly be so funny

“that handkerchief?” you start, struggling not to laugh when his eyes immediately narrow, “i never said it was from a man. it was a gift from lady chae”

seonghwa

pov: you're his royal guard

as soon as you notice the movement out of the corner of your eye, your body reacts straight away

you murmur seonghwa’s name with a tight voice and move to position yourself in front of him, unwilling to risk the prince’s safety

one of your hands grasps the hilt of your sword, ready to unsheathe it at the first sign of danger, as your calculative gaze darts between the two young men stumbling closer on the dirt path and the line of forest trees from which they appear

they are wearing simple tunics and breeches with their colour faded and seams loosening from wear

from what you can discern, they are simply commoners, but that does not rule out the possibility that they are bandits

seonghwa seems to think otherwise, though

unsurprising but still grating

the prince places his hand on your shoulder gently in a silent reassurance and request for you to step aside

albeit reluctantly, you force yourself to move to his left

it becomes clear to you as the two figures stop just shy of a few feet away that the term ‘men’ was pushing it - their faces are young and they appear to be no older than seventeen or eighteen

the young strangers dip their head in greeting, one of them apologising as well as he pulls out a tattered map that he extends out for you two to see

“my companion and i are traveling to the village norshaw but seem to have lost our way. would you be able to point us in the right direction?” the one with the map asks

“of course,” seonghwa offers with a kind smile

you watch as the three of them step closer together to look more closely at the map

on high alert, and just as you are predicting, you see the companion shuffle closer to seonghwa, hand inching towards the leather pouch that hangs from the prince’s belt

you catch the subtle motion of seonghwa’s eyes flickering down just an inch

because of how well you understand his body language, you know that it means he has already noticed the thieving intention

but because of how well you understand seonghwa, you know that he isn’t going to do anything about it either

so you strike in his stead

your hand darts out to snatch the thieve’s wrist, twisting his forearm upwards so that he is forced to lean awkwardly towards one side to prevent his elbow from snapping

his partner drops the map, letting out a string of curses and hesitating for all but three seconds before he turns around to flee

scoffing, you threaten the one who is still in your hold, who then bolts with his tail between his legs after you release him

"did you really need to scare them off like that? it's not like i had any money in the pouch anyway," seonghwa chastises with a chuckle

"yes," you deadpan. "i did not spend the last two hours of our trip pausing every fifty meters to wait for you to pick up a rock because you thought it looked pretty, only for them to be stolen by a pair of petty thieves"

"it would have been funny to imagine their faces after realising what they stole," seonghwa grins

“mhm,” you hum, “and the next thing you know, you’ll wake up to your palace ransacked, because word in town is that you can steal from the prince and get away with it”

he levels you with a boyish scowl, “you’re so dramatic. what are you, my mother?”

“no, but i am your royal bodyguard”

“exactly. you are my bodyguard, not my brainguard. if i am to be swindled of my pretty rocks, then so be it”

you roll your eyes out of exasperation, but everything is swiftly forgotten minutes later when you point out a heart-shaped rock and seonghwa rushes over to pick it up

it has been like this ever since the incident occurred - him, the sunshine; you, the sunshine protector

it has been almost four years since it happened

somebody had attempted arsenic poisoning of not only seonghwa, but also those working under him

you had noticed strange discolouring of the silverware in the kitchen and on the table serving his dinner, which prompted an investigation and subsequent discovery of the perpetrator

an act of betrayal and treachery by one of his closest relatives - his very own uncle

seonghwa was - still is - too merciful and tender-hearted to punish his uncle, even if the severity of his uncle’s crimes warranted execution

to have his trust broken so shatteringly hurt seonghwa more than if he were to actually have been poisoned

you still remember like it was yesterday; the sight of the prince slumped against the wall, weighed down by chains of turmoil and despair as whispers fly through the palace of the weak-hearted prince who is unable to deliver fair judgement

it is the sight of the prince looking so small and lost that drives your feet forward to stand before him

as the soft draught coming through the windows tugs gently on your tresses and the flickers of candlelight illuminate the glint of steel in your hand, you make a decision

“i’ll be your sword,” you pledge

not just as his royal guard, but as his haven when he is forced to face corruption and wickedness

and when you see the way his shoulders immediately sag with relief at your declaration, the way he nods like a child who has been reassured that everything will be okay, you tell yourself that seonghwa will never have to dirty his hands as long as you are with him

you will be the dark to his light; the yin to his yang

quietly, you see to it that his uncle is executed for his crimes - your statement to the rest of the palace that prince seonghwa is not to be mocked

neither of you bring it up again, but seonghwa knows

he pulls you into a wholehearted hug, arms enveloping you securely as his chest shakes with shuddering breaths of thank you over and over again

you rub your hand up and down his sturdy back soothingly

it is an action that simultaneously reciprocates his embrace and his crossed line of professionalism

one that starts the shift in dynamic between you both, boundaries of sought comfort blurring with friendship and then something more

where seonghwa is too trusting and too soft-spoken, you become his skepticism and his voice

“you should be more wary of others,” you always remind him

“and you should be more trusty of others,” he’ll retort

yet, he will never make a decision that does not receive your input nor one that you do not agree with

where seonghwa is too gentle and too humble, you become his sword and his shield

you do not waver when you strike down foe, and friends turned foe alike

you speak up and establish firm boundaries when others take advantage of the respect he shows everybody regardless of their class or status

and yet, if you find yourself on the receiving end of someone’s condescension or discriminatory treatment, be it due to your rank as a guard or identity as a woman, seonghwa will be advancing forward to defend you before you can do so yourself

where seonghwa is too innocent and too bushy-tailed, you become his eyes and his caution

your morning walks together always last for longer than they are scheduled for

he stops to watch every butterfly and bumblebee that flutters along the flowery path, and he waits for caterpillars to crawl onto a leaf that he holds by the stem so that he can move the critters off the pathway

you love to watch him and his glittering eyes, his cheeks rosy from happiness and from the air still crisp with morning dew

but you also make sure to watch his surroundings with greater vigilance because the quiet peace that the freshly awoken sun brings simultaneously increases the likelihood of a targeted attack against him

as much as you rib him for being a marshmallow personified, however, and as much as he banters back that you are more than welcome to resign at any time, neither of you want it any other way

seonghwa carries out a lot of gestures that he justifies to himself as being eternally grateful for you and the things you do for him

he likes to gift you flowers he has plucked from his garden or the bushes he walks past that remind him of you

(“that’s actually just a very pretty-looking weed, but thank you, seonghwa,” you tell him on more than one occasion)

(it’s adorable, because the next time he finds a flower, he goes to the length of certifying that it is indeed a flower with the merchant who sells bouquets in the nearby town before presenting it to you, eyes gleaming with pride)

you stand still and let him tuck a flower behind your ear, sometimes braiding your hair gently so that he can weave and secure the stem into your hair, holding your breath as his features fill with the same enrapturement that he would admire a beautiful artwork with

after you voice this out one day, seonghwa supposes to himself that there is not much difference between an artwork and you

not that he’s attracted to you or anything - you just…have an objectively attractive face

yes.

especially when your usually-piercing expression is softened by fatigue, guard no longer up as you sleep slumped over a desk while accompanying him during his late night of studies

he does not realise his feet have moved until he is right beside your resting form, as if the soft exhales escaping from your slightly parted lips are a siren’s song

seonghwa tenderly brushes your stray locks away from your face and behind your neck

except he forgets to account for the fact that you are trained to sleep on the brink of consciousness

the squeal that leaves his mouth when your reflexes kick in and you almost slit his throat resounds at a frequency so high you almost believe it comes from your own mouth

you have a grand time watching his beet red face stutter out an excuse as to what exactly he was doing so close to you

needless to say, that is the last time seonghwa ever tries to do anything while you are sleeping

but as much as he bumbles around, he also reveals his perceptiveness when you least expect it

like now, as you accompany the prince to one of his meetings with numerous advisors and ministers

it is relatively dull and uneventful, mostly a cordial appearance to maintain amicable and loyal relationships with his subjects

conversation is limited to pleasantries and at one point, seonghwa even points out the calligraphy paintings hung at the back of the room

everyone nods with throaty laughs as if the paintings are indeed the most exquisite and tasteful artworks they have ever laid their eyes upon

when you and seonghwa arrive back at his chambers following the conclusion of the meeting, he walks over to his bed and shakes the sleeves of his robe over the expanse of his duvet

and out drops a neatly-wrapped sweet, followed by another, then another, until there are enough to amount to two handfuls

baffled, you look at seonghwa, because these are the very same treats that had been plated on the tables during the meeting

“you smuggled candy out of the room?” you try to keep the amusement out of your voice

he peers into his sleeves to ensure there are no more stragglers, before turning to face you as he waves his hands over the small collection of goods on his bed

as if they are-

“for you!” he exclaims almost proudly. “i saw you eyeing them during the meeting so i took some for you”

okay

most definitely proudly 

you feel something tickling you from within, as if he has reached through your chest to directly caress your heart with a delicate finger

“when did you even…” your voice trails off when it comes out a little fonder than you are expecting it to

“remember the paintings i pointed out?” seonghwa giggles, and you think that the hand in your chest is now cradling your heart completely. “i swiped the sweets when everyone was looking back at them”

“thank you, hwa,” you settle on saying, because you do not trust yourself to say anything else

that is more than enough for him, though

which, of course it is - this is seonghwa, with his huge heart that fills easily with the smallest of things

he eagerly hands you one of the treats and you unwrap it to place into your mouth

you’ve had these before, but this one that he has specially grabbed for you tastes remarkably sweeter

you wonder if his lips will taste the same…

but then you accidentally bite your tongue, hard enough to draw blood, and you realise just how wrong you are for letting those fleeting thoughts into your mind

because while you navigate the world in thick droplets of red and sharp glints of silver, seonghwa sees the world in soft hues of pastel and gleaming rays of yellow

how could the two palettes ever blend together harmoniously?

so instead, you grant yourself one last moment of selfishness and pull him into a hug, a gesture that toes the already shaky borders of professionalism yet can still be excused under the guise of friendship

you realise that he has always meant much more to you, but that is what this will stay as - a mere realisation

seonghwa wraps his arms around your form as he relaxes into the way your bodies naturally meld together

it’s strange how easily you slot into his life, his thoughts, his heart

he wonders whether it’s possible for feelings of appreciation to run so deeply and potently within somebody, like a drug that he cannot get enough of

and when you take a step away from him, leaving his chest feeling physically and emotionally empty, he wonders if he is perhaps…

in love with you

following that incident, it is almost as if a switch flips - both of you take several steps away from the line that has been danced around

but neither of you notice the distance because you are both consumed by your own thoughts

until one of your usual morning walks around the castle walls of his palace

seonghwa is wondering whether the bushes you walk past remind you of the flowers he used to gift you and you are debating whether to reach out to brush a petal out of his half ponytail 

then, like deja vu, your eyes flicker towards the burst of movement as a figure covered in black comes darting forwards with their blade raised intended for murder

you immediately start to unsheathe your sword, feet poised and prepared to defend-

until you are harshly tugged back and the prince steps in front of you to parry the strike that the assassin tries to land

it takes your lifetime of training and experience to snap back into focus and thrust your sword into the enemy’s exposed side

when you are sure he is dead, you whirl around to descend upon seonghwa with a voice trembling from both anger and relief

“what in the world were you thinking?” you yell

“i-”

taking a step forward, you toss your sword to one side, “no, actually. you weren’t thinking at all”

“i was afraid that you would get hurt!” he takes his own step closer

“that is my duty!” the volume of your voice raises even more. “i am willing to lay down my life to ensure your safety! i have been guarding you for years now and you have never acted this way. what has changed?”

for a moment, the only sound that punctuates the silence is your harsh breathing

seonghwa swallows

“my feelings…” he whispers, a stark contrast to the peak of emotions you have been riding. “my feelings for you have changed”

your throat tightens at his words

it is your turn to whisper, a noise of confusion leaving your lips

he takes another step closer, bringing himself to stand right in front of you as he looks down earnestly into your eyes

“i’d rather be the protector, and you be the protected”

“but…why?” your heart races with anticipation

“because i’m in love with you” 

right at the invisible border that has been separating you two for as long as you have been his guard, seonghwa now stands, hands wringing together as he awaits a response

“then that makes the two of us,” you confess

you step forward to take your familiar spot on the other side of the line, except this time you do not stop

you stride over the boundary completely to stand by his side

raising yourself onto your tiptoes, you pull him down slightly by the front of his doublet so that you can press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips

it stretches wider and curves upwards under the nurturing of your own smile

you can’t help but give him another kiss on the other side of his mouth to match the one you just gave him

“from now on,” seonghwa starts, “i’ll be your sword”

you wouldn’t really, and you will fight him to let you continue being his guard, but that doesn’t stop one last teasing question from escaping you

“does this mean i get to retire?”

yunho

pov: you're part of a rebel group

the crown prince is not in his fucking library

for the past three weeks, the crown prince has always been in the royal library at night

until today

under normal circumstances, his royal guards and staff would be alerted to ensure that the deviance in routine is a conscious decision and not an issue of the crown prince missing

except doing that would make your job significantly harder…

considering you have been ordered to assassinate him.

you’re part of the ‘red sun’, a revolutionary movement aiming to overthrow the current monarch

following the debilitating state of the king after falling ill and the subsequent coronation of queen jeong into power, she has since then established numerous royal decrees to keep everyone under her reign on a tight leash

a leash made of barbed wire

people are quick to become resentful and thirsty for an end to the dictatorship and bloodline

although he has made limited public appearances, the crown prince has also developed a reputation rivaling the queen’s

within the second year of the jeong dynasty, red sun has already amassed a multitude of supporters

the focus is currently on growing in numbers, preparing for an imminent revolution and picking off corrupt royals and noblists, be it through incrimination or assassination

dealing with those in positions of higher power is a task only completed by an elite selection of red sun rebels who have distinguished skills and traits that set them apart from peasants and commoners

and you are amongst the elite team

which is why you find yourself staking out on the tiled roof of the imperial palace, clothed in black with a mask and hooded cowl covering your face that blends you in with the darkness of night, on the orders of a higher-up to assassinate the crown prince

except the target is missing; the information you were given is wrong

which never happens

you can’t risk staying around for much longer, especially now that the crown prince has broken his routine

he could be anywhere and so could his royal guards

you shift your body to a crouch and place your hands on the cool tiles beneath you, ready to leave

only to spot a figure, crouched just like you are, on the opposite side of the roof

their face is a black hole of nothing within the shrouded confines of their hood, but you can feel their gaze piercing into you all the same

you run

you scramble to the edge of the roof and nimbly leap off the curved eaves to the neighbouring structure of the study room

when you glance backwards, you see the man - physique now obvious - is keeping up easily along the stepping stones of roofs

this game of cat and mouse isn’t going to work for long

if you don’t get caught by him first, you’re both going to get caught by the palace guards

so you make a split decision and alter your next trajectory lower

keeping your arms outstretched for the eaves, you grab on tightly when your fingers touch the edge of the roof and use your core to kick your legs up to stop your body from slamming into the wall from the momentum of your jump

you let go and drop to the ground like a feline, noiseless, and slink towards a line of trees

then you wait

he’s good, you note to yourself, when the only sound that alerts you to his presence is the quick scuffle of his feet as he softens his impact against the wall and the muted thud of his body landing on the ground

“state your purpose,” he demands, voice low yet firm

you ignore him to ask, “who are you?”

now up close, you can see that the man is wearing attire almost the same as you are, identity also hidden by the his bandana and hood-

wait

even the dark red stitching that subtly replaces the original seam on the right shoulder of his outer clothing is the same

the same as those on the elite team

“one of you,” he confirms your suspicions

except you don’t recognise his voice nor his build

being one of the earliest members of the rebel organisation, you are familiar with all the members who carry out missions like yours

he is not one of them; not one you can trust yet

when you don’t speak, he adds on, “we need to go. the safehouse might be in danger”

we

he refers to the two of you so easily, as if you and him are an unspoken team

you cannot trust this man until you know for sure he is part of red sun, so you ask him

“when is red most beautiful?”

it is a vague question with a fixed answer

one that reflects the heart of the revolutionary itself

during the sunrise of a new beginning 

“during the sunrise of a new beginning,” the man says resolutely

the tension releases from your shoulders 

“okay,” you opt to abandon your original mission. “let’s check on the safehouse”

the man offers you a hand to hike yourself up onto one of the outer walls of the palace before he jumps up himself with ease

you both flip over the top and land in unison

the moon illuminates the ground beneath your feet as you both sprint into the surrounding forest

the safehouse is really just a small hut situated far enough from the palace to stay inconspicuous, yet not close enough to the outer borders of the kingdom to risk discovery by the frequent border patrols

you both slow down as you approach the clearing, steadying your breaths and treading with cautious steps

and then you hear it

the shattering clang of a desperate parry

all it takes is a quick glance at the man by your side before your eyes harden with purpose and your steps are dashing in unison towards the hut

you’re both hit with the smell of a metallic tang in the air, and it’s not from your drawn swords

bursting through the door, you quickly take in the scene before you

several red sun members are scattered around the hut and slumped in varying degrees of injury

it’s easy to spot the intruder; they’re yanking their sword out of a body’s torso as they simultaneously turn to look at you

and it’s hard to miss the royal insignia of the jeong monarch on their chest plate

you have the element of surprise

but only for the next few seconds

you leap forward with the thud of footsteps of your partner following almost immediately, side-stepping once you close the distance to dodge a haphazard swing

there’s a brief break in defense when the enemy tries to aim for another strike that leaves the gap in the side of their armour exposed

you feel the slight resistance of your sword entering flesh as you thrust it forward into them

except when you try to tug it back out, a hand grasps your own and the hilt of your sword, stopping you from stepping away

the enemy has realised they are not going to make it out of this alive

but if they are to die, then they are going to take one last person with them

you.

you see glint of metal as they use their other hand to swing their sword down onto you, only for it to be deflected at the last second by another sword

the man you have met for barely an hour is now at your side with his towering protectiveness

in one smooth kick, his long leg sends the other careening into the wall of the hut with a mighty slam

you feel yourself jerking forward from the enemy’s grasp still on your hand

but the man next to you quickly tucks you into his side before you are also sent sprawling

“check on the others,” he briefly says, and then he is striding towards the fallen intruder

you only spare him another quick glance and then you rush to the nearest figure on the ground

you go around checking for pulses, and for those who are still breathing, the extent of their injuries

there are several casualties but nowhere near as many if you and the man had not come to check on the safehouse

which suddenly makes you pause in your tracks

how did he know about the attack in the first place?

you stretch your legs from their squatted position next to one of the red sun members and turn around to confront him

except…the man has disappeared

and so has the intruder’s body

days later, the question of whether you will chance upon the man again tonight flits through your mind when you find yourself perched in the very same spot on the tiled roof of the palace that gives you a clear view of the royal library

you have received another order to assassinate the crown prince as soon as you see the opportunity arise

this time, the note is accompanied by a cyanide capsule, a non-verbal message that this mission is to occur with your life on the line

you spot him

he’s preoccupied by the scroll in his hand as he makes his way through the shelves of parchments

you wait until he’s walked far enough into the library before you drop down from the roof, keeping your stance low to ensure you stay hidden as you silently move closer

you take out the jagged dagger from its sheath by your waist as you anticipate it will be too difficult to wield your long sword in the narrow aisles

and there the crown prince stands

he has his back to you, exposing him to your mercy

mercy that you have no intention of showing him

the cruel heir to the throne of an even crueler dictatorship deserves none

“it’s you again, isn’t it?”

you freeze

the crown prince still has not turned around to address you, but you can feel the dark gaze of his eyes on you as if he were looking at you

“you were here a few days ago”

fuck

how he knows you have no idea

what you do know though is that you have about two seconds to make a move before you lose this chance to assassinate him completely, and quite possibly, lose your life as well

the pill you have hidden in the breast of your tunic feels heavy

“you are part of red sun, are you not?”

this time the crown prince does turn around to face you, but it isn’t the nonchalance with which he reveals your identity that makes your head reel

it is the warmth and softness in his gaze and the hint of a smile on his face that does

what the actual fuck

you’re convinced that the crown prince is not only heinous, but also batshit crazy

“i am,” you spit out at him, “with orders to assassinate you, in fact”

his mouth thins into a tight line, “the orders you have received are false”

“sounds exactly like something a crown prince would say to avoid being assassinated,” you scoff

but then his next words change everything

“red is most beautiful during the sunrise of a new beginning”

before you have time to fathom the bomb that has just been dropped, your heads swivel simultaneously towards the entrance of the royal library when a voice calls out for the crown prince

“hide,” he hisses urgently

and then he’s stepping further away to conceal your presence as best as possible

you hear the shuffle of footsteps approaching before they stop, dangerously close to where you’re crouched behind a bookshelf

“apologies for interrupting your time, crown prince,” they say

from where you are you can see the crown prince’s expression clear as he lets out a small huff, “i have told you many times to just call me yunho”

“of course, crown prince yunho”

even though you can’t see the other person’s expression, you can hear the amusement in their voice

they continue, “i have the information you have requested for”

“thank you,” you see him - yunho - receive a small scroll. “the queen does not know?”

“no, i made sure to be as discreet as possible”

yunho thanks the other once again and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets when he bows his head in appreciation as he dismisses them

is this the same crown prince as the rumours?

and what is he doing behind his mother’s back?

you don’t realise you’ve been staring dumbly at him until he’s back in front of you with amusement on his face

he stands tall and proud, robes accentuating his stature and nobility

“who exactly are you,” you dare to ask

your voice is small - you feel small, crouched at his feet like a stark physical representation of the power he holds over you

but then he takes yet another step closer and kneels down so that your eyes meet at the same level

“i am the leader of red sun. the creator of the whole revolution”

your ankles actually do give out at that and you have to seat yourself on the floor

because how is any of this possible?

you must have voiced your thoughts out loud, because before you know it, yunho is crossing his legs and making himself comfortable on the floor right in front of you

it makes you feel so strange

the crown prince’s willingness to make himself an equal before you - and even to his staff from earlier

yunho starts to explain

a change in monarch, particularly one of such dictatorship, requires massive momentum and synergy; something he cannot produce alone nor without the support of the people

thus, red sun came into existence for the exact same reason you and all the other supporters have joined

in hopes of a sunrise one day that marks a new beginning

a new leadership

except recently he has had growing suspicious of the presence of a traitor within the organisation, which were confirmed the night the safehouse was attacked

“that night…that man was you,” you realise, “and that’s how you know who i am”

he nods, “and that’s also how i know your orders are false.” yunho nudges you playfully with his knee, “pretty sure i never ordered for my own assassination”

yunho continues to explain that he had taken the intruder back for interrogation, but then you frown when he reveals the enemy had swallowed a suicide pill before any information could be gained

he has an inkling that someone in a high position of power is involved, since the pills are almost impossible to gain access to, but it cannot be ruled out as a coincidence

“hang on,” you pull down the top of your tunic in a hurry

yunho scrambles to cover his eyes and turns his head as he jokingly sputters out, “woah okay, this is moving a little fast don’t you think?”

you tug impatiently on the sleeve of his robe, telling him to look

yunho hesitates for another second before lowering his hands and realising you have-

“a suicide pill?” 

you look at each other, because this can only mean one thing

the pills are not a coincidence; the enemy is much closer than yunho would like

you’re both unsure how much time there is until the traitor decides to order someone else to assassinate yunho, or worse, decides to finish the job off themselves

but from that very night of discovery, you and yunho work together incessantly against a ticking time bomb

it’s a delicate balance between finding as many leads as you can and spreading out your investigations to stay under the radar

yunho tries to look further into the cyanide pills while you try to uncover any information regarding the order you had been given

whoever is behind it all has kept their tracks hidden well

there isn’t much to report from either of your ends whenever you sneak into the palace to meet up with yunho

but he makes it very hard for you to feel discouraged when he makes your meetings seem like casual catch ups between - you dare say - friends

you have yet to catch him by surprise whenever you drop down from the roof in front of him in an attempt to scare him; he has an uncanny ability to sense your presence

except, you think you prefer being unsuccessful, because your indignant grumbles never fail to bring out his toothy grin and an excited body jiggle

other times he is the one trying to fluster you

“remember that time you literally tried undressing yourself in front of me-”

“i was taking the pill out to show you!” 

you bring your thumb and index finger closer together in front of your face and squint at the gap

“i am this close to changing my mind and assassinating you after all”

he gets a kick out of it, pretending to beg for your mercy, “oh please spare me, your majesty”

other times, yunho teases you for always keeping your cowl and mask on

“bet it’s because you’re ugly or something,” he jokes

and you bite back that he had his face covered too when you both met, so you’re one to talk, ugly

“but since then i’ve always shown you my face as the crown prince. you can see me nice and clear,” he suddenly leans forward, so close you can see the dip of his cupid’s brow. “what do you think about me now?”

you swallow hard

you’re glad you have your mask on because you can feel your face rapidly heating up

“i think…” you gently cup his jaw, “you look better with your mask on,” as you nudge his face to the side

you cannot help but join in with your own chuckles at his laughter and boyish glee

and eventually, you two have a breakthrough

yunho manages to trace the cyanide back to a traveling merchant operating under the guise of selling rare herbs and medicine

in the transaction ledger, there is an unusually large purchase under the name of ‘lee minjun’

“i’m sure i’ve seen the name before somewhere, but i can’t remember where,” yunho huffs

you let out your own huff at his elbow that has very naturally taken a rest on your shoulder

pulling out a stack of paper, you spread it out onto the table before you two

they are past records of certain red sun missions that, upon looking back, seem suspicious

“i noticed a mark on a couple of them, a drawing or character perhaps? except none of them are fully intact. it’s almost like the paper was accidentally marked”

you point them out to yunho in hopes that he will have a better idea

he doesn’t - not at first

not until he chances upon two that vaguely align with each other to form a clearer image

“this-” yunho runs his hand through his hair, “this is butler lee’s stamp. my father’s butler.”

the king’s butler?

lee?

your eyes snap to yunho’s, just as his meet yours

“lee minjun”

you sink back in your seat

there’s now definite proof that the king’s butler is at the very least involved

the question of why and what for remains

in fact, you and yunho would not put it past the queen either to be involved too

there is a long moment of shared silence as you both mull over what this means for the future

yunho breaks the silence first

“after this all ends…do you want to work for me, officially?” he clears his throat, “will you stay by my side?”

after this all ends

you two must still uncover butler lee’s motives; likely part of a much grander scheme involving queen jeong too

you two must still bring down the whole monarch; with the support of red sun, yunho needs to sit on his rightful throne

the sun has yet to rise but you can see the faint hues of orange and twilight blue in the horizon

the new beginning is close

and at that, something in you relaxes

crumbles and disintegrates with utter relief

“it would be my honour to stay by your side forever, yunho”

and then you are removing your hood and mask, daring to breathe and feel alive and hopeful for once

ironically, yunho chokes on air

you glance at him to find that he is unable to meet your eyes

you think your eyes are deceiving you because-

the tips of his ears are a glowing red

you could definitely get used to seeing the usually calm and collected crown prince become a shy, blushing mess

the corner of your mouth rises with smugness, “like what you see?”

“you should really keep your hood and mask on,” he mumbles

“and why is that?” you humour him

he finally looks at you

and when he sees the shit-eating grin plastered across your face, his shoulders suddenly fill out again with confidence and cockiness to match yours

“because,” his voice deep and flirtatious, “with a pretty face like that, you’re going to distract me from my duties”

yeosang

pov: you're in an arranged marriage with him

ever since you could understand the words coming out of your parents’ mouths, you have known that you will be married to yeosang

it just made sense

for the respective princess and prince of two powerful kingdoms to join together, leading to increased power and stronger allies

it is tradition for the pair to meet their chosen spouse for the first time only when both parties have turned sixteen, and even then, subsequent meetings are rare until the time of the actual wedding

so you spend the first sixteen years of your life infatuated with the idea of your prince charming - of prince yeosang - wondering what he looks like, what his personality is like, and how you two will fall in love

and when you finally reach that long-awaited first meeting, prince charming is everything and more than what you have envisioned

if angels with broken wings were exiled to earth, they would look like yeosang

he is soft-spoken and slightly reserved, as any awkward teenager meeting their future spouse would be, but you don’t miss the way that his eyes overflow with adoration and his shoulders shake with exuberant giggles whenever his little sister, yeoreum, comes tottering into the room

he always bends down onto one knee to match her eye level, uncaring of the stains that mark his pants even as his mother narrows her eyes in disdain, and he listens with utmost sincerity when yeoreum tells him about the secret pink and glittery fairy she spotted in the courtyard 

they remind you of the relationship you share with your own little brother, juwon, who is barely half your age and height, yet has you wrapped around his little finger

you lean down closer with a hum at the soft tug on your dress to hear your little brother whisper conspiratorially into your ear, “he looks stupid”

if looks could kill, yeosang would be dead right now

you stifle a laugh as you flick juwon’s chin affectionately at his sudden display of childish jealousy

if anything, you’re pretty sure you are the one who looks stupid

stupidly in love

because walking away from that first meeting with yeosang and his family, you know that you are absolutely smitten for the prince

unable to quell the restlessness of having to wait until the next unforeseeable meeting, you pick up a quill that very same day you return to your palace and start writing

it takes you all night, the gentle gleams and winks of the stars keeping you company until they rotate shifts with the songs of the waking world

but by the time you have crossed out and scrunched your way through rolls and rolls of parchment paper, you are satisfied with the letter you have written

the letter addressed to prince yeosang, which you task eunju, one of your maids, with passing it to the royal couriers for delivery to the kang palace

it is a simple letter, thanking him for the enjoyable day, yet it holds the deeper message that you are interested in him and would like to become better acquainted before your marriage

you wonder whether his cheeks will flush a pretty red as his butler hands him your letter

whether he will trace his fingers delicately over the curve of your words

whether he will bite back a smile as he pictures you saying the words to him

two weeks pass, and you approximate the letter to have just been delivered to his kingdom

and although you desperately wish for him to immediately sit down with a quill in hand to pen out his reply, you wait and give him a week before you eagerly start counting down the days until the arrival of his letter

your whole life you have been able to wait patiently

you wonder what has changed now that mere weeks feel like an eternity

the day yeosang’s letter is due to arrive, you are sporadic bursts of giggles, twirls and skips throughout the palace

even juwon is starting to become sick of getting swept up into a crushing hug to the cheery tune of i loveee youuuu every single time you pass him

nothing can bring you down from cloud nine

only…the letter never comes

not the day after, not the week after, not the month after

you’re disappointed, of course, but you busy yourself with reasons why yeosang has not replied, and you don’t give up

you send him another letter, and then another, and another

sometimes you just tell him about your day - what made you smile, what made you sad, something interesting you saw, something your little brother said

other times you tell him about yourself - your hobbies, likes and dislikes, aspirations, fears 

and you also wonder about him

you ask what he likes, what he smiles at, what makes him sad, what his dreams are

with each letter that you hand over to eunju to be delivered, it becomes harder and harder to stay optimistic - not even the words of encouragement from your favourite maid lifts your spirits

you continue like this for over a year, still yet to receive a reply 

until-

you do.

it feels like you are brought back to that very night of your first meeting, feeling so very alive as hope and excitement cascade into your body the moment eunju hands you a letter with a smile

with shaking hands, you fumble to unpeel the wax seal and free the envelope’s contents - a single piece of paper, neatly folded

your mind races with anticipated words and explanations

perhaps he had been too shy to reciprocate your letters earlier

or perhaps your letters had been lost in transit

you unfold the parchment as the hairs on your skin raise in anticipation, only to find it blank save for one scrawled sentence in the middle of the paper-

stop sending me letters.

and just like that, the clock strikes twelve

your carriage reverts into a pumpkin

and your carefully curated story of prince charming disintegrates into ashes

you don’t write to him again.

years later, the stacks of parchment scrolls on the wooden desk of the guest room you are currently residing in feel like a fresh slap in the face each time your eyes land on them

they are a stark reminder of your very own letters, the cold rejection you received, and the irony of the only letter you ever received again following his being one from the kang monarchs, announcing the proceeding of the royal wedding between you and their son

now, only a few days newly-wed to yeosang, the king and queen are gracious enough to let you sleep in one of the guest rooms temporarily, under your claims of adjusting to a life in a new kingdom and as a wife

really, you are trying to avoid yeosang for as long as you can

you spend your time instead getting to know his little sister better, which is why you find yourself sitting side by side with yeoreum, legs dangling off the edge of your bed

she eyes the vase of flowers on your bedside table curiously, “did you buy that?”

“no,” you reach out to touch the baby’s breath, “someone delivered it to my room”

you had offhandedly mentioned to some of your staff the other day that flowers would make your room look more homey, and you had woken up the morning after to find the beautiful vase teeming with flowers next to you

“why?” you ask yeoreum when she hums thoughtfully

“it looks just like the vase in my brother’s room, but he’s weird about it. yeo never lets anyone touch it, much less have it”

you blanch a little, “in that case i’ll give it back to him later then”

“you don’t like it? or…you don’t like my brother? my brother talks about you a lot, you know,” she reveals

caught off-guard by her perceptiveness, you reveal that you have been hurt before

you don’t specify by what exactly or who it is that you’re talking about, but she seems to understand regardless

later that night, sweet yeoreum barges into yeosang’s room and with as much feistiness as she can muster, she glares at her brother and interrogates, “what did you do to make her upset?”

before he can so much as blink, yeoreum concludes, “you boys are dumb. go talk to her and fix it or something,” and then walks out with a huff

there’s no one there to witness it, but yeosang nods anyway

heart feeling a little heavy after your conversation with yeoreum, you head towards the kitchen to seek solace in the sweet pastry you are usually served each morning

the first time you tasted the danish pastry, decorated with strawberries and cream cheese, was when you had traveled to yeosang’s palace at the age of sixteen for your first meeting

you remember the blissful expression that had bloomed across your face with your initial bite, and no dessert ever captivated your tastebuds quite the same way ever again

if there is one good thing out of this arranged marriage with yeosang, then it would be the reunion between yourself and the strawberry danish

“your highness,” the head chef bows, followed by the rest of the staff in the kitchen, “how may we help you?”

when you ask for one of the pastries, the head chef apologises that there are none

“but we can make you one now, if you do not mind waiting”

you tell him not to go to the trouble and ease his worries, “i just thought there may have been leftover pastries”

“we make only one fresh every morning, specifically for you,” the chef explains, and confusion must settle across your features because he adds on, “his highness has expressed that you may like them”

oh?

flustered, you can only muster a short response of, “i do, thank you,” before you smile once more and excuse yourself

because of all people to notice and remember such a small detail, and then to go out of their way to put in the request with the kitchen on the off chance that it was still true, it was yeosang? 

first the vase, and now this

you feel something deeply buried inside of you start to stir but you rush to nip it in the bud

your head and your heart are beginning to wage war against each other and suddenly everything feels like it’s too much

when you reach your bedroom, you throw open the double doors to step out onto the balcony, welcoming the chilling breeze of the darkening sky

you’re tired of fearing rejection if you open up

you’re tired of questioning yeosang’s intentions

and on top of it all, you suddenly miss home and you miss your parents and you miss juwon and-

“are you okay?”

yeosang’s soft question startles you, having missed his knocking at your door

he walks closer to join you out on the balcony when he sees that the answer is obviously a no, and he prompts you again, “what’s wrong?”

thoughts of vases and strawberry pastries flit across your mind

you start with half truths

“just missing my little brother”

“you love him a lot, don’t you,” yeosang smiles sweetly, “i can see it in the way you take care of yeoreum”

you can’t help the heat that slowly creeps up the back of your neck and to your ears, because it implies that he’s noticed all the times you’ve showered his little sister with the same love you give to juwon

it implies he’s noticed you

“what’s your fondest memory of juwon?” he asks when you nod

something within you thaws slightly at the fact that yeosang remembers your little brother’s name

you step closer to the edge of the balcony so that you can overlook the garden outside your room a little clearer, resting your hand on the railing as yeosang waits patiently

“we used to have this game we played. we had a lot of gardenia flowers growing around our courtyard and juwon loved cutting some to make me a mini bouquet,” you pause to shake your head with a chuckle, “it drove our mother nuts”

“doesn’t sound like it stopped him from continuing though, did it?” yeosang questions with mirth

“no, it didn’t,” your heart aches with fondness. “he would use a certain number of gardenias and make me guess what phrase containing the same number of letters he had in mind” 

it never failed to tug your mouth into a smile whenever juwon giggled at your attempts to guess the flower phrase, even when most times he would bound away whilst singing answers like y-o-u s-t-i-n-k or d-u-m-b d-u-m-b

yeosang supports himself on the railing with one hand as he nearly folds in on himself in laughter, and before you know it, you too are gasping for air and wiping away tears from your eyes

when you both calm down relatively enough, only intermittent chuckles leaving your lips, yeosang clears his throat and scratches his neck awkwardly

“i know it might not be much, but maybe we can go out into town tomorrow and it might take your mind off things? and we can bring yeoreum along if that makes you feel more comfortable, because you’ve probably spent more time alone with her than you have with me?”

you don’t admit it, but you’re already feeling a little better, so you decide to tease, “are you asking me out on a date right now, kang yeosang?”

“oh, well, we’d be doing things a little backwards since we’re already like, married…but, yes? maybe? is that okay?”

it’s yeosang’s turn to flush a deep red as his usually composed demeanor is reduced to stutters, but you don’t notice under the faint glow cast by the moon now reigning the sky

“yeah, that’s okay”

you and yeosang smile fondly as your little trio stroll through a nearby town the following morning, his younger sister skipping ahead to peer at the colourful trinkets being sold at the market stalls, and your own small squad of royal soldiers following behind at a respectful distance

it’s kind of endearing how yeosang points out item after item, asking whether you like it or whether you find it pretty, in a not-so-subtle attempt to learn about your preferences

you have to stop him from buying you something from every second stall you both pass, but you’re unable to convince him from purchasing a small wooden toy as a gift for juwon, insisting that you give it to your little brother the next time you see him

the more you actually interact and talk with yeosang, the harder you find it to associate him with the memory of the yeosang in your rejected letters

because the equation of the letters, the vase and the pastries just does not add up

as you two sit under the awning of a small shop, watching yeoreum play with the shopkeeper’s dog, you find yourself unable to hold back anymore

“why didn’t you reply to my letters?” you break the silence, trying to hide the hurt laced in your voice

yeosang looks at you with wide eyes as his mouth stutters open

and in the smallest voice you have ever heard him speak with, he says

“you wrote me letters?”

your eyebrows knit together as your eyes dart back and forth between his, searching for any hint of deception

“too many to count,” you confess, “until you sent a letter telling me to stop…”

“impossible. i never got your letters” 

your head recoils back as you try to make sense of his words, “but-”

“wait,” he interrupts

yeosang reaches into his robes, pulling out a small, wooden block, extending it out closer to you as he asks, “do you recognise this?”

upon closer inspection, you realise it’s a square seal stamp

it has the character ‘姜’ carved into it and you’ve seen it enough times to know it represents the kang family name - but the inscription that stylises the border is unfamiliar

“not the seal, no”

he swallows apprehensively, “i stamp all my letters with this to certify authenticity”

you let his words sink in as they throw you into a sandstorm of bewilderment

“but then-”

but then who wrote the letter?

and where did all your letters go?

the only people who would have known about them would be the royal couriers and…eunju

a memory flashes through your mind - the moment she handed you a letter with a smile

no, not a smile, you realise

a smirk

you are simultaneously overwhelmed with betrayal, guilt and apologeticness

yeosang doesn’t push you for a response, and you come to recognise that you are also grateful

“i’m sorry for doubting you,” you tell him

it’s nowhere close to the amount of things you want to confess, but it is a start, one that yeosang picks up on and understands immediately

“no, i’m sorry you felt the need to doubt me,” he offers. “that i didn’t make you feel loved enough”

“but i did, actually. the vase and the pastries, then our conversation last night…and even today”

he blushes a deep red as you list the things off with your fingers

“you weren’t meant to find out about the first two,” yeosang admits as he ducks his head shyly

then he suddenly perks up with a sudden thought

he ruffles inside his satchel that had been abandoned to one side, mumbling, “my sister said i did something to upset you…so i um, got you these” 

he turns around to reveal a bouquet of flowers, looking a little rough for wear after being hidden in his bag all morning, but his clumsy consideration only serves to makes your heart skip dangerously

“forgive me?” he asks cheekily, and you both giggle at the absurdity of his question because it should very well be the other way around

“if you insist,” you take the bouquet into your hands

and finally, you allow the chains around your heart to fall away, “i can’t say no to my husband, can i?”

yeosang lets out a little squeak as you look at the bouquet more clearly, counting the number of flowers

you turn to ask if he remembers the game you told him about, but the way yeosang suddenly finds the patch of dirt near his foot absolutely fascinating tells you everything that you need to know

eight flowers

eight letters

i l-o-v-e y-o-u

[deargaz]

mini poly!141 x reader at the end.

you were set to marry kyle — the prince and to-be-king from the neighboring kingdom. it was a usual pact to strengthen the relations between the kingdom you belonged to and his, and you couldn’t help but resent both your father and your future husband. more so your father, so desperate and pleading in front of a man ‘superior’ than him. you just loathed such relations, but again, anything for a better future in your old kingdom, right?

kyle’s surprisingly calm, gentle even. you are glad that he doesn’t force you into anything on the night of your wedding. he could read the anxiety etched on your face as if you were some open book, and being vulnerable around him did nothing but heighten your nerves.

you stick mostly to yourself, spending time in the palace’s library or the gardens. he’s perfectly content from watching you from afar, though that is obviously naught but a lie. all he does is dream of holding you in his arms and kissing all of your worries away.

unbeknownst to you, it’s not only your husband who’s got his eyes on you. his most trusted knights share similar feelings – the one with the mohawk is first to indulge – attempting to impress you with flowers he’d pick from the garden alongside poorly crafted attempts at flirting. kyle loves spending his time conversing with his trusted knights, his close friends really, about you.

it was only a matter of time he’d start losing his patience and drag you into his bedroom, maybe even invite one or two in occasionally once you were comfortable. his knights deserve the best too, after all.

[theroyalyandere]

request: So what I am thinking about is Yandere prince× reader who is tge daughter of a merchant and his childhood bestie. They have a 5 year gap and when she turned 20,she was getting engaged. So he level ups lol. Its ok if you wanna write it in headcanon style or fiction style I just want to read a royal au (I am a sucker for it.) Can I please ask it to be a little longer your emperor one was really good so it being small had really made me thirsty 🤒 and can you make it 18+ I mean yk 👀, obviously if you are comfortable. Thanks for reading all of my ramblings.

thank you for the request! :D

yandere!prince x merchant's daughter!reader (smutty 18+)

your father is a wealthy merchant close to the king and it makes sense that when you were born, you were presented at the court by the royal family's presence.

when yandere!prince first saw you he adored how a lovely baby you were and was eager to hold you. he treated you like a baby sister due to him being an only child.

you spent your childhood being at the palace mostly by the young prince's side with how compatible the both of you are.

even as a child he's very possessive of you, he does not want any children being at your proximity or anyone getting your attention away from him.

being the prince he is, you always follow his orders and in return spoiled by him.

a few years later, his platonic affections turned into romantic ones as he saw you blossom into a fine young woman.

he grew into a great prince while you were known to be the gentle and sweet girl always be his side.

he was 25 and you were 20.

he started to treat you like a lover would and it baffles you.

you tried to turn him down but he became even more affectionate when you ignore him.

you can't deny how handsome and charming he is that is making you grow flustered every minute you spend time with him.

he's known to being a gentleman when it comes to treating ladies with respect mostly showing them to you.

he's similar to how a dragon would hoard his treasure.

you're his happiness and he wouldn't want anyone or anything to take you away from him.

he treated you so well he doesn't even look at the other girls that were offered to him.

he isolates you from everyone else to the point his parents and your parents became concerned with the way he always hover around you.

when he found out your father engaged you to another noble he was angry.

you are his to claim and his to love and because of that he made a plan.

first he took you out like usual and then to the garden where you confided about your betrothal.

he feels his irritation rising with every word coming out of your mouth.

you told him that you heard some of the other girls how they got their virginity taken

which sparked your curiosity and made him grow even more hopeful on making his plan into action.

so he offered to teach you how to kiss and please a man.

you were quite reluctant but you were determined to be experienced so you agreed.

his first lesson was kissing.

at that moment he took your first kiss at the garden, he was extremely handsome and although you thought of him as an older brother with him being the only boy you spend your time with.

your kisses were clumsy but he taught you how to move you lips and tongue in accordance with his.

his kisses slowly became passionate and you have to stop him before your heart flies out of your chest.

you pull away from him breathlessly.

he chuckles at how you already look like a mess but you couldn't deny how it made you want for more.

so you pulled him close and told him to shut up and continue.

he smirks before diving back into kissing your soft lips.

he became even hungry and he also wanted more.

you couldn't forget the moment how he took you to his chambers where he undressed you and caressed your skin.

the way he gropes your body like he owns you.

he sucks deep harsh marks all over your skin and his hands roaming to appreciate your beauty. his sole focus was on you.

you whine at the marks he leaves your skin but he insists that its part of love making.

he looked at you with lust and passion behind his eyes his lips wet from the passionate kiss you both had shared.

he lovingly laid you down on his bed and took down his clothes revealing his glorious body.

he looked down at you as if you're the only treasure and the most beautiful thing on the world.

his intensity made you shy away making you hide your face into the sheets while you weakly slam your hand onto his chest.

he chuckles and he only kisses your cheek sweetly making you even more flustered so you told him to hurry up.

"my my~ so impatient."

he prepares you by spreading your pussy with his mouth and fingers, eating you out like a dessert.

you can't help but arch your body as he coaxes sounds out of you.

your body is only his to control and pleasure and you love every moment of it.

when you came on his tongue and came back up with him licking your wetness from his fingers.

you clench your thighs at the sight and this goes noticed by him.

"ready my dear?"

you nod and he slowly pushes into your wet untainted cavern.

the prince claimed you as his the moment his hard cock penetrated your wet pussy.

the moment he entered you he went feral at the feeling of your pussy enveloping his member.

he takes it slow until the pain subsides and the completely destroys you.

"fuck~ you take me so well my darling~"

he keeps pounding into you that you almost couldn't breathe.

your beloved prince doesn't dare to leave your pussy with the way it's clamping down on his cock.

he keeps fucking you until you orgasm intensely and he spills his hot load into your womb.

you immediately fall asleep after but he pulls out to watch cum leak out of your cunt.

he kisses your forehead whispering you did well and cleaned you up before cuddling you.

after that he was determined to cut off your engagement so he studied hard to the point of neglecting you but he apologized by sending gifts to your way.

with his harsh presence gone you saw how people gravitate to you and you became popular for who you are.

but you also noticed how some of the closest ones to you disappeared

you also met your future fiancé but in the back of your mind was your beloved prince.

time passes, days before your wedding the king suddenly fell dead and the prince was immediately coronated as king.

you watch him look at you within the crowd as he was hailed as the new king of the kingdom.

at the day of your wedding he was invited as an honored guest.

he watched your every movement and you felt his eyes staring holes at you.

he smiled for your sake but on the inside his anger is bubbling up especially the way your fiance now husband kissed you. he clenched his fist and clapped along everyone else, oblivious to the plan he was brewing.

at the reception, everyone was happy until your husband suddenly falls dead infront of you causing chaos.

the feast then became a funeral with the prince consoling you.

the next day, he offered to engage you to him infront of everyone even your parents.

your answer shall determine your fate.

A/n: the ending is kinda meh but I hope you like this!

[jezebelblues]

forsaken | h.s

summary: florence 1583. a woman of fire, a man of fuel.

cw: smut18+ penetration (piv), oral fem!receiving, parent death, fem!reader, unedited. unrealistic happy ending if u seek tragedy 😔

world count: approx 17.2k

| omg will be writing more on these 2, renaissancerry is my heart <3 not rlly thinking a series, more like extras on them fosho. ps: am not a historian or time traveler–if u see something incorrect no u didn’t

Florence, 1583

Harry Edward Styles was born to a mother, an older sister, and two fathers—one of blood, one of choice.

The man that bore his blood to the two Styles children preferred the sound of the way glasses of ale would clink in warm evenings, the twinkle of gold coins in the sunlight. Children were the continuation of a name, a bloodline—and that’s all he thought them to be. The only fathering a man was made to do was the ritual of burying their seed in a woman, her duty was to grow them.

So, after a son with his same eyes drew his first breath, he rose a dagger and marked his heel with one singular, vertical dash.

He had done the same when his sister was brought into this world, but he marked her with a horizontal dash.

Their mother, Anne, didn’t understand why—and hated it with every fiber in her being—watching her newborns cry for any other reason then being pulled from the comfort of their mother’s womb.

Once their father left after Harry’s first week on earth, she understood why, his words messily printed with ink on parchment.

Dearest Anne,

Thank you for bringing my own flesh and blood into this world. You are a woman I entrust most with them, having been chosen by God to bear such souls.

Which is why I must leave. A man has more to do with his time on this Earth than to nurture, I shall pour my being into others and bring forth more Brothers and Sisters for sweet Gemma and Harry.

My blood with course through this nation and find itself basking within the kingdom of heaven. I’ve marked my children to find them when God finally calls us forth.

Your womb is a gift from the angels above.

Until then,

– Desmond.

For a while, she mourned the loss of her lover and children’s father. But as time continued, as it always does, she realized that she had dodged the fatal strike of a sword.

She was unsure of the crimes committed by the hands of their father, but she remembers hearing the news of him being hung in the southernmost village of their country.

On Harry’s second birthday, she had fallen in love with a woodmaker, Robin. Shortly after, they moved to Wiltshire and Robin was always known as their papa.

Of course, Harry and Gemma had learnt their true parentage before the dawn of Gemma’s thirteenth birthday, but it was hard to mourn a man you had never known.

Anne would have never told them he was hung in a town’s square, but ascended to heaven of natural causes—the inevitable kiss of an angel.

The scent of turpentine and drying oils had long become as familiar to Harry as the earth beneath his feet. In the cool stillness of his studio, he paused, fingers stained with ochres and umbers, to stare at the remnants of his father’s brush—the one he had used all those years ago, before the fever came.

Harry’s father had been no renowned artist. He was a man of simple trades, a woodworker from the hills of Wiltshire, far from the splendor of Florence’s sunlit domes. But in the evenings, when the day’s labors were done, his father would sit by the window, painting quietly by candlelight. It was there, beside him, that Harry had first seen the magic of creation—colors flowing like rivers across rough wood and fraying canvas, ordinary scenes transformed by the wild, unspoken emotion in every stroke.

His father had painted not for fame, but for peace.

Harry had only been fourteen when his father’s hands, once steady and sure, began to tremble with sickness. His chest had grown tight, his breaths shallow, until finally they stopped altogether. He remembers the way the pads of his fingertips would prune from bringing a water soaked rag to his lips, how his father would drink from the drops of it.

For a while, he hated the color red and grey. His father’s lips would crack with peaks of crimson, leaving faint stains of red on the water rag in its wake. His skin greyed in a speed he didn’t think possible once his heart fell absent of a beat.

In the days that followed, the house had filled with the clamor of neighbors, mourners, and merchants, but Harry could only hear the quiet absence in the stillness.

In the flickering silence, he had picked up his father’s brush.

The years after his father’s death were a blur of movement, as though he had been running from some unseen ghost. He had wandered south, across valleys and mountains, always chasing the sun. By the time he arrived in Florence, he was a man of twenty three and had little more than the clothes on his back and a single paintbrush to his name.

Florence had embraced him like a reluctant lover. The city’s streets were gilded with Renaissance splendor, yet heavy with the weight of expectation. It was a place of grandeur and art, where even beauty was a form of currency—where the Medici and other noble families wore their wealth as a crown and commissioned artists to immortalize their names in frescoes and portraits.

Harry’s talent had bloomed in these streets, but it had come at a price. Every stroke of his brush, every commission, felt like an unspoken promise to a father who would never see what his son had become. The bright colors of his palette were often mixed with the shadow of his grief, and though his name was now whispered in the gilded halls of Florence’s elite, Harry felt as though he were forever painting in the twilight between joy and sorrow.

Sometimes his mind would wonder to the possibility of if he was an angel banished by God, his punishment being to bear the pain of not having lost one, but two fathers.

Three if he counted the absence of Jesus in his life. He felt fatherless, in all senses of the word.

Or maybe it was all well circulated fairytale, conjured in the thoughts of his father’s, the one he shared blood with, brain.

He had grown to resent the mark on his foot, and in the depths of his heart he would refer it as the the kiss of the devil, rather than the mark of God.

He would blame his struggle with faith on his fathers, the three men who sat behind the title.

Desmond, for abandoning his family.

Robin, who loved him like a son and died in front of his eyes.

And Jesus, who had ignored his prayers for his papa to stay and to take him instead.

But it was the pain, the deep and gnawing ache within him, that had given his art its soul. His patrons spoke in reverence of his ability to capture more than a face—how he painted the delicate tremor of a moment, a fleeting look, a breath before the breaking. His works were praised as vibrant, yes, but they also carried something deeper, something tragic. A hidden sadness, like the ghost of a love lost too soon.

In his heart, he knew: he painted because the world was filled with such unrelenting beauty, and that beauty was fleeting. To capture it was to hold on, however briefly, to something that could not last.

One afternoon, as golden light filtered through the shutters, a letter arrived. The wax seal bore the mark of a powerful house—the Candela family. A commission for their daughter’s portrait. A noble request, one that might cement his place among Florence’s greatest. But it was not the promise of riches or recognition that made Harry’s heart stir with something close to fear. It was the girl herself, the rebellious daughter who, rumor had it, could not be tamed by family or duty.

As Harry read the letter, his thoughts drifted back to the girl he had once seen in the Candela gardens. Her eyes had been bright, but wild. Free. In that moment, he knew what she was—a living echo of the spirit he had long tried to capture in his art: untamable, elusive, yet heartbreakingly beautiful.

It was a portrait that might change everything. Or destroy him.

He set the letter down and turned back to the canvas, but his hands trembled once more, just as his father’s had in those final days. A reminder of mortality. A reminder that every brushstroke was borrowed time.

But still, he would paint.

*

The heavy velvet curtains of the Candela palazzo had long felt like a prison to her. Born into one of Florence’s oldest and wealthiest families, Y/N had spent her life in the shadow of their legacy—one that was both gilded with fortune and bound by duty. From the moment she took her first breath, her future had been decided for her. Her days were filled with lessons in etiquette, music, embroidery, and diplomacy, while her nights were a symphony of forced pleasantries at banquets and balls, always under the watchful eyes of her mother and the judgment of the city’s elite.

But from a young age, Y/N knew she was not made for such a life. Beneath the layers of silks and jewels, beneath the carefully orchestrated smiles and curtsies, there was a fire burning in her—one that she had learned to hide from everyone around her, for fear it would consume her entirely.

Her earliest memories were not of the marble halls of the palazzo, but of the gardens beyond its walls, the wild olive groves that stretched out toward the hills. It was there, in the quiet spaces between her responsibilities, that she found her freedom. She had spent her childhood escaping into the fields, where the wind would tear through her hair and her laughter would echo through the trees, free from the rules that shackled her in the world of men.

Her father, the head of the family, was a cold and distant man, more concerned with his political alliances than with his children. He rarely spoke to her except to remind her of her place—her duty to the family, her obligation to marry into another powerful house and secure the Candela legacy. Y/N’s mother was no different, though her scoldings came wrapped in sweet, deceptive smiles. She had been raised to be an ornament, a living testament to her family’s wealth and power, and Y/N was expected to do the same.

But she refused to be molded by their expectations.

She had always been different from the other girls of her station. Where they dreamed of betrothals and courtly love, she dreamed of escape. She would slip out of the palazzo at night, dressed in the simple clothes of a servant, and wander the streets of Florence, blending into the crowd, invisible for the first time in her life. In the dim glow of lanterns, she would listen to the street musicians, watch the painters in the piazza, and breathe in the freedom that was denied to her by daylight.

By the time she reached womanhood, her spirit had only grown wilder. Her parents, exasperated by her refusal to marry the suitors they paraded before her, tightened their grip on her life. But the more they tried to contain her, the more fiercely she fought to break free. She began to push the boundaries of what was expected of a noblewoman—her wit was too sharp, her temper too bold, her opinions too dangerous. Whispers spread through the Florentine courts, branding her rebellious, unfit for the delicate role of a noble wife.

It was not that Y/N wanted to be unwed. She simply refused to give her life to a man who would cage her like a bird. She longed for something more than what Florence could offer her, more than a life of duty and appearance. There were moments—fleeting though they were—when she felt she could see the world as it truly was, raw and beautiful, and she wanted to live in that truth, not the carefully constructed illusion of noble society.

That was when her mother decided it was time to have her portrait painted, a desperate attempt to remind the world of her beauty, her value. It was, of course, more for show than for art—another piece in the game of noble alliances, another way to lure in potential suitors. But Y/N saw it for what it was: a final effort to tame her.

And that was when she had first heard his name—Harry, the painter from the north.

Her mother spoke of him with the same dismissive tone she used for all the artisans they employed, but there was something about this Harry that intrigued her. He was not born of noble blood, and yet his name carried weight in the circles that mattered. The Medici spoke of him with admiration, and even the Pope had once commissioned his work. His paintings, it was said, had a rare quality—they revealed not just the outward beauty of a subject, but the soul beneath.

Y/N had seen one of his works in the home of a distant cousin, a portrait of a young woman who had died tragically young. The face had been serene, the colors soft and gentle, but the eyes—the eyes had told a story of longing and loss that no courtly painter would dare to capture. It had haunted her ever since.

For days, she tried to convince herself it was just another scheme of her parents—another attempt to make her fit the mold she had spent her life breaking. Yet, she could not deny the flicker of curiosity that sparked within her. What would this man see in her? Would he, too, try to make her into something she was not? Or would he paint the fire she had spent her whole life hiding?

The day her mother informed her of the first sitting, Y/N had felt the familiar weight of resignation settle over her. She would sit for this portrait because she had no choice. She would smile, she would pose, and in the end, her mother would hang the portrait in some grand hall for every eligible bachelor to admire. It was all part of the game they had been playing for years.

But when the day came, and she finally entered the makeshift studio lended to Harry for the length of his time here, she felt a shift in the air, as though the fates had turned their gaze upon her.

Harry was not what she expected. He was younger, rougher around the edges than the other artists her family had employed. His dark curls were wild, and there was a certain sadness in his eyes, something she recognized all too well. He was no stranger to loss, that much was clear. His eyes were a vibrant green she had not seen before, unless she counted the gardens that sat in a rainy haze. Perhaps he was a painting himself. And he, too, seemed out of place in the glittering world of Florence’s elite. It was as though he was merely passing through, as though he belonged somewhere quieter, more distant.

Draped in heavy silks, with eyes as sharp as a hawk and a posture that suggested defiance rather than decorum, the daughter of the noble Candela family was unlike any of his previous subjects. Her name was Y/N, and she exuded an air of mischief that the delicate ladies of Florence rarely allowed themselves to entertain.

He did not greet her with flowery pleasantries, as other painters had. Instead, he regarded her quietly for a moment, his eyes flickering over her face—not in judgment, but as if he were searching for something hidden beneath the surface.

“You’re the one they cannot tame.” He said at last, his voice low, almost amused. His accent confirmed he did not have deep roots in Italy, it sounded more of the English suitors her mother would introduce.

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. And somehow, in that moment, Y/N knew that he had already seen more of her than her family ever had.

She smirked, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “That depends on what you believe needs taming.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a half-smile, and for the first time in years, Y/N felt as though she could breathe just from the few seconds in his presence.

Her eyes gaze around the studio as she waltzes further in, her lips in a closed smile. Her skin held the glow of the sun beautifully, hair bouncing with the scent of lavender. Her fingers feather across a few empty canvasses he has on stilts, messes of paint and brushes scattered onto a table. “They say Hephaestus molded your flesh and bones before sending you to Earth.” She eased, a smile still on her reddened lips. Her steps clicked closer to where Harry stood, eyes still drawn out the windows surrounded by nature. “I heard Aphrodite herself kissed your wrist, frame still soft with clay.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, though her tone soft, there was anything but sincere admiration laced in her words. “I assure you that there’s no markings of her kiss pressed unto me—m’just a man with a brush.”

She hummed, rounding the stilt between them and watching the sunlight glimmer in his eye as the sun would in the waves. There was no denying the shift in the air between them, an unspoken understanding that went beyond the typical dance of polite conversation. In this studio, amidst the scent of oils and pigment, they were stripped of the titles and roles society had thrust upon them.

“A man with a brush.” She repeated softly, almost to herself. She reached out, her fingers grazing the surface of one of the unfinished canvases. The texture of it was rough, still raw with potential, much like her own life—full of promise, but still undefined. “I wonder,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, “what you see when you look at me.”

Harry’s hands, stained with the colors of his art, stilled for a moment. He had painted many faces, each one a portrait of both beauty and sorrow, but this woman—this subject—was different. There was something about Y/N that made him hesitate. She was not like the others who sat for him with plastered smiles, eager to be frozen in time, their beauty immortalized for the world to see.

No, Y/N did not want to be captured in that way. She wanted something more, something truer. Her spirit was restless, untamed, and her gaze held a challenge, as though daring him to see beyond the layers of silks and expectations. To see the woman beneath.

Slowly, Harry moved closer to her, the distance between them shrinking. He studied her face, not with the detached gaze of an artist trying to perfect his subject’s likeness, but with a quiet intensity that sent a ripple through the stillness of the room. His voice, when it came, was low and deliberate.

“I see a woman who was never meant t’be caged.” He mumbled. “I see fire and wind—a calm in an eye of a storm that would bring no ruin; something wild, something the world doesn’t understand.”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly at his words. It was as if, in a single moment, he had unraveled all the masks she had carefully worn her entire life. The world she had known, the roles she had played, felt fragile and false in the face of this raw truth.

“And yet,” Harry continued, his voice dipping lower, “they try to fit you into a frame, don’t they? As if y’could ever be captured.”

For the first time in what felt like years, Y/N let herself be vulnerable. She turned away from the canvases, facing him fully, the light catching the strands of her hair like molten gold. Her eyes met his, no longer guarded, no longer deflecting.

“I don’t belong in that frame.” She whispered, the words slipping past her lips like a confession. “But they’ve been trying to fit me into one for as long as I can remember.”

Harry nodded, his gaze never wavering from hers. “I know.” He said simply. “I’ve spent my life painting what people want to see. But you–”

He trailed off, as though the thought itself was too bold, too dangerous to speak aloud.

“Me?” she pressed, her heart beginning to race in her chest. She stepped closer, drawn to him in a way that felt both terrifying and inevitable.

“With you,” Harry continued, his voice a hushed murmur, “I want t’paint what the world can’t see.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them was palpable, charged with the weight of unspoken desires, and the world outside the studio seemed to fade away. In that small, sunlit room, there were no titles, no expectations, only two souls who had somehow found one another in a world that had tried to break them.

Y/N’s hand hovered near Harry’s arm, and then, slowly, as if testing the waters of some forbidden sea, she let her fingers brush against his. The contact was light, fleeting, but it sent a shockwave through both of them.

“I want that too,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the vulnerability of the admission.

Harry swallowed, the pulse of his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. He had never felt this way about a subject before, had never let himself blur the lines between artist and muse. But with Y/N, those lines had already been crossed the moment she had walked into his studio.

They stood there for a moment longer, hands barely touching, eyes locked in a silent conversation. And then, as if by unspoken agreement, they both pulled back—just enough to remind themselves of the roles they were meant to play, even as those roles were beginning to crumble.

Harry stepped away first, turning back to his easel, his voice steady as he spoke. “We’ll begin the portrait today. But I won’t paint what they expect.” He nodded toward her, “A caged dove to be set free.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a soft smile, her heart still pounding in her chest. She knew, in that moment, that whatever Harry painted, it would be the truest version of herself she had ever seen. And it would bind them together in ways neither of them could yet understand.

“This will displease them.” She smiled, pausing her words. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Her voice carried the weight of a promise, though she wasn’t sure who it was meant for—him, or herself.

Without another word, he jutted his chin toward the chair in the center of the room. “Sit.” He instructed, his tone soft but firm.

She followed his gesture, looking toward the seat and ambling toward it silently. She sat, keeping her spine stiff—something that was embedded into her through her training over the years. His eyes narrowed onto her face, cataloging each curve, line, and hint of emotion that sat in her eyes.

Their sittings became a ritual over the last month—an escape from the suffocating demands of her family, from the world that sought to control her. Each time she stepped into his studio, it was as though she left the weight of her name behind, shedding it like a heavy cloak. Here, she was not the Candela daughter, not the rebellious heiress trapped by duty. She was simply Y/N, a woman with dreams and desires that no one had ever cared to ask about.

Harry painted in near silence, his brush moving with a precision that bordered on reverence. But as the days passed, the silences grew warmer, more comfortable, and slowly, they began to talk. He spoke of his father, of the quiet life in England he had left behind, and of how he had found himself in Florence, painting for men who would never understand the depth of what he was trying to capture.

And she, for the first time, spoke of her own longing. Not for marriage or jewels, but for freedom. For the wildness of the world outside the palazzo gates. She told him of the nights she wandered the streets alone, the moments when she felt most alive, when the weight of her name fell away and she became just another face in the crowd.

With every word, with every glance, they both knew they were crossing a line—one that could never be uncrossed. Their relationship was not one of artist and subject. It was something deeper, more dangerous. And Florence, with all its grandeur, was not kind to those who broke its rules.

As Harry’s brush moved over the canvas, he realized he was no longer painting just a portrait. He was capturing the essence of a woman who had lived her entire life behind a mask, forced into roles she never wanted to play. With each stroke, he revealed her fire, her vulnerability, her defiance.

And Y/N, who had spent her life being told what she should be, saw herself reflected in his eyes—not as the noble daughter, not as the prize her family sought to offer to the highest bidder, but as she truly was.

In those stolen moments, as the sunlight filtered through the shutters and the world outside seemed to fall away, they became something Florence would never understand. They were freedom itself—dangerous, fleeting, and unbearably beautiful.

Y/N’s portrait only neared its finish as time continued to pass. They would always meet three times a week for about an hour or two. She would never say it out loud, but it began to become a favorite part of her weeks—meeting Harry. His soul was anything unlike she’s ever known, and all she wanted to do was linger.

They sat outside the cobblestone studio, lying upon a blanket adorned with fresh vegetables, cheeses and meats. Her mother and Father had been out for the day, and she thought it’d be a perfect opportunity to see Harry as he is, rather than the painter.

He spoke of his travels as he would eagerly show her he could catch the bites of cheese he would throw into his mouth—and he would order her to rank each catch one through ten.

Harry lied back, weight on his elbow as his curls tousled perfectly in the warm breeze. Y/N lied on her belly, kicking her feet in the air behind her as she lie her head on her folded arms.

The afternoon sun peaked from the trees above them, catching the light in her eyes perfectly. Harry always found her to be beautiful, but at this moment she looked ethereal.

He tossed another piece of cheese into the air, leaning his head back and catching it deftly with his mouth, smiling proudly as he chewed. “Well?” He asked, his voice teasing. “What say you? Surely that was a ten.”

Y/N laughed, the sound as bright as the sun and as sweet as the strawberry he head earlier. “A six, perhaps.” She grinned, voice lilting with playful challenge. “Surely you could do better.”

His smirk widened, and he threw another piece of cheese, catching it again with exaggerated flourish. “A six indeed.” He mumbled, feigning offense. “I think you’re quite mistaken, my lady.”

She bit her lip to suppress another laugh, shaking her head against her forearms. “Perhaps your talents lie elsewhere.” She mused, her voice dripping to a soft, flirtatious murmur as she gazed at him through her lashes. “Catching cheese seems beneath you.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something else in them too—something she hadn’t seem from him yet, something that sent a shiver down her spine. "And what talents might you suggest, then?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, though the undertone was laden with meaning.

Y/N's breath caught for a moment, her heart fluttering in her chest as the playful banter between them took on a new edge. Her gaze lingered on his lips before she tore it away, focusing on the light streaming through the leaves above them. "I think you know the answer to that.” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the world seemed to still around them. The laughter and lightness faded, replaced by the palpable tension that had been simmering between them for weeks. It hung in the air now, thick and undeniable. Harry shifted beside her, his playful grin fading into something more serious as he watched her carefully, as though waiting for her to give him permission to step closer to that edge.

He wanted to toss away the platter that lay between them, to grab her waist and flip her onto her back and show her the talents he possessed. It made his heart go into a sputtered mess, to cloud his gaze with need. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she was in that moment.

“Did you hear me?”

Harry blinked, shaking his head before letting a sheepish smile spread across his lips. “No. I suppose not.”

“Have you ever thought of leaving Florence, H? Of leaving all of this behind?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, the question pulling him from whatever unspoken thought had been lingering on his lips. He exhaled softly, rolling onto his back and staring up at the sky. "I've thought of it," he admitted after a moment, his voice quieter now, thoughtful. "But Florence has become something of a home. Even if it binds me, l've learned t’live within those bounds."

Y/N frowned, her heart tightening at his words.

"But don't you wish for more? Don't you long for freedom?"

He turned his head to look at her, and in his eyes, she saw a reflection of her own yearning, the quiet desperation that they had both been trying to ignore. "Of course I do," he murmured. "But freedom is not something easily won. Especially not for people like us."

She swallowed, the weight of his words settling over her like a shroud. She had always believed that Harry, in some way, was freer than she could ever be—an artist, a man without title or the crushing expectations of nobility. But now, she saw the truth. He was as trapped as she was, bound by the invisible chains of his station, his livelihood tied to the whims of men like her father, men who would never derstand the depths of what he truly wanted create.

"And you?" he asked, his voice soft but filled with quiet intensity. "If you could go anywhere, if you could leave all this behind, where would you go?"

She hesitated, the question stirring something deep within her, a longing she had never dared to voice. "Anywhere," she whispered, her gaze distant. "Anywhere but here. I want to see the world, to lose myself in it. I want to go where no one knows my name, where I can be just Y/N—not the daughter of Candela, not someone's prize to be won."

Harry's gaze softened, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden, but the air between them crackled with an intensity that neither of them could ignore.

"And if l asked you to go with me?" she said suddenly, her voice trembling with the weight of the question. "Would you?"

Harry's breath hitched, and for a moment, he didn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost pained. "If you asked me, I would follow you anywhere."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, the enormity of his words settling over her like a heavy cloak. The desire to reach out, to cross the boundary they had been skirting for weeks, pulsed through her veins. But fear-fear of the consequences, of what they would beer if they gave in to this—held her back. Harry could feel the weight of her thoughts, the far away look in his eye. He sighed gently, propping himself back onto his elbow as he took a cheese from the platter, lightly throwing it toward Y/N.

It pulled her from her thoughts with a smile as it bounced from her shoulder onto the blanket spread beneath him. He laughed, leaning across the space between them and stealing the cheese for himself. “That’s a zero, I’m afraid.”

*

Before meeting Harry around the same time she had been, she brought forth a bowl of fruits from the kitchen—both a snack and a small gift. The heat was unforgiving today, adorned with the same silk gown she was supposed to wear during these sessions, but her feet were bare. The ground was cold beneath her, blades of grass leaving kisses from the dew left behind.

The temporary studio Harry resided in was across the courtyard, a small, cobblestone building hidden between trees and a small pond.

As she reached the studio, the door slightly ajar, she paused, listening. Inside, she could hear the faint sound of Harry moving, his footsteps light as he adjusted the easel or mixed colors on his palette. Her heart quickened, not out of nervousness, but out of anticipation. Each day spent with him had become an escape, a release from the weight of her family’s expectations.

Pushing the door open with her hip, Y/N entered the room, the bowl of fruit balanced in her hands. Harry was bent over his canvas, his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the sinew of his forearms, streaked with paint. His dark curls were unruly, as though he had been running his fingers through them absentmindedly. When he looked up and saw her, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You’re early today, my dove.” He grinned, his voice warm, the familiar hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I brought something.”Y/N murmured, holding up the bowl of fruit. “A peace offering, perhaps.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, setting his brush down and wiping his hands on a nearby rag. He stepped toward her, his eyes flicking from the bowl of fruit to her face, as though trying to discern the real reason for her gift. But there was no pretense between them here, only the quiet truth of what they had started to build—a fragile, unspoken connection that neither of them dared to name.

“I did not understand us to be at war.” Harry teased gently, his voice dropping to that low, familiar murmur that always seemed to make Y/N’s pulse quicken.

She smiled, setting the bowl down on a nearby table. “In these walls, we are always at war.” Her tone was soft, the weight of her words lingering in the air. Her gaze shifted to the canvas behind him, where her likeness had slowly begun to take shape. He was capturing her in a way no one had before—not as the carefully polished daughter of Florence’s elite, but as the restless, untamed spirit she had always been. She stepped closer to the easel, studying the way he had painted her eyes, the intensity of her gaze, the subtle fire that simmered beneath the surface.

“You paint me as though you know me.” She paused, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s eyes softened, his expression unreadable as he stood beside her. “I am beginning to.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the quiet intimacy of his words. She felt exposed, vulnerable in a way she had never allowed herself to be before. For so long, she had worn her defiance as armor, a shield against the world that sought to control her. But here, with Harry, she didn’t need that armor. She could be raw, unguarded, free.

Y/N turned to face him fully, her bare feet making no sound on the cold stone floor. She had spent her life being afraid—afraid of disappointing her family, afraid of not living up to their expectations, afraid of being trapped in a life that wasn’t her own. But standing here, inches away from Harry, she realized that the only thing she was truly afraid of was losing this—this feeling, this connection, this fleeting glimpse of what life could be like outside the constraints of duty and decorum. “I am no artist, but your own beauty belongs on canvas.”

For a moment, Harry’s hand hovered near hers, as though he was about to reach out, to close the distance between them. But instead, he stepped back, turning to the easel once more, a breathy chuckle escaping him. “Okay, Shakespeare. Let us thank our lucky stars that you are not.”

She laughs with him, placing the bowl of fruit on the table beside the paint. She shook her head, popping a grape into her mouth. “Here I thought you to whisper me something poetic—we all have an art about us, we are art ourselves.” She mocked in his accent, rolling her eyes.

“Well that would be simply untrue.” He grinned, adjusting the canvas before him. “I am much too talented for you to compare your hand to my own.”

She scoffed, though it was humorous. Through her feigned offense, his lips only spread wider. “Show me to be wrong.”

“Show you wrong?” She raised her eyebrow, parting her lips. “You want me to paint you?”

He nodded, glancing at the blank canvases behind him. She only rolled her eyes as she gently grabbed his wrist, pulling him to the chair into the center of the room. He sat expectantly, his dimple cratering his cheeks as she retreated back toward the bowl of fruit, fishing out a deep red cherry, skipping back toward him. He knit his brows in confusion, but Y/N’s lips parted to speak before him. “You are to be my canvas.” She smiled, bring the cherry to his lips like a challenge. His expression was amused, though he couldn’t deny the way she made his chest tighten with tension. His eyes flickered between both her eyes and the fruit as he gently bit into the fruit, his lips brushing against her fingertips.

It was slow, deliberately intimate. Their eyes still burrowed into each others, she watched as the bead of crimson juice dribble down his chin. She thumbed it away, her touch light and fleeting before she feathers the fruit across the apples of his cheeks, adding to the already flushed pigment. Hesitantly, she pressed her fingers into the glistening flesh, patting it in and leaving his cheeks and lips painted red.

She steps back ever so slightly, putting the rest of the cherry into her mouth and letting a quiet laugh escape her lips. “Consider yourself to be painted.”

He shook his head, his cherry red lips widening into a smile as he stood. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s how it works.” Harry leaned in close, his breath a whisper against her cheek, but he made no move to wipe the remnants of cherry from his skin. His eyes, still dancing with amusement, searched hers, lingering with a quiet intensity. “I’ll grant you this.” He murmured, his voice low, carrying the hint of a jest. “Your methods are..most unconventional.”

She smirked, refusing to be daunted by his nearness. “Unconventional?” she quipped, her chin rising with a flicker of defiance. “I would call it a work of art. Would you not?”

Harry raised a brow, feigning deep thought as he smeared the red juice across his chin with a casual flick of his finger. “A work of art, you say? If by that you mean I appear as though I’ve just stumbled from a duel with a fruit cart, then aye, I’ll concede to your genius.”

Her laughter rang through the studio, a sharp contrast to the quiet that had hung heavy in the room moments before. It echoed off the stone walls, a sound so free that it banished all thoughts of duty, of propriety. The half-finished portrait on the easel, the weight of her family’s name—all of it melted away. In that moment, it was just them. Two souls bound in a fleeting absurdity, lost in shared laughter.

“Delicate sensibilities,” she teased, her brow arching as she wiped the last of the cherry’s stain from her hand. “I never thought to find such in a man.”

Harry’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin. “Delicate, am I?” He drawled, his voice thick with mischief. In a single swift motion, he swiped his thumb across her cheek, leaving a streak of red in its wake. “There. Now we are even.”

She gasped in mock indignation, taking a step back as her fingers flew to the sticky mark on her face. “You’ll rue this day, Harry Styles.”

“Will I?” he challenged, his tone now deep and laden with mischief of its own.

Y/N moved closer, closing the space between them with a deliberate slowness. Her heart raced, but not with the trepidation that had gripped her so often in this room. No, this was something far more exhilarating. The world outside this studio—the rules, the expectations, the rigid walls of her life—it all felt distant, unimportant.

“I’ve never claimed to be a master of painting,” she whispered, her voice dropping like the edge of a velvet curtain. She took a few steps backward, reaching into the bowl and pulling out a plum. She looks at it expectantly in the gleam of sunlight, trotting back toward the painter. “Yet I do believe the best art thrives with a hint of chaos.”

Before he could form a reply, she bit the dark fruit pressed it hard against his chest. The plum burst, sending dark juice cascading down his tunic, staining it deep purple.

Harry blinked in astonishment, his expression hanging in the space between disbelief and amusement. But the moment of shock passed swiftly, and his laughter came, full and bright. “Your peace offering was a coup!” he declared, lunging forward with a handful of cherries.

Y/N shrieked and darted away, her laughter filling the air as she dodged him. They circled the room, the once-serene studio descending into joyful chaos. Fruit flew, staining the floors, the easel, their clothes—a riot of color and recklessness.

By the grace of God the portrait remained untouched through the ordeal.

It was madness. Glorious, reckless madness. And for the first time in her life, Y/N felt utterly, completely free. Free from the chains of decorum, free from the burden of her family’s name. In that riot of fruit and laughter, she was simply alive.

When at last they collapsed onto the floor, breathless and sticky, the room a ruin of color and laughter, neither of them could stop smiling.

Harry lay beside her, still chuckling as he tugged at the ruined tunic. “If my patrons could see me now, they’d see me cast out of Florence faster than y’could say ‘masterpiece.’”

Y/N propped herself up on her elbow, a grin dancing across her lips. “Then we shall flee to the hills. I’ll hide you amongst the olive groves. We’ll live like rogues, artists and outlaws.”

“Artists and outlaws,” Harry echoed, his smile softening, his eyes lingering on hers with a look that carried something far deeper than the playfulness of a moment before. “I think I could grow fond of such a life.”

And in that quiet, as their laughter ebbed into the late afternoon light, Y/N felt the air shift between them. What had started as a game, as flirtation, had become something real. Something undeniable.

And try as they might, neither could outrun it.

As they lay there amidst the chaos, the moment stretched on, teetering on the edge of something neither could fully name. Y/N’s pulse thrummed in her ears, her heart racing not from the frivolity of their earlier play, but from the weight of his gaze on her. The air between them had thickened, laden with an unspoken tension that neither laughter nor fruit could break.

Just as her lips parted to speak—to say something, anything to diffuse the intensity—a sound, sharp and echoing, pierced the air.

The door to the studio had swung open, and there, silhouetted by the fading light of the late afternoon, stood Y/N’s mother, Lady Candela, her presence a sudden, jarring intrusion into their world of fleeting freedom.

Her eyes, dark and sharp as the blade of a dagger, took in the scene before her: the floor littered with the remnants of their childish game, the streaks of fruit staining both their clothes and skin, the disheveled state of her daughter and the painter. And in an instant, the mask of propriety that Y/N had so desperately sought to tear away snapped back into place.

“Y/N.” Her mother’s voice was cold, clipped, a tone that could freeze the blood in one’s veins. “What, in God’s name, is the meaning of this?”

Y/N scrambled to her feet, her breath catching in her throat, but her defiance flickered in her eyes. She had been caught, but she would not cower. “Mother,” she began, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart, “it was nothing—just—”

“Nothing?” Lady Candela stepped forward, her posture rigid, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. “This disgrace is nothing? You, a daughter of the Candela family, covered in filth like a common servant? Is this how you choose to honor your name?”

Harry, who had risen to his feet beside Y/N, cleared his throat, stepping forward as if to shield her from the wrath of her mother. “My Lady, it was my doing,” he lied smoothly, his voice respectful but firm. “I allowed myself to get carried away during our session. The fault is mine.”

Lady Candela’s eyes flickered to him, her disdain barely concealed. “And you—an artist—think you can speak on matters of decorum in this house? You are here to paint, not to play the fool.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. He could feel Y/N tense beside him, her fists clenched at her sides. The silence that followed was thick with tension, the weight of Lady Candela’s expectations pressing down on them both like a vice.

But Y/N, ever the rebel, would not be silenced.

“I am not a child, Mother,” she said quietly, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I will not be tamed.”

Lady Candela’s gaze snapped to her daughter, her eyes narrowing. “You will be what this family needs you to be, YN. This behavior—this foolishness—ends now. You are to be married, and your actions today have only made that more urgent.”

Y/N’s heart sank, the reality of her mother’s words hitting her like a blow. Marriage. The cage she had spent her entire life trying to escape was closing in around her, tighter and tighter.

She glanced at Harry, her chest tightening. The fleeting freedom they had found in one another was slipping away, vanishing like a mirage in the desert. And yet, she knew she could not let it end like this.

“Perhaps I wished for something more than just another hollow painting to hang on the walls of your prison,” Y/N said, her voice stronger than she felt inside. She could see Harry stiffen at her side, his gaze flickering between her and Lady Candela, but he stayed silent, letting her words hang in the air.

Her mother’s mouth tightened into a thin line. She took a deliberate step forward, her eyes narrowing as they bore into Y/N. “A prison?” she hissed, her voice dropping dangerously low. “You speak of this house as if it were a cage, when all we have done—all I have done—is ensure you live in luxury, surrounded by the finest of Florence. Yet here you are, acting the fool with a common painter.” She spat the word like venom, her eyes flicking toward Harry before returning to her daughter. “Do you want to ruin yourself? To become nothing but a scandal whispered about in the courts?”

Y/N’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms, but she kept her voice level. “What you call ruin, I call freedom.”

Her mother’s eyes blazed, her nostrils flaring, but before she could retort, Harry stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “My Lady, if I may—”

“You may not,” Lady Candela snapped, cutting him off with a sharp glare. “You are here to paint. Nothing more. Your thoughts and opinions are of no concern to me.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he bowed his head, stepping back in silent acquiescence.

The silence that followed was thick with tension, each breath Y/N took feeling heavier than the last. Her mother’s gaze never wavered, cold and unyielding, but Y/N refused to back down. Not this time.

“Mother,” Y/N began again, her voice softer now, though no less resolute. “I do not wish to ruin the family’s name. But I also do not wish to be something I am not. I have given you my obedience for years, attended every ball, entertained every suitor you’ve paraded before me. But I cannot—will not—live a life that is not my own.”

For a brief moment, something flickered in Lady Candela’s eyes—something that looked almost like uncertainty, or perhaps a recognition of her daughter’s growing resolve. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same cold, unyielding stare.

“You have a duty, Y/N,” her mother said, her voice flat, as though the very word—duty—was the end of any argument. “To this family. To this city. And if you cannot understand that, then you are more lost than I thought.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, the weight of her mother’s words pressing down on her like a heavy cloak. But before she could speak, her mother turned sharply on her heel, heading toward the door.

“You will be expected at dinner,” Lady Candela called over her shoulder, her tone dismissive. “We will discuss your upcoming engagement. I suggest you clean yourself up and remember who you are.”

With that, she swept from the room, leaving Y/N and Harry standing in the wreckage of what had once been a moment of shared joy, the heavy door closing behind her with a finality that echoed through the studio.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N could still feel the burn of her mother’s words, each one a reminder of the gilded cage she had been trying to escape her entire life. She swallowed hard, turning toward Harry, who was watching her with a mixture of concern and something else she couldn’t quite place.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “You shouldn’t have been involved in that.”

Harry shook his head, his eyes softening as he stepped closer. “You don’t have to apologize, Y/N. I knew what I was stepping into when I took this commission.”

Y/N let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Did you? Did you know you’d be caught in the middle of a battle between duty and freedom?”

Harry smiled, but it was a sad, knowing smile. “In a way, yes. I’ve seen it before. This city—this life—demands so much from those born into its upper echelons. But I think you are stronger than you know.”

Y/N met his gaze, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. She wanted to believe him, to believe that she could somehow break free from the chains that bound her. But the reality of her situation felt suffocating, as if the walls of the studio were closing in around her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, her voice cracking slightly. “I don’t want to be trapped in a marriage I never wanted. But I don’t see a way out.”

Harry reached out, his hand gently brushing her arm, a small gesture of comfort. “There’s always a way out,” he said quietly. “But it’s not always easy.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for some kind of answer, some hint of hope. But all she saw was the same uncertainty that gnawed at her heart.

“I don’t know if I’m brave enough,” she whispered.

Harry’s grip on her arm tightened, just slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, but full of quiet conviction. “You are. You’ve already proven that.”

For a moment, they stood there in the quiet, the weight of the world pressing down on them, but together, they felt just a little lighter. The path ahead was uncertain, and Y/N knew the battle was far from over. But for now, in this small, sunlit room, with Harry by her side, she felt just a little bit stronger.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

The heavy, golden hour light had faded, replaced by the muted grays of twilight, casting long shadows across the stone walls of the palazzo. Y/N stood before the mirror in her chambers, her reflection staring back at her, cold and distant. She had shed the stained silk gown and washed the remnants of the fruit from her skin, but no amount of scrubbing could remove the weight of her mother’s words or the tension coiled tight in her chest.

Dinner. The final act of the day’s charade, where her mother’s sharp gaze and her father’s stony silence would frame yet another conversation about her future—a future she had no say in. The idea of sitting through another meal where her fate was decided without her input made her stomach twist with dread.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and her maid, Lucrezia, entered the room, her face a mask of quiet concern. “My lady,” she said softly, “your mother has requested your presence in the dining hall.”

Y/N let out a slow breath, her hands gripping the edge of the vanity as she steadied herself. “Of course she has,” she muttered, her voice thick with resignation.

Lucrezia stepped forward, her hands moving to adjust Y/N’s gown—another silk creation, pristine and flawless, as if nothing untoward had happened earlier. “Shall I tell her you are not feeling well?” the maid asked gently, her fingers lingering on the delicate fabric.

Y/N smiled weakly, shaking her head. “No, Lucrezia. I must face it. I always must.”

The maid nodded, though her eyes were filled with sympathy. She knew the weight that rested on Y/N’s shoulders, the burdens placed upon her by a family that demanded perfection at all times. But even Lucrezia, with her quiet understanding, could not offer a solution to the problem that had no easy answer.

With a final glance in the mirror, Y/N straightened her posture and lifted her chin. She would face this evening the way she had faced every other trial in her life—head on, even if it tore her apart inside.

The walk to the dining hall felt longer than usual, each step echoing in the vast, empty corridors. The palazzo, so grand and full of splendor, felt like a prison tonight, its marble floors cold beneath her feet, its towering walls closing in on her with every breath.

When she reached the dining hall, she paused just outside the door, gathering her courage. She could hear the faint clinking of silverware and the low murmur of voices—her mother’s sharp, clear tones and her father’s deep, measured replies. It was the sound of a family accustomed to routine, to the rigid structures of their world.

Taking one last breath, Y/N pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The dining room was grand, as always, with high ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes and a long, gleaming table set with the finest china and crystal. Her father, Lord Candela, sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable as he idly cut into his meat. Her mother sat opposite him, her posture perfect, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes sharp as they flicked up to meet Y/N’s.

“You’re late,” Lady Candela remarked, her tone light but edged with reproach.

Y/N forced a tight smile, lowering herself into the seat that had been prepared for her. “I apologize, Mother. I lost track of time.”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more, her gaze lingering on Y/N for a moment before turning back to her plate. The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the clinking of silverware and the occasional murmur of servants as they moved in and out of the room.

For a few minutes, Y/N focused on her meal, her appetite nonexistent but her movements precise, each cut of the knife and placement of the fork a carefully rehearsed act of decorum. It was a routine she had perfected over the years, a mask she wore to survive these dinners, to navigate the unspoken landmines of her family’s expectations.

But tonight, the weight of that mask felt heavier than ever.

It wasn’t long before her mother broke the silence, her voice smooth but laden with intent. “Y/N, your father and I have spoken, and we believe it is time to move forward with your betrothal.”

Y/N’s fork froze halfway to her mouth, her pulse quickening as she set it down with deliberate care. She had known this conversation was coming—she had felt it looming over her for weeks, like a storm gathering on the horizon. But now that it was here, the reality of it hit her like a blow to the chest.

“Engagement?” she echoed, her voice steady but her heart racing.

Lady Candela nodded, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as though she had just solved some great puzzle. “Yes. We have received an offer from the Montellini family. Lord Montellini is a man of considerable influence, and his son, Leonardo, is a fine match for you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she fought to keep her composure. Leonardo Montellini. She had met him once, at a banquet—a young man with slicked-back hair and an air of arrogance that made her skin crawl. He had looked at her the way one might look at a prized horse at auction, and the thought of spending her life chained to him made her stomach churn.

“Mother, I—” Y/N began, her voice faltering for a moment as she searched for the right words, something that would convey the storm of emotions rising within her without sparking her mother’s ire. “I do not wish to marry Leonardo Montellini.”

Lady Candela’s fork paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded her daughter. “What you wish is irrelevant, Y/N. This is a matter of duty. Of ensuring the future of our family. You cannot afford to be selfish in this.”

Her father, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his deep voice rumbling through the room. “Your mother is right, Y/N. This marriage is important. The Montellini family’s wealth and influence will secure our place in Florence for generations to come.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as she tried to find a way out, a way to make them understand. But how could she make them see that she couldn’t—wouldn’t—live her life in a cage, bound to a man she didn’t love, trapped in a world that suffocated her?

“I understand the importance of family, Father.” Y/N said carefully, her voice measured, though her hands trembled slightly in her lap. “But I cannot marry a man I do not love. I cannot live my life as something I am not.”

Her mother’s gaze hardened, her lips curling into a faint sneer. “Love,” she scoffed, the word dripping with disdain. “What nonsense. Love is a fleeting thing, Y/N, a frivolous notion for those who have the luxury to indulge in it. We are not those people.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, her breath shallow as she fought to hold back the rising tide of panic. She could feel the walls closing in on her, the future her parents were trying to force upon her looming like a prison, cold and suffocating.

“But I am not you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but full of quiet defiance.

The silence that followed was thick, the tension between mother and daughter palpable as they stared at one another across the table. Lady Candela’s expression remained cold, unyielding, but Y/N could see the flicker of frustration in her eyes.

“You will marry Leonardo Montellini,” her mother said at last, her voice like steel. “And you will do so without further complaint. That is the end of this discussion.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart sinking as the weight of her mother’s words settled over her like a heavy shroud. She felt trapped, suffocated by the life they were trying to force her into, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to fight it.

As the servants moved quietly around the table, clearing the plates and refilling the wine, Y/N stared down at her hands, her mind racing. She knew she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t marry Leonardo. But how could she escape a future that had already been decided for her?

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Harry—to the quiet strength in his eyes, to the way he had seen her, truly seen her, in a way no one else ever had. There was something in him, something that stirred in her a desire for more—for freedom, for choice, for a life lived on her own terms.

But that life felt impossibly far away, separated by the vast chasm of her family’s expectations and the iron grip of tradition.

And as the dinner dragged on, Y/N sat in silence, her heart heavy with the knowledge that, for now, she was still very much trapped. The clinking of silverware and the quiet hum of conversation felt distant to Y/N, as if she were trapped in a cage of sound, separate from everything around her. Her mother, satisfied that her edict had been given, spoke no more of the engagement. Instead, she shifted her attention to her father, discussing household matters and social engagements as if Y/N’s entire future hadn’t just been decided without her consent.

Y/N’s mind, however, was far from the table. It kept circling back to Harry, to the moments in his studio where, for the first time in her life, she had felt something close to freedom. His presence had stirred something within her—a quiet rebellion, a fire that had been smoldering beneath the surface for so long it had almost gone unnoticed. Until now.

As her mother droned on about the upcoming ball and the importance of making a good impression, Y/N’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. The thought of standing beside Leonardo Montellini, paraded like a prized possession for Florence’s elite to admire, made her stomach turn. She had seen his eyes on her before—hungry, possessive, as though she were nothing more than a means to an end for him. The Montellinis wanted to solidify their power, and she was the key to that door.

She could feel the bile rising in her throat, the suffocating weight of her family’s expectations pressing down on her like a vice. How many more dinners like this would she endure? How many more nights would she be forced to smile, nod, and pretend that her life was something she could control?

No. She wouldn’t accept this.

“Y/N,” her mother’s voice cut through her thoughts like a blade, sharp and sudden. Y/N blinked, realizing she had been staring down at her untouched plate for far too long. Her mother’s gaze was fixed on her, cool and assessing. “What fare you? You have been rather quiet.”

Y/N looked up, her heart racing as she met her mother’s eyes. For a brief moment, she considered telling her the truth—telling her that she wasn’t well, that she couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Leonardo, that the life they had planned for her was suffocating her.

But the words died in her throat. Her mother would never understand. To Lady Candela, duty was everything, and love was nothing more than a foolish indulgence.

Y/N straightened her spine, steeling herself against the rising tide of emotions that threatened to betray her in front of her family. Her voice, when it finally came, was measured and cool. “I am well, Mother. Merely tired.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she did not press further, turning her attention back to the meal with a dismissive wave of her hand. Y/N, however, could feel the weight of her father’s gaze lingering on her for just a moment longer. He was quieter than her mother, but no less powerful in his expectations.

The remainder of the dinner passed in a blur, with Y/N’s mind distant from the conversation at the table. As soon as the final course was cleared and her parents rose from their seats, she made her excuses and slipped away, retreating to the sanctuary of her chambers.

Once inside, Y/N locked the door behind her and pressed her back against it, her heart pounding in her chest. The events of the evening, the threat of her future being sealed with a man like Leonardo, weighed heavily on her. She crossed the room to the window, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the sill and stared out into the night.

The city of Florence lay before her, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns and moonlight. From her window, it looked peaceful, almost serene, but Y/N knew better. The world outside her family’s palazzo was teeming with life, with freedom that she could only dream of.

And in that world, somewhere amidst the winding streets and narrow alleyways, was Harry.

Her thoughts drifted to him once again, to the way his eyes had softened when he spoke to her, the quiet understanding that passed between them without words. In his studio, she had felt something she had never known before—something raw and unburdened by the chains of her family’s name. It wasn’t just attraction, though she couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him. It was more than that. It was the promise of escape, of possibility. With him, she could breathe.

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the cool night air wash over her as she made a decision.

She could not stay in this gilded prison any longer. She could not marry Leonardo. She would not be used as a pawn in her family’s games. And if there was anyone who could help her find a way out, it was Harry.

Her heart raced at the thought, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. It was reckless, perhaps even dangerous, but she had no other choice. She had to act before it was too late, before her fate was sealed by forces beyond her control.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Y/N slipped into a simple cloak, pulling the hood over her head to shield her face. She moved quickly and quietly, slipping through the darkened corridors of the palazzo until she reached a small, hidden door that led to the courtyard.

As she stepped outside, the cool night air wrapped around her like a cloak of freedom. She paused for a moment, glancing back at the towering walls of her family’s home, the place that had held her captive for so long. And then, with a determined breath, she turned and disappeared into the shadows of the city, her feet carrying her toward Harry’s studio.

The narrow streets of Florence were quiet at this hour, save for the occasional flicker of lamplight or the soft murmur of voices carried on the breeze. Y/N kept her hood low, her steps quick and purposeful as she moved through the labyrinth of alleyways. She had walked these streets before—many times in the dark of night—but tonight felt different. Tonight, the weight of her decision pressed down on her like the stone arches above.

As she neared Harry’s studio, her heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. What was she even doing? She had no plan, no real escape beyond the hope that Harry would understand, that he might offer her a path out of this life she couldn’t bear. A reckless hope, she knew, but it was the only thing she had left.

The studio was tucked away behind a row of trees, secluded from the main roads. The small building, though unremarkable to most, had become a haven for her—one of the few places where she could let go of the expectations that had weighed her down for so long. And Harry, with his quiet strength and sad, knowing eyes, had become the embodiment of the freedom she craved.

As Y/N reached the door, her breath hitched in her chest. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the handle. What if she had misread everything? What if Harry did not want to be a part of her rebellion, her escape?

Yet she stood at his door anyway.

She pushed the door open, the familiar creak breaking the stillness of the night. Inside, the soft glow of a few candles lit the room, casting long shadows over the walls. The scent of drying oils and turpentine filled the air, mingling with the earthy smell of wet canvas. Harry was at his easel, his back to the door, lost in the rhythm of his work.

For a moment, Y/N stood there, watching him in the golden light. His dark curls fell over his brow, and his hand moved with a kind of precision that made her chest tighten. He was absorbed, unaware of her presence, and the sight of him in his element, so quietly powerful, made her heart ache with something she couldn’t name.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness.

He froze for a moment, his brush poised in mid-air. Slowly, he turned to face her, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in the sight of her standing there, cloaked in shadow. “Dove?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of concern in it. “What are you doing here?”

She stepped further into the room, her hands trembling beneath the folds of her cloak. “I had to see you.”

His brow furrowed, and he set his brush down, wiping his hands on a rag before crossing the room toward her. “It’s late. If anyone sees you—”

“I bear no sentiment to it,” she interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. Her breath came quickly, the weight of everything catching up with her all at once. “I cannot stay there any longer, Harry. I can’t marry Leonardo Montellini. I cannot live that life.”

He studied her for a moment, his green eyes searching hers, and she saw the conflict in his gaze—the pull between wanting to help her and knowing the dangers of what she was asking. “What are you saying, Y/N?” he asked quietly, though there was a heaviness in his tone.

“I’m saying I need to leave. I need to escape before they lock me into a life I never wanted.” Her voice trembled with the intensity of the confession, and she took a step closer to him. “I don’t know where to go or how to do it, but I cannot stay here.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. His eyes flickered with something—worry, perhaps, or fear for what this might mean for both of them. He glanced at the door, then back to her, the weight of her words sinking in.”

“Do you know what you’re asking?” he said, his voice low. “If you leave, there’s no going back. Your family—Florence—”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “But what is the alternative? To be sold off to a man who does not care about me? To live my life in a cage, pretending to be something I am not? I cannot bear it, Harry. I won’t.”

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process what she was saying. She could see the battle in his eyes, the part of him that wanted to protect her warring with the part that understood the gravity of the situation. “And what do you desire from me?” he asked softly, though she could hear the strain in his voice.

Y/N stepped closer, her heart pounding in her chest as she met his gaze. “I want you to come with me.”

The words hung in the air between them, charged with a kind of desperate hope. She knew it was asking too much, knew that she had no right to pull him into her escape, but in that moment, Harry was the only person she trusted. The only person who understood her enough to help her break free.

Harry’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might say yes. His hand reached out, brushing against hers in a gesture so small, so intimate, it made her chest tighten.

But then he pulled away, shaking his head. “Y/N, I—”

“I know it’s reckless,” she cut him off, her voice filled with a kind of raw vulnerability she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years. “But I can’t do this alone. I need you.”

Harry’s expression was torn, his hand still hovering near hers as if he wanted to take it, to pull her into his arms and promise her everything. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. “If we run, they will come after us. Your family will not let you go so easily. You know this.”

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let the weight of his words crush her hope. “Then we’ll be careful. We’ll go somewhere they can’t find us. Please, Harry.” Her voice broke, and she reached out, gripping his arm as though she could will him to say yes. “I know not of heaven nor hell. I know not of Lucifer or God, I know only what I see before me, and If i were to draw my last breath tomorrow, I would perish with all this regret—my soul bound to my grave for eternity.”

For a long moment, Harry didn’t move. He stood there, staring down at her with an expression so conflicted it made her heart ache. And then, finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat.

“We’ll need to leave before first light,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Pack only what y’can carry.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, a mixture of relief and disbelief washing over her as his words sank in. “You’ll come with me?”

Harry met her gaze, and though his eyes were filled with uncertainty, there was a quiet determination in them as well. “Wherever.” He murmured. “But we must be careful.”

A flood of emotions rushed through Y/N all at once—relief, fear, gratitude, and something else she couldn’t quite name. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest as tears of both joy and fear slipped down her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against him. “Thank you, Harry.”

He held her for a moment, his hand resting on the back of her head as if trying to steady them both in the face of what they were about to do. “We shall figure it out,” he said quietly, though she could hear the weight of the uncertainty in his voice.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N believed him.

As they stood there in the quiet of the studio, the world outside slowly fading into darkness, Y/N felt a small spark of hope flicker to life within her. She didn’t know what the future would hold, but for now, she wasn’t alone.

*

The night air outside the palazzo was thick with the scent of jasmine and damp stone, but to Y/N, it felt more like freedom than anything else. The distant sounds of Florence, the murmur of distant conversations and the soft rush of water from the Arno, filled the silence as she made her way through the narrow streets, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her heart raced, but her steps were sure now. This was her choice, her rebellion.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale light over the winding alleys and quiet courtyards as Y/N hurried back to Harry’s studio. Her thoughts were a whirlwind—but she couldn’t think of it now. The only thing that mattered was what lay ahead. She had to believe that there was a life waiting for her beyond the walls of Florence, beyond the expectations that had shackled her for so long. And with Harry by her side, perhaps—just perhaps—she could find it.

As she reached the secluded courtyard where Harry’s studio stood, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The small building was bathed in moonlight, its wooden door slightly ajar, as if waiting for her. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the doorframe, listening to the soft rustle of the wind in the olive trees.

Inside, the studio was quiet, save for the gentle flicker of the remaining candle on the windowsill. Harry stood at the far end of the room, packing his own bag—his movements careful and deliberate. When he heard her enter, he turned, his eyes immediately meeting hers. There was no need for words; he could see the decision in her gaze, the finality of it. She was here, and there was no going back.

“You are prepared?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of tension there, a quiet understanding of what they were about to do.

Y/N nodded, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “I am.”

Harry’s eyes softened as he crossed the room toward her, his hand reaching out to brush against her arm in a gesture of comfort. “We shall be leaving soon. I’ve made arrangements to head south, toward Siena. s’not far, but far enough. We will be out of reach, at least for now.”

Siena. The name sounded distant and unfamiliar to Y/N, but it didn’t matter. Anywhere was better than here, better than the fate that awaited her if she stayed. She met Harry’s gaze, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes as she nodded.

“I trust you,” she whispered, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them.

Harry held her gaze for a moment longer, his green eyes full of that quiet, steady strength that had always made her feel safe. “Then we’ll make it through this,” he said softly. “Together.”

He moved to the door, pulling it fully open and stepping outside into the cool night air. Y/N followed close behind, her heart pounding in her chest as the reality of what they were about to do sank in. They were running. Not just from Florence, but from the lives they had known, from the expectations and the rules that had governed them for so long.

The streets of Florence stretched out before them, dark and silent, like a sleeping beast. They would have to move quickly, before the city woke, before her family realized she was gone. Harry led the way, his pace measured but urgent as they slipped through the narrow alleyways, avoiding the more well-lit streets where guards might patrol.

Y/N kept her hood pulled low over her face, her heart racing with every step they took. She glanced over her shoulder more than once, half-expecting to see her father or Leonardo rounding the corner, chasing her down. But the streets were empty, save for the occasional whisper of the wind.

They moved in silence, the weight of their decision hanging heavy between them, but there was no hesitation now. They had crossed the line, and there was no turning back.

It wasn’t long before they reached the outskirts of the city, where the walls of Florence loomed high above them, casting long shadows over the ground. The gates were closed, but Harry had anticipated this. He led Y/N to a small passageway, hidden between the stones and covered with vines. It was narrow, barely wide enough for one person at a time, but it led out of the city—an old smuggler’s route, known only to a few.

“This way.” Harry whispered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

Y/N nodded, following him through the narrow gap in the wall, her heart pounding in her chest as they squeezed through the passage. The air was cooler on the other side, the scent of the open countryside replacing the dense smell of the city. When they finally emerged, they found themselves on a small, winding road that led away from Florence, disappearing into the hills beyond.

Y/N paused for a moment, turning back to look at the city she was leaving behind. The towering domes and spires of Florence rose into the night sky, bathed in moonlight. It was beautiful—so beautiful it made her chest ache. But it was also a prison, a place that had tried to shape her into something she could never be.

She turned back to Harry, her breath catching as she realized the full weight of what they had done. They were free. But freedom came with a price—a price they had only just begun to pay.

Harry met her gaze, his expression soft but serious. “There’s no going back now,” he said quietly, as if reading the thoughts running through her mind.

Y/N nodded, her hand instinctively reaching for his, their fingers brushing in the cool night air. “I know,” she whispered. “And I am ready.”

Together, they turned and started down the road, leaving Florence behind them—its walls, its expectations, its suffocating weight—everything. The future was uncertain, full of dangers and unknowns. But for the first time in her life, Y/N felt a spark of hope flicker within her. She was free. And with Harry by her side, perhaps—just perhaps—she could build a life that was truly her own.

As they walked through the quiet countryside, the stars above them shining like tiny, distant beacons, Y/N knew that they were only at the beginning of their journey. There would be challenges ahead, and dangers they couldn’t yet foresee. But for now, she allowed herself to breathe in the cool night air, to feel the weight of the past slowly lift from her shoulders.

She glanced at Harry, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, and felt a sense of calm wash over her. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together. And that, she thought, was more than enough.

It had been two days since they left Florence behind, and the journey had been long, filled with the quiet tension of fear that someone might catch up to them, might discover their flight. The sun had dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the rolling hills as Y/N and Harry approached a small inn nestled at the edge of a sleepy village. The inn was humble, tucked between groves of olive trees and fields dotted with grazing sheep. It wasn’t much—just a small stone building with weathered shutters and a modest stable for travelers’ horses—but it was enough. For the first time since leaving the city, they could breathe.

Inside, the inn was warm, the smell of bread baking in the hearth mingling with the faint scent of wood smoke. The innkeeper, a woman with kind eyes and silver streaks in her hair, greeted them with little more than a nod, motioning them toward the narrow staircase that led to their room.

As they climbed the stairs, the weight of the past two days seemed to settle over Y/N like a heavy cloak. The adrenaline that had carried her through the journey was fading, replaced by the quiet realization of what they had done. They had left everything behind—their lives, their families, their very identities—and now, here they were, standing on the precipice of a future they had yet to define.

Their room was small, with a single window that overlooked the fields beyond the village. A modest bed stood against one wall, and a small wooden table with two chairs sat near the hearth. The fire had already been lit, the flames flickering softly in the dim light of the evening.

Harry set their bags down by the door, glancing around the room before turning to Y/N. His expression was calm, but there was a tension in his eyes—a quiet awareness that they had crossed a line they could never uncross.

Y/N crossed the room to the window, her fingers brushing against the cool glass as she looked out at the fading light. The sky was a deep, dusky blue, and the first stars were beginning to appear, faint and far away. For a moment, she said nothing, her thoughts swirling like leaves caught in the wind.

Y/N finally broke the silence, her voice soft and uncertain. "Do you think we made the right choice?"

Harry turned from the window, his gaze settling on her. His green eyes, illuminated by the firelight, were filled with something unreadable-fear, perhaps, but also a quiet determination. He stepped closer, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots as he walked toward her.

"There was no other choice, Y/N.” He said gently, kneeling beside her. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against hers, grounding her in the reality of their shared decision. "Not for you, not for me. Remaining in Florence..it would have destroyed you.”

She looked up at him, her heart aching with the weight of his words. "But what have we done, Harry?" she whispered “I–” her voice trembling. "I have abandoned my family, my name. What if they find us? What if–" Her words trailed off, the enormity of their flight catching up with her. Her thoughts tangled in Fear. Fear of what might come, fear of the unknown future they now faced together.

Harry's gaze softened, and he took her hand fully in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a soothing motion. "I do not know what will come," he admitted, his voice low and steady. "But I know that staying in Florence vould have been a life you could not live. You would have been chained, Y/N, to a life of duty, of expectations that would have suffocated you. What we have now, it may be uncertain, but it is ours."

She blinked, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "And you, Harry? What have you given up for me?"

Harry smiled faintly, shaking his head as if the question was unnecessary. "Florence never belonged to me.” He murmured. "| painted for men who looked down on me, for families who never saw what I could truly do. l've left behind nothing of importance." He paused, his gaze deepening as he looked into her eyes. "But y–you are the first thing that's ever felt real to me."

Y/N's breath caught at his words, her heart thudding in her chest. She had never expected this-never imagined that leaving Florence would mean finding something, someone, who saw her not as the Candela daughter but as herself, YN, in all her flawed and wild glory. "And what do we do now?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "We are not nobility here, Harry. We bear no titles, no claims to protect us."

Harry stood then, his hand still holding hers as he pulled her gently to her feet. His expression softened, though there was a hint of something deeper in his eyes, something that made her pulse quicken. "We live Y/N.” he said simply, his voice low and intimate. “For the first time, we live as we choose. I have land in Siena, now—it isn’t much, but it’s a roof and four walls.”

He drew her closer, their bodies inches apart, the warmth from the fire mingling with the heat of his presence. Y/N could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her breath hitching as his gaze settled on her lips for a brief, tantalizing moment. “You are free now.” Harry murmured, his voice a whisper in the quiet of the room. "Whatever comes next, we face it together."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling deep within her. She could feel the walls between them crumbling, the barriers they had built around themselves dissolving in the heat of the fire. And as she looked up at him, her heart in her throat, she knew that whatever lay ahead, she wanted him beside her—no matter the cost.

Slowly, tentatively, she reached up, her fingers brushing against his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath her touch. Harry inhaled sharply, his hand sliding to her waist, pulling her closer still. The air between them seemed to crackle, the unspoken tension that had simmered for so long finally rising to the surface. "Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, drawing her lips closer to his. Their kiss is slow, appreciative—full of months that had gone without it. He cupped her cheek as he parted briefly, holding her eyes into her own before he smiled. Harry's lips crashed against hers in a fierce, desperate kiss, his hands tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer still. Y/N gasped against his mouth, her fingers gripping his tunic as the heat of the fire surrounded them, enveloping them in warmth. The kiss deepened, becoming something raw, something that spoke of all the things they had left unsaid —their fear, their hope, their unspoken love.

They stumbled back toward the hearth, their bodies pressed together as Harry's hands roamed over her, pulling at the ties of her gown, freeing her from the constraints of fabric. Y/N's breath hitched as the cool air touched her bare skin, but Harry's warmth, his touch, was all she needed. He held her close, his lips tracing a path down her neck, sending shivers of pleasure through her body.

The heat between them became unbearable, a fire that consumed all reason. Harry's hands moved with purpose, deftly undoing the ties of Y/ N's gown, his fingertips brushing against her skin with a tenderness that belied the hunger in his gaze. Her breath came in shallow gasps as the fabric fell away, baring her to him. His eyes, darkened with desire, roamed over her with reverence, as though he was seeing her not as a woman of noble birth, but as someone entirely his, a secret kept only for him.

Her pulse quickened under the weight of his gaze, and her hands, trembling slightly, moved to the front of his tunic. She tugged at the laces, fumbling as her fingers brushed the hard planes of his chest beneath the linen. Harry let out a low groan, his own need palpable in the way his breath hitched, the way his body responded to her touch. He shrugged out of his tunic, tossing it aside, revealing the lean, muscled form that had been hidden beneath.

For a moment, they simply stood there, the space between them charged with a tension that was nearly unbearable. The firelight flickered across their skin, casting shadows that danced along the stone walls of the inn, but all Y/N could focus on was Harry—the way his chest rose and fell with each labored breath, the way his eyes darkened as they traced the curves of her body. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached for him, her hands sliup his arms, feeling the strength in his muscles. Their breaths mingled, and as Harry leaned in to kiss her, the tension between them reached a breaking point. His lips were soft but insistent, claiming hers with a need that mirrored her own.

Y/N's hands found his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel him against her, to erase the distance that had always lingered between them until now.

He guided her down onto the fur-lined rug before the fire, his hands caressing her with a tenderness that made her breath catch. The warmth of the flames flickered around them, casting their shadows on the walls, but in this moment, there was only the heat between them, the way their bodies fit together as if they had been made for this. They had stripped away the layers of propriety, both figuratively and literally, leaving only the raw desire that now pulsed between them. Y/N's heart raced as Harry’s body hovered over hers, his eyes dark with a hunger she had never seen before. Her skin flushed under his gaze, the anticipation swirling in her belly like a storm.

He kissed her softly, his lips moving against hers with a tenderness that made her melt into him, but there was something else in his touch—something deeper, something more primal. As his hands roamed her body, tracing every curve and dip, Y/N felt a strange mix of excitement and nerves coiling inside her. She had never known this kind of intimacy before, never been touched in such a way.

Harry pulled back slightly, his breath warm against her neck as he pressed a trail of soft, lingering kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, and lower still, to the curve of her breasts. His hands slid down her sides, gently parting her legs as he kissed his way lower, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Y/N's breath hitched, her body trembling beneath his touch, and she instinctively pressed her thighs together.

Harry paused, his lips hovering just above her skin, his hands still resting on her hips as he looked up at her with a soft, knowing smile. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice low, rough with desire but tender, too.

Y/N nodded, her breath trembling as she met his gaze, the flickering firelight casting shadows across his face. “I do, H." She whispered.

Harry's smile deepened, and he pressed a soft kiss to her inner thigh, his hands gently coaxing her legs apart once more. "I got you, dove. Promise.” He murmured, his voice a quiet, confident assurance that sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

Y/N's pulse quickened as Harry kissed his way higher, his lips brushing her skin in a way that made her body ache with a need she had never known before. Her hands gripped the fur beneath her as his mouth hovered just above her most intimate place, and when his lips finally made contact, a gasp escaped her, her body tensing with the unfamiliar sensation. It was unlike anything she had ever felt—a warmth, a softness, and then the slow, deliberate flick of his tongue against her bud, sending a jolt of pleasure through her core.

Y/N's head fell back, her breath catching in her throat as Harry continued, his mouth working with skill and precision. He moved with confidence, as though he knew exactly what she needed, exactly how to coax the pleasure from her body.

Harry's hands slid up her thighs, his fingers pressing gently into her skin, grounding her in the moment. His tongue moved in slow, teasing strokes, building a rhythm that made Y/N's body tremble with each touch. Her hips moved instinctively toward him, a soft moan escaping her lips as the pleasure began to build, layer upon layer, each stroke of his tongue pushing her closer to a place she had never been.

"Harry," she gasped, her voice breathless, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched her back, the heat between her legs overwhelming. She had never imagined this kind of pleasure, had never known it was even possible.

Harry hummed softly against her, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through her as his tongue moved faster, more insistently. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer to his mouth, and Y/N's entire body shuddered with the intensity of it, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The world around her blurred, the crackle of the fire fading into the background as she became lost in the sensation of his mouth, his tongue, his touch.

The tension in her belly coiled tighter and tighter, the pleasure building with every movement of his lips, every flick of his tongue. Y/N had never felt anything like it before—this burning, all-consuming need that made her body tremble, her breath catch, her heart race. She was on the edge, teetering between control and surrender, and with one final, skilled movement of his tongue, she fell.

A cry tore from her lips as the pleasure crested, washing over her in waves that left her breathless, her body trembling beneath him. Her fingers tightened in his hair, her hips lifting off the rug as the pleasure pulsed through her, intense and overwhelming. Harry didn't stop, his mouth working her through the height of her release, his hands holding her steady as she writhed beneath him, lost in the sensation.

When the waves of pleasure finally began to ebb, Y/N collapsed back onto the rug, her body spent, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her limbs felt heavy, her skin flushed and sensitive, and as Harry pressed a final, soft kiss to her inner thigh, she shivered, her body still tingling from the intensity of it all.

Slowly, Harry rose, his hands sliding up her body as he kissed his way back up to her lips, his breath warm and soft against her skin. He settled beside her, pulling her into his arms, his lips brushing her forehead as she nestled against his chest, her heart still pounding from the intensity of her release. “Told you I had you, hm?” He cooed, combing his fingers through her disheveled hair.

She nodded, the sound of her heart thumping in her ears as she cupped his cheek, pulling him into another kiss. His hands roamed from her hips to her breasts, rolling back on top of her with a smirk. His hands roamed her body, caressing, exploring, a though trying to commit every inch of her to memory.

Y/N arched beneath him, her body responding to his touch with a need that had been building for weeks, months even. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate for the connection she had longed for, and Harry groaned, his body trembling with the weight of his desire. Slowly, reverently, he guided himself into her, his movements gentle, careful, as though afraid to break the fragile spell between them. She gasped at the sensation, her fingers gripping his shoulders as he filled her, their bodies finally coming together in a way that felt inevitable, as if they had been meant for this moment all along.

For a heartbeat, they stayed like that, perfectly still, their breaths mingling, their hearts pounding in unison. He was entranced by the feeling of her walls fluttering around his cock, the way she stretched around him.

Then, slowly, Harry began to move, his hips rocking against hers in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Y/N’s head fell back further into the rug, a moan escaping her lips as she gave herself over to the sensation, to the connection that seemed to bind them together more deeply than any words ever could.

Harry's movements were slow at first, deliberate, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through her body, but soon the restraint he had tried to maintain began to slip. His pace quickened, his body moving against hers with a raw, desperate need that matched her own. The sound of their breathing, of their bodies moving together, filled the room, mingling with the crackle of the fire and the whisper of the wind outside.

Y/N's fingers dug into his back, her nails leaving faint marks on his skin as her body arched beneath him, her breath coming in gasps. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust was a promise, a declaration that neither of them could speak but both understood.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice trembling with the intensity of her need, with the overwhelming sensation building inside her. "I–” But she couldn't finish the sentence. Words seemed inadequate to describe what she felt, the way her body and soul seemed to be unraveling in his arms.

Harry's lips found hers again, silencing her with a kiss that was all-consuming, his body moving against hers with an urgency that mirrored her own. He groaned against her mouth, his breath ragged, his hands gripping her hips as though afraid to let her go. “Y’like that, huh?” He grunted, bottoming out with each thrust. “Sound so pretty, the way you sing f’me.”

She nodded, eyes glossed over in pleasure as she wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder with whimpers of praises. And then, with one final, desperate thrust, Y/N felt herself fall over the edge, her body trembling with release as the pleasure crashed over her like a wave. She cried out, her fingers tangled in his curls, her heart pounding in her chest as the world seemed to fall away around her.

In that moment, Harry pulled away, his breath hot against her neck as he pressed his forehead against her shoulder, his body shuddering with restraint. His hands tightened on her hips as he pulled back, separating them just before the inevitable.

A moan fell from his lips, and Y/N swore it was the prettiest melody she’s ever heard.

He fisted his cock, coaxing his hand back and forth before he lets out a low whimper, spilling himself right onto her abdomen—decorating her in opaque that marked her as his.

His sigh was heavy as he fell back beside her, placing a kiss to her temple as she lie there breathlessly. For a moment, they lay there in the quiet, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all, the only sound in the room the soft crackling of the fire. Y/N's chest rose and fell with the aftershocks of pleasure, her heart still racing, but she felt safe. “S’warm.” She giggled, his release glistening in the flames of the fire.

He couldn’t help but smile as he maneuvered his arm beneath her neck, turning to his side as he rested his chin atop her head. “Promise I’ll clean y’up.” He chuckled, draping his other arm across her chest, to which she reaches up and holds his bicep with a smile.

He presses a kiss into her hair, breathing her in. “Ad vitam aeternam.” He murmured, listening to the fire crackle and her even breaths.

Her eyebrows furrowed, recognizing some of the words but she figured the meanings are different, because what she interpreted made no sense at all. He tilted her head back, looking at the man expectantly as he shifted his own head ever so slightly to place a soft kiss against her lips. “To eternal life.”

Her cheeks flushed as she stared into him, the color almost as red as the cherries from the other day. She runs her fingers through his curls, a small smile spreading across her lips.

His own eyes searches hers, the tips of their nose almost touching. His hands cup her face, thumbing gentle strokes onto her cheek. “What?”

She lied her hand atop the one on her face, dipping the tips of her fingers to hold onto his grasp. “I’m falling in love with you.”

He exhales through his nose, a chuckle laced with content emitting from his mouth. He nudges his nose with hers, brushing their lips together softly before pressing it into a kiss. He smiles, pulling back after a beat. “I already have.”

[junqkook]

— ROTTENFOLK: AFTERMATH (m.)

PAIRING. jungkook/reader, taehyung/reader GENRE. faerie au, angst, smut WORDS. 10,234 RATING. explicit

SYNOPSIS. six years after escaping from the faerie realm, you’ve done everything to hide yourself and your son from the high king. but you should have known he would never let you go so easily.

CONTENTS. boyfriend taehyung, faerie king jungkook, human reader, mother reader, father jungkook, kidnapping, manipulation, slight dubcon, riding, grinding, creampie, unprotected sex (stay safe!), rough sex, hair pulling, biting/marking, possessiveness, accidental exhibitionism/voyeurism, infidelity, multiple orgasms, hinted f/f, pregnancy, multiple smut scenes (!), overstimulation, fingering, dom jungkook.

NOTES. this is a sequel to rottenfolk. i highly suggest reading rottenfolk before reading this one. Y’ALL GOT ME MISSING THIS WORLD, so i gave in to my own desires and wrote this. i’ll warn you all now: this is not a happy story.

EXTRA NOTES. UNRWA; Care for Gaza; Direct Aid For Gaza. please consider donating to and/or sharing these organizations.

— rottenfolk. rottenfolk: aftermath.

Taehyung’s arms wrapped around you from behind and you giggled, leaning back into his chest. The smell of breakfast filled the kitchen and your boyfriend’s warm lips pressed chaste kisses against your neck.

“Missed you this morning,” he murmured.

You hummed and closed your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling of him. “I woke up early and decided to treat my lovely boys to breakfast today.”

Taehyung chuckled and pulled his mouth away from your neck, resting his cheek against yours instead. “You know what Soobin told me last night?”

“What’d he tell you?”

“He concocted such an imaginative story,” your boyfriend of three years started, a lightness to his voice that comforted you. “Said he saw magical creatures in the forest by the park that knew his name—”

Your eyes shot open and you tensed in Taehyung’s arms. “What?”

He continued without noticing your reaction. “Yeah, he was telling me all about these—actually kind of grotesque now that I think about it—”

You whirled around in his arms and faced him. “When did he tell you this exactly? Where?”

Taehyung cupped your face and smiled at you. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Don’t worry, it’s just a story, he was probably watching YouTube or something and got the ideas—”

“Tae,” you pressed. “I’m serious. Please answer me.”

He held up his hands in defense and nodded. “Okay, okay. He told me while we were walking home from the park yesterday. He was really excited about it and said the fairies told him they’d see him again. It’s nothing bad, sweetheart. He’s just a five year old with an active imagination.”

You cursed under your breath. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

Taehyung shrugged and crossed his arms. “I don’t know, it didn’t seem like pressing information to share. And you were dead tired when you came home, so it must have slipped my mind.” As he watched you flutter around the kitchen nervously, he continued. “Can you tell me what’s going on with you right now?”

You sighed and faced your boyfriend. “Remember when I told you about Soobin’s father?”

Taehyung pursed his lips. “Yeah. You said he’s dangerous.”

“He is,” you said. “I didn’t think he’d find me, or even be interested in it, but—he doesn’t know about Soobin. And I planned to keep it that way.”

“Okay,” Taehyung replied slowly. “So what’s changed?”

“Everything,” you whimpered. “If Soobin said that to you, it means his father knows about him. It’s… his people,” you said carefully. “They’re the only ones who would tell Soobin that they’re magical creatures and—if they know about my son, it’s only a matter of time before he knows, too.”

Taehyung rubbed his temples, making sure to keep his voice low. “So, what do we do now?”

Before you could answer, the sound of padding footsteps through the house interrupted your conversation. “Mama, good morning!” Soobin’s sleepy voice called out. He appeared from behind Taehyung, rubbing his tired eyes.

Scooping him up into your arms, you pressed kisses to his chubby cheek. He murmured half-heartedly and buried his little face into your neck. The tips of his growing horns pressed into your skin lightly. You smoothed down his dark hair and gave Taehyung a pleading look.

“Morning, little man,” your boyfriend said, patting your son on the back. “You ready for breakfast?”

Soobin sat up in your arms, turning his small body to look at his surrogate father, who had been in majority of his life. “Yes,” he mumbled, squirming until you set him down so he could grasp at Taehyung’s large hand. “Good morning.”

You watched Taehyung lead him over to the table, helping him scoot his chair closer to the table once he was seated. Hurrying, you brought over your boys’ plates and then went back for yours. Soobin and Taehyung waited for you to be seated to start eating.

“S’good, Mama,” Soobin said around his food.

You smiled. “Thank you, Binnie,” you replied. You almost had no appetite, the thoughts of Jungkook swirling in your head. You hated that your chest still ached, even with the years distancing you.

The day passed achingly slowly, every minute and every second feeling like an eternity; every sound and every shadow brought with it a wave of anxiety that you hadn’t felt in a long time. You felt bad for not allowing Soobin to go with Taehyung to the store, ignoring his pouting with a heavy heart.

Finally, when it was time for bed, you tucked Soobin in with a kiss to his forehead. He looked up at you with his eyes that were so like his father’s, pupils slitted like a cat’s, that you couldn’t help the wave of fear that shot through you. But you knew Soobin wasn’t like Jungkook, no matter how much he grew to resemble him in his looks with every day.

“Binnie,” you whispered, sitting at the edge of his bed while your hand stroked the strands of his dark hair. “I love you.”

He gave you a smile that was so soft, you hated yourself for seeing any part of Jungkook in him. “I love you more, Mama.” You chuckled, your worry easing a tiny bit. “I don’t know why you were sad today, but tomorrow will be better!”

You blinked back the tears that you could feel prickling in your eyes. “I know it will be,” you answered him, leaning down to press another kiss to his forehead. “Sweet dreams, baby.”

As you stood, you noticed Taehyung smiling at the scene from the doorway. “Night, little prince,” he said to your son. The word jabbed at your ribs and you felt like you couldn’t breathe for a moment.

“That’s a new nickname,” you managed to get out between your nerves.

Soobin giggled from his bed. “The magical faeries called me that!” he said excitedly. “Wouldn’t it be so cool if I really was a prince, Mama?”

You turned to give him a strained smile. “It would be so cool, Soobin.”

“So cool,” he repeated, his voice trailing off as his eyes shut. “G’night, Tae.”

When you shut the door of his bedroom, you nearly collapsed—if it hadn’t been for Taehyung’s arms wrapping around your waist, you would have dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung whispered in panic as he held you up. You tried not to cry into his chest, finding comfort in his arms for a few agonizing seconds before you stood completely.

“Nothing, just—I’m fine,” you lied. “We should go to bed.” Taehyung’s lips pursed, not believing you for once second. “Please,” you whimpered.

With a sigh, Taehyung nodded. “Okay, okay. Let’s go to bed.”

Once in your own room, Taehyung’s warm body against yours, you rolled over until you were on top of him. He gazed up at you with hooded eyes, his hands finding purchase on your hips.

“I thought you were tired,” he murmured.

“How can I go to sleep when my man is laying there, looking that good?” you teased, wiggling yourself until you were slowly grinding against his clothed cock. He groaned and you could feel him hardening underneath you. With a shudder, you started grinding yourself against him harder, the friction delicious against your clit.

Taehyung’s hands slipped under your shirt and dragged it off your torso, your hips never stopping their movements against him. He sat up in the bed, his hips rocking up, and his mouth started sucking one of your nipples harshly. You pushed yourself off his lap for a few seconds to rapidly tug your pajama pants and underwear off, pulling Taehyung’s sweats and boxers halfway down his thighs as well. His cock was hard and red and you wrapped your hand around the length of it, pumping it quickly.

“You’re so hot, you know that?” he groaned against your breast, flicking and twisting your other nipple with his fingers. You tried to keep your voice down as you mewled, pushing yourself flush against his body and guiding the head of his cock to your slit. You rubbed it against your slit a few times, the head bumping into your clit with every drag, before you started to lower yourself onto it.

“You’re so big,” you panted into his ear, the burn of his cock stretching your walls making you clench tightly.

“No matter how many times I fuck you, this pussy is always so tight for me,” he grunted, grabbing for your hips and removing his mouth from your chest. His fingers dug into your bare skin and you sank down completely, shivering and clenching his cock inside of you.

Taehyung’s fingers found your clit easily after years of learning your body and he started to rub as you ground your hips into his. Soon, he was thrusting up into you roughly, his fingers on your hips helping you move up and down to keep pace with him. You gripped his hair and tugged his mouth to yours, kissing him deeply, the slap of your skin against his filling the room along with your little noises.

You orgasmed quickly, your wound up body giving way to pleasure easily. As your walls spasmed around his snapping hips, Taehyung cursed under his breath and held you down on his cock as it twitched, spurts of hot come filling you up. He didn’t stop grinding you against him while he rode out his own release, his fingers sliding down to play with your clit.

“Taehyung,” you whined, “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he mumbled against your shoulder, his eyes shut while he savored the feeling.

You couldn’t help your bucking hips, chasing the feeling of his fingers pressed against your clit. You blinked your bleary eyes open and glanced toward the window, meeting cat-like eyes that startled you into a second orgasm while the head of Taehyung’s spilling cock continued to rub against your g-spot.

You had to bite down on your bottom lip to stop the shout that tried to tear itself out of your throat—a mix of fear and pleasure.

Rocking your hips against Taehyung’s softening cock inside of you, you wrapped your arms around him and kept his head buried in your chest as he pressed kisses to the tops of your breasts. Your eyes never left the ones staring back at you.

Jungkook watched you with heat in his gaze, even though the rest of his face seemed as through he were bored and uninterested.

The shockwaves ran through your body, igniting every nerve in your limbs while your boyfriend’s cock slipped out of you, his come following. Your breaths started to quicken when Jungkook’s form left your window, and for a second you thought you might have imagined it. For a second, you let yourself breathe.

Then you realized he had moved toward Soobin’s window, on the other side of the hallway.

With a small yelp, your throat closed up and you couldn’t breathe. Taehyung lifted his head, startled at your sudden sound, and you ripped yourself away from him, not even bothering to clean the mess dripping between your thighs as you hurriedly dressed yourself, moving at a speed you had never moved before.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Taehyung asked, tucking himself back into his pajamas and shifting off the bed.

You didn’t have time to answer him, messily dressed now. Rushing to the bedroom door, you yanked it open and sprinted to your son’s bedroom, heart pounding and blood rushing through your ears.

You threw open Soobin’s door and for a second, time seemed to stop.

The window was open and Soobin was in front of it, Jungkook leaning against the windowsill from outside. Your son turned to look at you, surprise etched into his features, and Jungkook’s eyes found yours for a second time that night. Beside each other, the two looked so alike that you wondered how you had deluded yourself into believing they would never know.

“Sweetmeat,” Jungkook’s voice drawled, your body shuddering on instinct alone. You couldn’t stop shaking, rooted to the spot as his hand settled on top of Soobin’s head. “It’s been a while, I see.”

“Mama!” Soobin cried out, a smile pulling his lips up. “You know faeries? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Jungkook,” you choked out, taking a step into the room as Taehyung’s footsteps sounded behind you. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, every atom in your body completely focused on the father of your child. “Get away from him.”

The faerie king hummed and he moved his hand down to Soobin’s shoulder. “I will not.” Those eyes that were the same as Soobin’s darted down to the young boy before darting up to yours again. “All these years, you’ve kept him a secret from me.”

Taehyung was behind you now, his voice shouting something at Jungkook, but all you could hear was the pounding of your heart and the sweet voice that came from the faerie. You were already inside the bedroom, Taehyung right outside the doorway behind you.

“Close the door, ____,” Jungkook said softly.

Your body moved on its own, shutting the door before Taehyung could force his way in.

“Now lock it.”

You locked it.

Taehyung’s panicked voice and slamming hands against the door barely registered in your head as you turned to face Jungkook.

“Jungkook, please,” you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes. You took a few steps forward, stopping only when you saw his fingers tighten around Soobin’s shoulder. “Please. He’s my son—”

“And mine,” he interrupted harshly. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed when your breath hitched, Soobin’s wide and curious eyes turning toward him once again.

“You’re my dad?” he asked quietly.

Jungkook’s eyes seemed to soften for a moment. You thought it must be a trick of the moonlight. “I am,” he told Soobin. “And I’ve come to bring you to your real home, where you belong.”

“Mama can come, too, right?” he asked, glancing at you before looking at his father.

“Of course,” he said easily. “She is mine, after all, until she draws her last breath and an eternity after.”

He tilted his head and then beckoned you over. You dropped to your knees, wrapping your arms around Soobin and yanking him away from the High King.

“Please, Jungkook,” you whimpered. “Please, leave us here. Leave us alone.”

Jungkook’s eyes hardened and his hand shot out like a bolt of lightning, fingers wrapping around the collar of your shirt and dragging you toward the window roughly. Soobin’s small hands dug into your shirt and you heard him make a distressed noise where you had tucked him close.

“Do you forget yourself, human?” he growled, voice dangerously low. You could feel the anger simmering under the surface, unlike anything you had seen from him years ago—he had always been indifferent to you, never angry. You supposed it was only natural after finding out you had kept Soobin a secret, no matter how unnatural Jungkook was. “Answer me.”

“No,” you said shakily. “I am yours.”

“You will be returning with me to the Faerie Realm,” he snarled. “If only because my son has wished for it. You belong to me, sweetmeat. You are mine to do with as I please.”

“Yes,” you replied quietly, never looking away from his slitted eyes. “I am yours to do with as you please, my king.”

“Now get up and come.”

You did as he asked, rising to your feet and releasing Soobin from your grip, though he kept his hold of your shirt as he looked between the two of you. You couldn’t stop your body from removing his hands from you, even as your hands shook and your breath caught when he begged you not to. Your fingers didn’t even twitch when Jungkook lifted him out of the window and kept him on his hip. You followed immediately after, surprised when Jungkook grabbed a hold of your upper arm and maneuvered you on the branches so that you didn’t fall over as the three of you descended to the grass.

Jungkook kept a tight hold on Soobin’s hand as he led you two away from your home. He didn’t need to keep any kind of grip on you—he knew you would follow him, unable to refute his orders, especially not when he was leading your child away with him.

You didn’t look back at the house once.

The sounds and smells of the Faerie realm was something you hadn't realized you had missed so much. Nostalgia for the years you had spent among these fair folk blossomed in your chest, flowering through your skin until you could feel the tingle in your fingertips.

The faeries through the forest watched the three of you with wonderous eyes, all colors and shapes, the whispers like the sound of bees buzzing through the night air. When you looked at your son, his eyes were taking in everything around him with delight and curiosity.

Soon enough, you were walking up toward the palace that you had known so well before, familiarity settling in your bones as you took the trek.

"Soobin," Jungkook said softly—you didn't think that the High King could ever sound so soft while speaking. "Do you want to see your room?"

"Jungkook," you called, taking a few steps toward them so that you were right behind your husband and the faerie king.

His cat-like eyes cut to you, not nearly as soft as they were when looking at your son, and you hesitated to reach out to touch him. Your brain was screaming at you that any move you made would be a terrible idea.

"You'll wait your turn, sweetmeat," he said to you with a smile that could carve through flesh. "Though I thought you would remember where your place is here."

"Of course," you replied quickly, simmering down so as to not scare Soobin with your own fear.

"Mama," your son said excitedly, his small hand still gripping Jungkook's. "This place is so cool! Why didn't you tell me you knew faeries?" he questioned.

Looking at him now, your heart ached for the way you, too, had once looked on in amazement and only excitement in this realm. What would this place, with its cunning smiles and sweet dangers, do to him and his precious, innocent smile?

"I'm sorry, baby," you cooed, dropping to your knees on the ground in front of you and cupping his face in your hands. You brushed his dark hair back, fingers trying not to bump onto his little horns—they had always been sensitive to the touch. "The faeries have just been so busy, I haven't seen them in so long and forgot to tell you about them."

"Can I play with them?" he asked.

"No—"

"Of course—"

You and Jungkook cut yourselves off, meeting eyes as Soobin looked between the two of you. You could almost see the thoughts swimming around in Jungkook's head, as if deciding what to say. You were too afraid to make a sound, furrowing your brows a bit and hoping that he would have some sense to how your child had been raised so far.

"Why don't your mother and I discuss that and let you know tomorrow, okay?" he eventually said, smiling sweetly at your son—his son. Soobin nodded ecstatically, throwing his arms around you for a tight hug. You squeezed him close to you, kissing the top of his head. "Now say goodnight and I'll show you to your room."

"Goodnight, Mama!" Soobin exclaimed, letting go of you quickly and slipping his tiny hand back into his father's. How were you going to explain everything to him?

Jungkook paused to look back at you as you were getting up from your knees. "I trust that you remember where your chambers are?" he inquired, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Your cheeks flushed with heat and you willed them to go back to their normal color, not wanting to look embarrassed in front of your son. "Yes," you eventually choked out, ignoring the quiet chuckle that Jungkook let out, leading your son down the hall and towards whatever room he had assigned for him.

Sighing, you turned to the other side of the hall, ashamed that your feet did remember the way to Jungkook's chambers, where you always slept, ready to embrace him into you night after night. And you hated that your groin tingled at the memories, the release from earlier still sticky against your skin, even as it dried.

"Sweetmeat," Jungkook cooed as he came into his chambers, a devilish smile playing at his lips.

Your cheeks flushed as you sat on the bed, ashamed at your own body for reacting to his voice like this. The memories flooded your brain, every muscle in your body thrumming as you expected his touch.

"Well," he said, now standing in front of you and his hips sliding between your knees. "I see you have become forgetful in your time away," he murmured, his fingertips brushing your cheek and then tucking your hair behind your ear. "Usually you would await me with nothing on that smooth skin of yours."

You cleared your throat awkwardly as you looked up at him, your legs automatically spreading wider to make room for him to stand between them. You bit your bottom lip and couldn't stop yourself from leaning into his palm, his skin warm and so familiar to you.

"I can't," you whispered, shutting your eyes so you wouldn't see the look on his face.

To your surprise, he leaned down so that his nose brushed yours. Against your better judgement, you let your eyes flutter open and you met his slitted eyes, soft as they looked at you. There was no rage or wrath.

"Why can't you, sweetmeat?" he whispered back, every word making his lips brush against yours lightly with how close he was. You took in a shaky breath, leaning back on your hands to try to put distance between the two of you. "Don't you want me to have you?"

"Yes," you replied on instinct, screwing your eyes shut as his body pressed against yours. "But Taehyung—"

Jungkook's thumb pressed against your bottom lip, stopping you. Your eyes opened again, watching how his were trained on your mouth. "No need to worry about that human," he told you. "You were always mine first." Before you could object, he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips—you never thought you would receive a simple peck from the High King, whose touch had always been so rough and ragged on you.

"I—" You breathed against his mouth, leaning in for more of his kisses. He stayed just out of reach and it felt like a punishment. "I want you," you whimpered, letting one of your hands come up to cup his cheek. You met his eyes shyly, a spark traveling through your abdomen at the dark way he looked at you, like he wished to devour you. "I want you," you repeated.

"You'll never be anyone else's," he said to you as he crawled over your body, gently pushing you back onto the lush mattress. Your heart was pounding in your chest as he tugged your baggy shirt over your torso, revealing your bare breasts to his gaze. "I simply allowed that mortal to loan you," he growled, leaning down to nip at your hard nipple.

"Yes," you sighed, your fingers digging into his dark hair. "I'm only yours." His mouth enveloped the tip of your breast, biting down around the areola and making you hiss from a mix of pain and pleasure. "I belong to you."

Jungkook pulled your sweats down your legs, lifting his head from your chest for only long enough to remove them completely and undress himself as well. Your eyes marveled at his body, not realizing how much you'd missed looking at it. Of course, you couldn't help but let your eyes trail down to his cock, which was already hard and you could feel the tingling between your legs.

His smirk widened as he grabbed your thighs, yanking you towards him until the underside of his cock was pressing against you. A quiet whimper fell from your lips.

"You don't need to be loosened, do you?" he asked sweetly, though you could hear the tinge of mocking in his tone. You'd heard it so often, right here on this very bed, that you could detect anything in Jungkook's voice.

Your cheeks were hot. "No," you whispered, shaking your head. "But I should clean fir—"

"No," he replied, rocking his hips toward you playfully. "I'll fuck you right now."

You wanted to protest, still dripping with Taehyung's cum. A pang of guilt throbbed in your chest, but the ache of desire drowned it out quickly. Your breath caught in your throat as he slowly pushed the length of his cock inside of you, a groan leaving his lips when he bottomed out.

"How are you still this tight?" he asked you, almost incredulous. "Just fucked and still this tight around my cock?"

Clenching around him, your eyes rolled back as he pulled out only a few centimeters before pushing back inside slowly. "I can't help it," you whined, spreading your thighs further apart until your knees were about to touch the silky bedcovers. "You make me this way."

When you met Jungkook's eyes, they were dark and hungry. "You're so wet," he told you, his fingers finding the flesh of your hips and digging into your skin. "I'm going to replace all this cum inside of you with my own."

Before you had a chance to say anything, or even start to feel a shred of shame, he pulled out almost all the way and then shoved himself inside of you, starting a brutal and quick pace. The bed was already shaking with the force of his movements, and your hand darted to your mouth for something to bite down onto.

As he thrusted into you, the lewd sounds echoing in the bedchamber and cum dripping past his cock and down your skin onto the bed, all your thoughts melted away. You had missed him. You'd missed everything about him—your body had missed him. Logically, you knew that this was wrong, that you had finally managed to find peace with the family you had created—but now—

"Jungkook," you moaned, releasing your hand from the bite of your teeth, and slid it onto his shoulder. "I need you—"

"Of course you do, sweetmeat," he cooed, though you could feel the shiver that went through his body. "You belong to me."

You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him even closer to your body. One of his hands moved up from your hip, his palm dragging lightly against your bare skin, cupping your breast and squeezing it in his hands. You whimpered and he pinched your nipple between his fingers, almost too painfully, but you liked it—maybe a little too much.

When his hand moved higher up your body to your neck, squeezing it gently while he shoved himself deeper and deeper into you with every thrust of his hips, you couldn't help the wanton moan that ripped its way out of your throat. Your legs tightened around him, trying to hold him inside of you forever while you twitched and squirmed, your orgasm building quickly and intensely.

"That's it, sweet thing," he purred, pushing his cock in as deep as it would go, using his other hand to push your thigh up so he could shove it in further while you came, clenching around him sporadically. "Did your human make you feel this good?"

"No," you croaked, seeing stars. "No one has ever made me feel this good." And you weren't lying, even though the guilt had started to eat its way through the pleasure in your abdomen.

Jungkook hummed and then started up his agonizing pace once more, making your body squirm and your toes curl.

"I can't," you begged, hands lowering to the bedsheets and clawing them in your fingers. "It hurts—"

"You can," he replied smoothly, and the head of his cock brushed the sensitive spot inside of you. You clenched hard, a cry falling from your mouth. "You will, human."

He pulled his cock out of you and when you looked down, it was wet with a mix of your slick and the cum that had still been inside of you. You didn't have the energy to feel embarrassed, though your cheeks did flush a little hotter than before. In one fluid movement, Jungkook turned you onto your stomach, his hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling them up so that your ass was in the air and your face was pressed against the bed.

You felt the slide of his cock back into you, eyes rolling back and fingers gripping the sheets. As it filled you, the squelch of it entering you again filling the room, Jungkook fisted your hair in his hand and pulled your head up.

Your body was still reeling from your orgasm—the second one that night—so you could do nothing but let him hold you in place there, a little moan coming out of your throat with every harsh thrust.

"That's a good girl," he groaned, his cock twitching inside of you while his thrusts started to slow down. "You always did take my cock so well for a human."

"Yes," you whispered, feeling a little bit of your spit on the corner of your lip. "It's all for you."

Jungkook moaned, shoving your head back down onto the bed, fingers still tightly gripping your hair. The slight pain from his hold mixed well with the pleasure of him rubbing against that spot inside of you over and over until you could barely take it.

"It's like you were molded for me," he said roughly, his body towering over yours as he tried to bury himself inside of you as far as he could go.

"I was," you said in a broken whimper, and you felt the twitch of his cock, followed by a spurt of his release, hot inside of you and filling you completely.

He rolled his hips a few times, and while still inside of you, his hand released your hair and curled around your torso, fingers finding your clit immediately. Your eyes widened for a second, the feeling of his fingers moving against your clit mixing between pleasure and pain. While his seed slipped past his cock and down your thighs, the feelings all crashed into you at once—guilt, pleasure, pain, shame, tingling—and you couldn't help but buck your hips against his hand and orgasm a second time.

When you were done, seeing stars behind your eyelids, he finally pulled out of you, letting his seed spill out of you and allowing your body to fall completely against the cool bed.

Turning to face him as he laid next to you, you couldn't even muster up a smile. Even with sweat on his face, his dark hair clinging to his skin, he still looked beautiful and ethereal.

Jungkook's eyes met yours and you couldn't stop your panting, your body completely spent—you couldn't even bring yourself to care about the mix of your slick and his seed still dripping out of you and onto the bed.

"Are you spent, sweetmeat?" he asked, a smirk starting to play at his lips.

You sighed and nodded, eyes still focused on his. "Yes," you replied slowly. "It's been... A long time," you settled on, not sure how to navigate your absence, even if he had originally allowed it.

"Well," he said gleefully. "You will get used to it again, soon."

It was then that you realized you couldn't see his other hand. When you let your eyes follow his arm down to his hand, you realized it was stroking his still hard cock, your slick and his come mixing all over it. Your cheeks flushed and your eyes widened—though, you could already feel the heat of desire in your belly and the tingling between your thighs as you clenched and unclenched around nothing.

"We are going to have so much fun, sweetmeat," Jungkook snickered, rolling over towards you to lick into your mouth.

The music and feasting was something you had missed, watching all the faeries let loose and be themselves, as grotesque as that might look to your human eyes. Jungkook had seated you at the table, taking Soobin away to introduce him to others and show him around a bit.

You were dressed in a gown made of silk, the neckline dipping almost halfway down your chest, but still covering your breasts from view—Jungkook could be possessive when he wished.

The faeries had given you looks, some with curiosity and some with suspicion—others even with pity, if you weren't completely delusional. Your eyes stayed trained on your son, who was learning how to play a game from the other young faeries around him.

"He belongs here," Jungkook whispered in your ear, spooking you for a moment. You looked up at him as he grinned at Soobin, watching him still as he took his seat beside you at the table, his hand patting your thigh before resting on the arm of his chair.

"I didn't think he'd fit in so well," you admitted, unable to stop the smile on your lips and the softness in your voice when Soobin laughed, holding hands with a young faerie who was dripping sap from their limbs.

Jungkook hummed and lightly tapped your chin with his fingers, turning your face to look at him. "Eat," he said flatly. "You belong here, too."

You swallowed nervously. Your eyes darted down to your plate, full of deliciously smelling food, the aroma calling to you. "Jungkook," you whispered, looking back at him.

His fingertips were so soft against your skin that their presence there could've been a hallucination—but you could feel a razor sharp tingle where they touched you, a subtle threat in the gentleness.

"Jungkook, when will we be able to go home?" you asked quietly,

Though his face hadn't changed, you could feel the tension settling in between your bodies. He hummed and let his fingers drag down from your chin to your neck, and then further down to your collarbones. You shivered, letting your eyes flutter shut while they continued their way down between your neckline, every touch of his igniting the nerves in your body.

His hand shot up and gripped your throat, startling your eyes into opening. He didn't tighten his hold, simply keeping a slight pressure on your neck. Jungkook's expression was wicked—and cruel.

"This is your home," he cooed, though nothing about his tone was soft. He leaned in closer, bringing you closer in as well with his hand around your throat. Your breath caught and he brushed his nose against yours lightly, eyes never wavering from yours. "I thought I did well to remind you of that earlier, sweetmeat."

Heat flooded your cheeks, traveling down your chest and between your thighs. You clasped them together instinctively and shuddered when you saw Jungkook's gaze glance down towards your legs.

"Should I remind you here, sweetmeat?" he continued, snickering at the way you were going pliant in his grasp. "Shall I show my court who you belong to?"

You wanted to say yes—everything in your body was craving him already, wanting every bit of him all over you. And to have every faerie in his court watch as he took you—over and over again—you could barely resist the temptation.

But you couldn't give in right now.

"I want you to," you whimpered, shutting your eyes again as he leaned in closer, licking your lips lewdly. He bit your bottom lip and you gasped, allowing him to press closer, kissing you lazily. His hands released your throat and moved back to the nape of your neck, holding you in place while he kissed you.

"Ew!" a voice exclaimed, a voice that was too familiar—and the entire reason you were planning to refuse his tempting offer.

You tore yourself away from Jungkook, who looked puzzled. "Binnie!" you breathed, shifting in your seat. "What's up, honey?"

Jungkook's hand stayed firmly in its place at the back of your neck, hot and heavy.

"Mama, what are you doing?" your son asked, crinkling his nose up in disgust.

"Your dad and I, we just—we just missed each other, that's all," you explained quickly. "Sometimes adults do that when they really love each other!"

Soobin frowned, tilting his head to the side. Before he could ask anymore questions, Jungkook smiled down at him. "Why don't you go to bed, Soobin?" he said, though you could see even your son, at such a young age, instinctively knew to heed his king's command.

An older faerie, one whose hair looked like sea moss trailing all the way down to its feet, arrived quickly and started to pull Soobin and the other young faerie with him away from the table.

"Wait!" he cried out, rushing over to your side.

You quickly enveloped him in your arms, raising him up to your lap. "What's wrong?" you asked, cupping his cheeks in your palms.

"You didn't give me a goodnight kiss," he pouted, wrapping his small arms around you for a hug.

"Aw, my baby Binnie," you cooed, kissing the top of his head. "Mama loves you so much." He looked up at you, his pouting lips still the same, and you kissed his cheek three times.

"I love you, too, Mama," he replied, leaning up to give your cheek a kiss as well. He looked over to Jungkook. "Can I give Dad a kiss, too?"

You hesitated, looking over at the High King, whose face was unreadable. Then, he opened his arms up in a welcoming gesture—Soobin hurriedly climbed down from your lap and rushed to his father, who gave him a peck on the cheek and ruffled his matching dark hair.

Once your son was bounding away, happily chatting with the faeries surrounding him, you sighed and turned to look at the High King, who you found already watching you.

"This is his home," Jungkook repeated harshly. You pursed your lips, hating yourself for the butterflies in your stomach when you knew Taehyung was waiting for you in the human realm. "Soobin belongs here." You didn't want to admit it, though you knew both of you knew perfectly well that he did fit in here—especially once his horns fully grew in atop his head. "Our other children will belong here, too."

Your cheeks flushed and your eyes widened, taken aback at his words. His face was unreadable, even after spending so much of your time with him. "Other children?" you gasped.

"Yes," he said easily, turning away from you and looking over the dancing and partying faeries. "I need many heirs."

A faerie took his attention before you could formulate any words in response to his statement, but you couldn't stop the pounding of your heart in your chest and the quick soar of elation that filled your head with dangerous thoughts—thoughts of the two of you together for the eternity you had promised to him, of you as his bride, of belonging to this world eternally.

You didn't see Jungkook for the rest of the night, but that didn't stop your imagination from running wild with the possibilities of your future together.

The nights passed in a blur of music, little adventures with Soobin, and reliving your memories from years ago. You couldn't help but lose yourself in this world, fully immersed in the customs and life of Faerie—especially now that you were anticipating your new familial life with Jungkook, as he'd implied.

The door shut behind him quickly and you were already slipping the straps of your dress off of your shoulders, the glitter from the fabric sticking to your skin. It fell to the ground softly and Jungkook's hands were already running down your arms, his body right behind yours.

You turned your face sideways to glance back at him, heat already pooling in your lower abdomen at his touch.

"Lie to me, sweetmeat," he whispered, dropping his head to press kisses to your shoulder, nipping at the flesh with his teeth.

You shuddered as his clothed body pressed into your bare one from behind, the tickle of the fabric causing goosebumps to raise on your skin.

"I want to go home," you murmured, your body molding against his as he walked you forward, bending you over onto the mattress. He undid his pants, letting them fall to the ground, and slid his hard cock against your ass.

You whined and pushed back against him, not even embarrassed at how slick you already were. You were already clenching around nothing in anticipation.

"How badly do you want me?" he asked, keeping one palm spread on your back to hold you down. His foot kicked your legs further apart to open you up completely to him. "Do you crave me?"

You moaned as the head of his cock pushed into your folds lightly but pulled away before giving you what you wanted. "Yes," you said. "I've never stopped wanting you."

Jungkook finally—finally—pushed his cock into you, sliding all the way in easily. He said nothing for a while, simply groaning and thrusting in and out of you, filling the room with the lewd sounds of skin against skin. You were gripping fistfuls of the sheets, even biting down on them when his pace became unforgiving.

"How often did you picture me when that human was buried inside of you?" he asked, and you could hear the large grin in his voice. You didn't answer, heat flooding into your cheeks. "Were you hoping it was my cock inside of you, filling you with my seed?" You moaned in response, clenching tight around him as he picked up his pace even faster, almost slamming his cock into you over and over. "Answer me," he growled, his fingers finding your hair and pulling your head up from where it was flush against the bed.

"Yes," you admitted, your voice shaking. "I wanted you to be the one fucking me—"

Jungkook's door opened and you flinched, though his grip on you didn't loosen and his movements only slowed, never stopping.

A woman came into view, though your eyesight was blurred and you had to focus them to see what she looked like.

"Ah, Wife," Jungkook purred, slowly pushing his cock into you so you could feel every centimeter.

"Husband," she replied easily, barely glancing at you.

You clenched around him from your shock, your little breathy sounds fading into the background. You couldn't stop your body from pushing back into him, wanton for him.

"What is it?" he asked, his hips still pounding into you from behind. You were staring at the woman, unable to take your eyes off of her as you took in her beauty. Her hair was a light blue, the very tips turning white and ending near her hips. There was a small golden crown wrapped around head, weaving through her hair like vines. Her ears were long and pointed—longer than Jungkook's ears.

"I see you returned your pet," she said instead, blankly looking over your form. You felt like you were being shown at an auction, but you couldn't muster up any feelings of shame, still used to the way the High King would keep you exposed to anyone who opened his door—even his apparent wife.

"I have," he returned gleefully, snickering. His cock slipped out of you with a lewd sound and his hands gripped your body, forcefully turning you over from your bent position so that you were laying flat on your back on the bed. You let out a small sound at the shift, but his cock was already burying itself inside of you again, brushing against your g-spot and making you moan loudly instead. "Isn't she exquisite?"

"She's very loud," his wife said plainly. "I can see the appeal."

Jungkook rocked his hips into you at a slow pace, one of his hands moving up to your breast and kneading it, pinching your nipple hard as you cried out, clenching and unclenching repeatedly.

"They require you in the meeting hall tomorrow morning," his wife continued. Jungkook merely hummed, his eyes completely focused on his cock disappearing into you over and over slowly. "Do not forget to attend."

"You should really try a human woman," Jungkook redirected, biting his lip and hissing as his bottomed-out cock twitched inside of you. You whimpered, unable to help the flush of arousal at the thought of her joining, memories of the others flooding your head for a few moments. You wrapped your legs around Jungkook's hips, pulling him tighter against you as he chuckled.

"I have humans," she replied, eyes running up and down your sweaty body and stopping for a few seconds too long on your breasts. "I find myself more inclined for the men of the species."

"Your loss," he grunted, grabbing your hips and yanking you harder towards him, picking up his brutal pace again and filling the air with the sounds of your skin slapping together. "Close the door."

You watched her nod her head towards him slightly before she retreated, pulling the door shut behind her. You could feel the orgasm building inside of you as he continued his movements, all your thoughts and words scrambled in your head.

"That's it, sweetmeat," he cooed, hissing as he rushed his pace. "Come all over me."

You moaned loudly at his command and felt complied to respond with your body, the pleasure tightening in your belly first as your orgasm hit you like a wave, shockwaves throbbing through your body as he continued to thrust into you through it.

"Jungkook," you panted, tightening your legs around his hips and fisting the sheets in your fingers as you winced. "It hurts—"

"Take it, human," he said blankly, his eyes focused on yours intently. You bit your bottom lip and shivered, trying to move your hips along to his bruising pace. "You're so good for me," he purred, leaning down as he stilled inside of you so that he could lick into your mouth lewdly. You could feel his cock twitch before he came, spurting his seed deep inside of you.

"Jungkook," you whimpered, arching your back, arousal swirling in your belly at the feeling of him releasing.

He shushed you as he rode out his orgasm, keeping himself flush against you even as he began to soften and his come started to slip out of you and down your thighs to the bed. As you kissed him back, licking back into his mouth and running your fingers through his dark hair and touching his horns lightly, causing him to growl against your lips, you couldn't help but remember the faerie that had stopped by.

"You're married," you whispered against his lips.

He pulled back just enough to look at you and a razor sharp smile was present on his mouth. "Yes," he said. "The High King must be wed for the future of Faerie." When you didn't say anything, pondering his words to you earlier, he continued as his finger began to trace your cheek. "Did you think I would marry you, sweetmeat?"

Your cheeks flushed. "No."

Jungkook laughed loudly and then pressed a harsh kiss to your pouting lips. "Humans are so fascinating when they lie," he finished, and you could feel him getting hard again inside of you. You squirmed underneath him as he kept you pinned down, a gleeful glint in his eyes as he watched you.

"Again, Jungkook?" you whined, though you were already clenching around him and rocking your hips up into him, your body begging him to start moving again.

He hummed and grinded against you slowly, enjoying the sounds your sticky bodies made with every movement. His hand came to grip your face and he held you still, pulling his cock out halfway and then sliding back in slowly. "I will keep you here, bred and ready for me for eternity," he said roughly, the head of his cock brushing against your g-spot again and making you mewl. He took the opportunity to lick into your open mouth.

When he released you, you sighed against his lips and pressed your thighs against the bed to allow him in deeper. "For eternity," you promised.

Jungkook's hips bucked into you and started another brutal pace, filling the room with your moans for the rest of the night.

"Soobin!" you called, running your hand down your belly bump and feeling the fabric of your dress, like silk, cool against your palm. Each of your fingers was adorned in rings, some metal and some vine. "Bring your brother and sister from the trees."

Your oldest son rolled his eyes, his horns curled backwards and ears almost as long as Jungkook's. He was taller than you now, his growth spurt hitting him years prior, and you couldn't help but smile at him sweetly as you made your way to the long table. Jungkook was seated at the head of the table, your family feasting inside the castle on a rare occasion. His wife was seated to his right and you made your way to his left, huffing as you struggled to sit comfortably.

Jungkook's smile to you was as sweet as it could be. "They should be content to play," he started, but you tutted at him and leaned back in the chair.

"I want them to have some connection to human manners," you replied easily, already used to having the same conversation every time you ate inside.

"I think it's good for them," Hana said, interjecting for once into the conversation.

You nodded your head at her, gesturing. "See?"

Jungkook sighed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms across his chest. "Yes, yes, go ahead and gang up on me."

"Daddy!" your daughter called out loudly, the rushed footsteps of her and her siblings filling the hall as they ran over to the table. Jungkook immediately opened his arms and let her jump into his lap, running his hand down her long dark hair. "Minnie hit me!"

Jungkook hummed, looking over at his two sons as they took their seats beside you, Soobin first. "And what did you do back?"

Ha Yoon smiled wickedly. "I bit him."

Jungkook and Hana laughed. He let her down from his lap, patting the top of her head. She bounced over to you, pulling on the tips of your hair the same way she used to as a baby. You lowered your head as much as you could and then winced when she nipped at your cheek with her sharp teeth. She giggled when you returned it with a kiss to her head and then rushed over to sit beside her brother.

"Soobin," Jungkook started as the servants, a mix of faeries and humans alike, began to place the food on the table and into your plates. "Have you thought about Hana's proposition?"

Soobin perked up, though your body tensed. Jungkook's eyes cut to you for a brief second, noticing your reaction, before he returned his gaze to your son.

"Yes," he replied, his voice much deeper than it had been when you'd returned to Faerie. "I'd like to go."

You bit the inside of your cheek and shoveled a spoonful of food into your mouth, now used to the wonderfully rich tastes this world had to offer you.

"Wonderful!" Jungkook said, smiling widely. "The carriages leave tomorrow for the Court. You'll go with them."

"My brother will teach you well," Hana said, smiling at Soobin sweetly. She had been like a second mother to him all these years, so you understood that your anxiety was rooted in nothing but jealousy and a wish to keep your children near you. "Oh, and Jungkook," she continued, turning her attention to her husband while you fussed over Soobin and Minhyuk.

"Yes, Wife?" he hummed, making a face at his daughter, who looked the most like him out of the three children.

"I'm pregnant," she giggled.

Jungkook's ears twitched and he turned to her quickly, all sounds quieting in the hall. "You are?"

"Yes."

"That's wonderful, Wife," he said smoothly, reaching over and holding her hand in his. You eyed their intertwined fingers and rings with a rush of jealousy, but the anxiety in your chest worsened. "Faerie will be full of my children's laughter."

They looked over at you expectantly. "Congratulations, Hana," you gulped, smiling as wide as you could to mask your fears.

She smiled tightly back at you, her eyes darting down to your own pregnant belly. "Thank you," she said.

Jungkook reached over and took your hand in his so that he was holding both of your hands. "We will celebrate and have a feast tomorrow with the courts," he said. He squeezed your hand and then released Hana's first, using his now free hand to pat your arm before he let go.

"So we're going to have another brother?" Minhyuk asked, speaking for the first time since he sat down. Your middle son was rather quiet and looked more like you than his father, though you didn't think Jungkook minded. He spoiled them all the same.

"Or sister," Hana told him, her face back to the usual stoic expression that everyone was familiar with.

"And it'll be two of them," you told him. Minhyuk tilted his head and then went back to his food, shoveling it in ravenously.

"And there will still be time for more," Jungkook said wickedly. "From both of you." His foot bumped into yours and you looked up at him through your lashes, arousal swirling between your legs when he winked at you and reached over to rest his hand on your thigh. Hana gasped and you looked over to her, watching how her cheeks flushed pink and you could see that Jungkook's other hand was below the table in her direction as well.

He released both of you again and continued his food, the children chatting with each other and him, mostly, excited to have their father's attention since most of his morning and afternoon had been spent in his office and among his advisors.

Once the children were done with their food, they excused themselves from the table and went to go continue playing. Soobin decided to go off on his own from his siblings, but you still had no idea where he went on nights like these; Jungkook always quelled your worries, telling you that he was at that age now where he should be left alone when he needed to be, instead of fretted over.

Jungkook gestured for you with his hands and you rose from your chair, moving over to stand in front of him. He placed his hands on your belly, eyes devouring you in a way that made you want to push your thighs together for relief. He smirked.

"Have they told you what it is yet?" he asked.

"No," you replied quietly, glancing over at Hana. "They say it'll be another boy."

"Faeries and their theories," he sighed, though his tone was fond. "We'll be visiting the Unseelie Court in a few days," he continued.

"Me as well?" you asked, confused. Usually him and his wife went, but you stayed here.

"Yes," he said. "Hana will be going with Soobin. You will come with me."

You bit your lip as his hands started to travel down your dress, using his fingers to pull the fabric up higher and higher, pulling you closer to his lap as he did so. Even after all these years, he was still insatiable.

"I will go prepare and find Soobin," she interrupted, standing up and dragging your attention away from Jungkook.

He stopped her for a brief second, though his hands continued their work until your dress was lifted enough for him to slide his fingers along your unclothed folds, gathering the slick of your arousal on them before he pushed two inside at once, making you whimper as you leaned back on the table.

"Be ready for me tonight, Wife," he told her. She nodded her head.

Then she took a few steps forward, leaning down and pressing her lips to yours. You gasped into her mouth, letting her tongue press against yours as Jungkook snickered from below you, continuing to work his fingers in and out of you. Hana pulled away with an obscene pop of her mouth, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and make you hiss, clenching around Jungkook's fingers.

"I will be," she told him after, leaning down and kissing him harshly. He groaned and rubbed his thumb against your clit with every lick of her tongue against his. Then she pulled away and left the hall, you suspected to her own quarters.

Jungkook pulled his fingers from you and put them in his mouth, licking your slick off while he maintained eye contact with you. He let go of your dress, letting it drop back down to cover your legs, and stood from his chair, walking past the table and looking back at you.

"Come, sweetmeat," he commanded you. Rushing forward as fast as you could in your condition, you slipped your hand into his and allowed him to lead you out into the hall. Jungkook took the opposite turn from the hall leading to his bedroom, instead leading you towards the doors that led into the massive back gardens of the castle, one of your favorite places. You could feel your cheeks flushing with excitement already, knowing he was going to splay you out for anyone wandering the garden to see.

Your packed suitcase was ready beside you, but you ignored it and spent your time fixing Soobin's shirt collar and patting down his hair. He shook his head around, huffing as you fussed over him.

"Mom, I'm not going to be gone so long," he protested, though his voice was soft. You frowned, letting your fingers run through his dark hair one last time before you lowered your hand.

Hana flicked his nose lightly, earning a noise of complaint from the now young adult. "A mother worries, Binnie," she chided him. You smiled lightly when he lowered his head, mumbling an apology to you at her words. He held your hand lightly and pressed a kiss to the back.

"My sweet boy," you said almost tearfully, bringing him in for a hug even though he stood much taller than you. He wiggled uncomfortably, trying not to press too hard against your belly as he returned the hug. "Be safe."

He pulled back with a large smile. "You, as well."

Jungkook arrived, pressing a hand to the small of your back to nudge you forward. "Let us go, sweetmeat," he told you, still using his favorite nickname of yours after so many years. "Yeon will care for the children while we are away."

You looked back, waving to your other two children, who were still so young they couldn't care any less about all of them leaving for about a week's time. "Take care of him, Hana," you said quietly, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze.

She smiled pleasantly. "As I always have," she replied, returning your squeeze.

Jungkook ruffled Soobin's hair. "Do give them some trouble," he said wickedly, sharing a similar smile of mischief with his oldest son. He leaned over and pressed a long kiss to his wife's mouth, sliding his hand to the back of her neck to keep her close while Soobin started to put their bags in their carriage. When he pulled away, her lips were plump and red from his.

You waved to them as they got in and the drivers led them away, your own carriage pulling up to the front and the servants opening the door. Jungkook easily tossed the suitcases in and then helped you up, always more caring and careful when you were carrying his children. He slid into the seat beside you, never preferring to be across from you like in the shows you had always seen, even if sitting beside each other was more cramped.

"Do not worry, human," Jungkook told you blandly, not even looking out of the window as the carriage started to move, taking you away from the place you had become so familiar with. "We will only be visiting a few days and then we will be back with our children."

You couldn't help but take his hand in yours, thankful he simply opened his palm and let you intertwine your fingers together. "I know," you said, leaning over and resting your head on his shoulder.

As the carriage continued on, you dragged your free hand down your belly nervously, hoping that all your fears concerning the courts were unwarranted and simply human anxieties.

all rights reserved © junqkook | 13 MARCH 2024 | the reposting/modifying of any kind on any medium is strictly not allowed. translations are not allowed.

[strawbubbysugar]

Base Y/N design for the Bethroned AU! You are a young royal betrothed to Prince Moon, and set to be wed in order to end the war between humans and animatronics!

[natailiatulls07]

Princess Royal

Carlos Sainz x Princess!Reader

British Royal Family x Princess!Reader

Summary - A glimpse into Carlos Sainz and King Charles’ and Princess Dianas youngest child, Princess Y/n

Warning - swearing?

-

balmoral_castle

Princess Y/n in the royal gardens this morning, awaiting the arrival of the King and Queen and her husband, Carlos Sainz.

Liked by username and 126,629 others

username I live for how she acts like she’s not royal

username I wanna know what tea that is

= princess.royal Yorkshire 😚

username I just wanna be her frienddddd

username The elegant messy hair is AMAZING

username Love her 🫶🏻

username I love her and Carlos’ relationship 🥹

princess.royal

Love my niece and nephew, they really embody how I feel most of the time

Liked by carlossainz55 and 223,728 others

username THAT DRESS

username Beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, amazing, glamorous

username When’s your next public appearance?!?!

= princess.royal Soon my love, soon 😋

username My Queen!!

username She takes after her mother 🥹

carlossainz55 You’re beautiful princess

princeandprincessofwales posted a story

carlossainz55

Our muppet friend came to visit during his time off

Tagged: princess.royal landonorris

Liked by princesandprincessofwales and 201,573 others

username Not Lando just being on his phone the whole time

username Girls just need someone like Carlos, he left his f1 career just to be with her

= username IKRRR

username He is literally Prince Eric!

landonorris I was being sociable I promise

= princess.royal Sure…

= landonorris Your nephews loved me!!

username Their child

theroyalfamily

Happy Birthday to the Princess

Tagged: princess.royal

Liked by charles_leclerc and 255,383 others

username She is gorgeoussss

username Happy Birthday!

username Happy B-day 🥳

username The hair and tiaraaa

username I LOVE HER

username 🥳🥳🥳

princess.royal posted a story

username Sooo apparently Carlos got the princess a black kitty!!! I can’t do this todayyyyyy

username I want someone like this 😫😫😫

username OMFGGGG

username They are just perfect for each other

username FR FR FR

-

[starboye]

pairing: prince henry x male reader

request: hey if you have room for a red, white and royal blue fic. Could you do a henery x male reader who is a photographer and is hired to take pictures for the royal family because Henry has s fat crush on him

warnings: none

it was really nice working for the royal family, they had good hospitality, and were incredibly nice, plus the pay was amazing so it would have been insane to not take a photography job from them, all you had to do was snap a couple pictures of their beloved and sometimes stuck up child prince henry.

it was a little bit of a challenge navigating the castle but you did end upo finding the place you were supposed to take the photos at, you set up your gear and camera and just as you finished henry walked in "oh hi mr henry i was just putting the last touches on everything" you say with a smile standing up straight to shake his hand, henry stood there dumbfounded by your good looks "sir" you chuckle.

he snaps back to reality and shakes your hand firmly, maybe a little to firmly as you had to pull your hand out of his tight grip "sorry just a little nervous" he nervously chuckles obviously awkward "oh, well nothing to be scared of just gotta take some quick pictures" you reassure sweetly.

"okay" he calms down a little "alright so stand right there on the little x and then do a nice pose" you say fixing the camera to look at him, he poses and you take a couple pictures before leaning up to examine them "are they good" henry asks "not really you just look a little to tense" you reply.

an idea pops in your head right then "lets do some silly poses to lighten the mood' you say "really" henry says not amused by the idea "yes really it'll work" you say setting the camera back down and aligning it with henry "do something like this" you say doing a crazy pose that makes henry laugh and after some hesitation he agrees and does it.

you laugh at the boys silly pose which makes him burst out laughing "okay okay now lets take these pictures" you say still chuckling lightly before snapping some pictures of henry in a more calmed and laid back state "perfect" you say turning the camera to show henry the pictures to which he agrees with you.

as you're admiring the photos to make sure they're all good henry quickly glance at your face, the way it looks,how soft your hair must feel, and your lips oh. my. god. he wanted to kiss you so bad but refrained from doing so, he turned his gaze away as you turn to look up at him "so i guess we're done here" henry questions.

"yeah i think thats pretty much it" you say before packing up your stuff and putting them into their bags, henry standing there fiddling with his cuff links nervously wanting to ask you out but not having the courage "your pictures should in the mail by tomorrow" you say as you head towards the door.

"wait" henry blurts out "yes"you question turning around "what if i come by your place and pick them up myself" henry shyly says "oh yeah sure" you agree "and maybe after we can get dinner" he adds "are you asking me on a date" you ask walking closer to henry "yeah i guess i am" henry says before you kiss him on the cheek "well then its a date" you smile before walking out, henry could feel his face heat up as he blushed and thought of the date tomorrow

[cumtastiics]

Can you do a sadistic yandere elf prince falling in love with an unwilling human?

YAN! SADISTIC ELF PRINCE x G/N READER

tw(s): yandere, sadism lowkey bro, reader is kinda referred to as "princess" since yk elf dude is delusional but isn't referred to with any other non-g/n title, but i do think male reader fits the most imo. a/n: feel free to request more about this yandere, previous yanderes, and even new yanderes! (aka pls request i love getting requests)

"MY LOVELY PRINCESS," HE hummed, walking into your (what he would prefer to be your shared) bedroom. "You seem awfully tired," he remarked, walking towards the bed you were laying on.

You could almost scoff at what he said. You were exhausted because of him. All because you were too hesitant around him, too cautious.

You never believed in elves, or anything magical for that matter. Elders told you of stories about such things to scare you, make you to not even think about leaving.

Yet his turquoise eyes were almost hypnotizing. His eyes weren't magical, but they felt like it.

"I am," you replied, scooting a bit further away, watching his feet as he walked closer to you. "I'd like to sleep."

"But my dear, you look so beautiful when you're awake," he cooed, moving closer and running his fingers through your hair.

You flinched at the touch, but you knew better than to try and push him away. He was too strong, too powerful, and too unpredictable.

"I don't want to be beautiful," you whispered, closing your eyes and hoping he would leave you alone.

"But I want you to be," he spoke, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. "I want you to be mine, forever and always. No other human could ever compare to you."

You really didn't like him. Yet, you couldn't deny the way your heart raced when he touched you, the way your body burned with desire when he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

You opened your eyes, looking at him with fear in your eyes, his smile only starting to grow.

"I can't wait. For my father to die. To become king, and make you my queen."

At times, you pitied him. Perhaps it was due to his father, him being the reason the prince was so delusional.

His long nails grazed against your cheek, daring to prick your skin and draw blood.

You winced at the touch, but didn't dare move or speak. You didn't want to anger him. You didn't want to give him any reason to hurt you.

"And then, my dear princess," he continued, his voice low and menacing. "We shall rule over all the human lands together. You, by my side, forever and always."

"That's... not what I want," you managed to whisper, feeling a faint tinge of defiance rising within you.

He laughed in response, his grip on your chin tightening. "What you want is irrelevant. You belong to me now, and you will do as I say."

[maryleclerc]

𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 — charles leclerc

pairing: prince!charles leclerc x reader

summary: in which prince charles and princess y/n of monte carlo announce their pregnancy of their first royal baby

vote for the royal baby name here ❤️

warning: english is not my native language and i did use google translation also i did not know much about the royal rule so please don’t take it serious, i’ll be grateful if you leave comment to let me know about my writing if i needed to fix anything

read previous part: 𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 > 𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

charles_leclerc with y/n_leclerc

Liked by y/n_leclerc, lorenzotl and 174,730,461 others

charles_leclerc We are really happy to announce that we are expecting our first child. Y/n and i decided to not appear in any public event until the birth of our child for safety of my wife and baby. And we also receive lots and lots of congrat and with all the best wishes for both of us and baby

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y/n_leclerc ❤️❤️

sofiagraace Love you both

heismydreamman She will join the Christmas Night ceremony with the royal and we’ll see her bump show

princessy/nmyheart Am i the only one here thinks she’s going to name her child Anne?

jessicalauree So freaking adorable!!!!

y/n_leclerc

Liked by charles_leclerc and others

y/n_leclerc Throwback to our wedding day and honeymoon ❤️ @charles_leclerc

Comment are limited

theroyalnews

126,822,163 Likes

theroyalnews

The Prince and Princess of Monte Carlo first public appearence since the announcement of Princess Y/n pregnancy. Princess Y/n appeared in public today with a long, flowing black velvet dress to hide her pregnant belly, it seems that Prince Charles has become a protective husband to his pregnant wife when he repeatedly refused to stand for too long at today's ceremony. Towards the end of the session, we had a chance to ask a few questions with Prince Charles and Princess Y/n.

"Prince Charles, how do you feel about today's ceremony?" “Well I feel very happy and excited at the ceremony today, it is a very important ceremony for my mother Queen Pascale” Prince Charles said, and I ask Princess Y/n “And Princess Y/n, how do you feel?” She answered “Since I'm pregnant right now, it's natural to feel tired but this is only a side effect and the main part is that we can enjoy this happy time together with the Royal Family”, “I have Just a few short questions, can the Prince and Princess answer a few questions for me?" “Of course” They both replied at the same time. “First question, surely you also know that the announcement of the pregnancy has shaken all the people with joy, right? So a few people emailed us asking us to ask you about the baby's gender was? Is this information that is allowed to be revealed?” Prince Charles nodded his head and answered my question “I know this is information that everyone is curious about, although we are the Prince and Princess of Monte Carlo, we must always adhere to the principles given by the royal family", Princess Y/n replied, "But of course we'll let everyone know as soon as we have the baby." She laughed, then I continued to ask the last question "Then Prince Charles and Princess Y/n have come up with any name for the royal baby yet?”, Princess Y/n replied, “Charles and I haven't come up with any name yet but we plan to name the baby with our traditional royal name", "Because she likes traditional names, I like more modern names, but I love her and the baby so the name will be decided by her" Charles said then both of them laughed.

What do think the Prince and Princess will name their baby? Leave us a comment about what you are thinking!

tag charles leclerc , y/n_leclerc

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diwkjd_ I guess they will name it Charlotte or Carlotta, easily Charlotte is a tradition name and its also Charlotte is female version of the name Charles… isn’t it cute

unclejamees I don’t know what they’ll name him/her but i just love the fact Princess Y/n chose to name their baby with royal tradition name

penelopejanes It’s definitly gonna be named Charlotte

⤷ jaada How are you so sure?

⤷ penelopejanes Idk, just so easy to guess, i mean Charlotte also royal tradition name tho

beaniw I got the opportunity today to talk with Prince Charles and Princess Y/n and they’re super nice and Charles is super protective of his wife lately

[strawwiibernyy]

Ice Prince - Park S.

____________________

[Prince!Sunghoon x Princess!Reader]

warnings! suggestive, cursing, family issues, violence (a slap), other idols mentioned (yuna, wonyoung).

words: 6k

╰┈➤ You didn’t choose to be a princess. All you wanted was to be free, but that would never happen. Especially now, that they chose you among the ten princesses battling for Park Sunghoon. Everyone feared him, expect you. Will you be able to warm the prince’s cold heart?

____________________

Park Sunghoon is South Korea's most handsome prince.

Everyone knew him for his perfect face, decorated by beauty marks. Also his nice shaped body, taller than most boys at his age. A lot of princesses had fallen into his mysterious trap. However, that wasn't the case with you.

You disliked Park Sunghoon. In your eyes, he was a cold-hearted prince who looked down upon others because of his handsome face. His grades were average and his social skills poor. So what was Park Sunghoon other than a handsome face?

And to think that you were chosen as one of the ten princesses to become his future wife was even worse.

Hours and hours, you were sitting at your castle's library, reading the same romance novels over and over again. You were jealous of the protagonists's freedom, while your entire life was in the hands of your parents.

You didn't want to disappoint them. That's why you followed every rule. However, there were times you wanted to escape.

Every time you would step a foot outside of the kingdom, your father would yell at you. At the age of five, you received your first punishment.

"When will you understand that you are a princess? You are not allowed to do anything before I tell you to!" He shouted, his hand coming in contact with your cheek. A loud slap was heard, marking a big print on you.

The moment you left the room, you noticed people were standing outside. First, your maid looking at you with pitiful eyes. On the other hand, your two older brothers were red from their anger. However, they should know better than to go against the king. Your father.

"Ready?" Your maid asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. In your mind, the man you would marry would love you so much that he would sacrifice himself for you. But which prince in their right mind would sacrifice themselves for a stranger?

"I think so." A sigh left your mouth, twirling around the mirror. You weren't a teenager anymore. Now you were eighteen years old and ready to fight for your marriage.

The dark blue dress you were wearing played around with the wind and a smile overtook your lips. Your hair was curled and pulled half up-half down. You looked gorgeous. But for the wrong guy.

"Oh, come on!" Your maid said, noticing your sadness behind your eyes. "Park Sunghoon is extremely handsome and the wealthiest out of all them. Any princess should be thankful to God for having a change with him."

"Yes, till he starts completely ignoring her." You turned around to look at the older women, leaning back on the small table behind you. "When I met him at eleven years old, I thought he was mute. Handsome, but very antisocial. Oh, and very prideful!"

"Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice was also like that, but you didn't seem to mind it." She mentioned, and you both giggled at her comment. You lowered your head in defeat, hearing your favorite character’s name.

"Alright. Ready now?" She asked one last time, opening your bedroom's door.

"Ready."

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．*Time Skip*

"Your highness, we have arrived." The man on the horses said, giving them a last whip. You frowned at the harsh action, and suddenly your door was open. You had to abandon the carriage that protected you.

With one step on the ground, you felt your heart beat raise dangerously. You mustn't feel so eager to see Sunghoon's pretty face, but you are.

"Your highness." The only bodyguard who was accompanying you stretched out his hand. Placing your palm on his strong shoulder instead, he curled it back to him.

Numerous voices had already filled the palace, and you had arrived five minutes earlier. The tall door in front of you was open, two guards at each side of it. They bowed when you stepped foot, and you gave them a smile.

The place was enormous. Nothing like the rest of the palaces you had visited. You knew Sunghoon's kingdom was the wealthiest, yet you weren't ready for what you were about to see.

The walls were light brown, while gold details were decorating it. A line of flowers hung on the celling, creating a cross with the other one which started from the other side.

Lastly, a big white-clothed table was next to the door. Your stomach groaned seeing the delicious food, and you decided to pay it a visit.

"Ah, he is gonna choose her for sure!" A woman next to you at the table said. She was holding a glass of red wine, drinking small sips here and there. The other women in front of her had signifying cat eyes.

"Don't say that. You are like one of the prettiest princesses in South Korea as well." The cat-eyed women comforted her, taking a sip from her white wine. None was eating like you did, and the bread in your hand fell back down when you noticed it.

"Not when she is here!" The complaining women replied, pointing at someone with her finger. Your eyes went by themselves in the direction, curiosity washing over you.

And you recognised the princess by the minute you led eyes on her. Jang Wonyoung. The most beautiful princess of South Korea.

Her parents, along with Sunghoon's ones, had already decided a long time ago to pair them together. Their unmatched beauty and witty mind would create the perfect future kingdom.

That's when you realized that this ball was only typical. The wife had already been chosen, the rest of you had come here for the humiliation.

"Welcome people. I am so delighted with your visit to celebrate together my son's twenty birthday." The king of the palace took everyone's attention, and the once loud room fell silent.

"And, of course." He continued. "To find his future wife." The man was sitting at the throne at the back of the room. Next to him was his wife, and then Sunghoon.

The king was so sure about his first son that he didn't make more like the rest of the kings usually did. Sunghoon's cold gaze found his father, and then his guests.

His eyes alone made you shiver. It was like an invisible armor protected him, making him feel better than others. Well, more sure than others. He had the face, and that's all he needed to win.

"The dance may start!" And with that, the piano began playing. And the violin next to it joined as well. The eyes of the ten princesses for Park Sunghoon, were on him.

He must choose a princess to dance with.

People hadn't started yet to feel the music. All eager and curious about his decision. Sunghoon's eyes wondered around the princesses. Starting from the first till the last. However, he gave clues with his gaze which stopped a bit on certain ones.

And guess what, his eyes almost completely skipped you. He was quick to move to the one next to you, not even moved by your friendly smile. You scoffed under your breath, and the princess next to you heard it.

"I know, right?" The women who was complaining from before whispered to you. Now that you could take a proper look at her, you saw how pretty she actually was. And you also finally recognized her.

"Princess Yuna, you are prettier than her." And you didn't lie. In your eyes, she was gorgeous. Shin Yuna smiled at you, her face titling to the side.

"Thank you!" Was all she replied and turned back to Sunghoon. You felt a little annoyed that she didn't return the compliment, but you brushed it off.

"Jang Wonyoung."

"Perfect! Let's dance!" Wonyoung's smile reached her ears, rushing to the black-haired prince. He didn't return the smile. He stayed cold like always.

"Of course the ice prince would choose her. We can't compete against Wonyoung." Yuna turned to you again, her previous smile long gone.

"Wait, how did you call him?"

"Ice prince. You didn't know? Everyone calls him like that." No, it was your first time hearing it. However, a tiny smile creeped on your lips. 'Yes, the nickname suited him perfectly.' you thought.

"Yuna, what do you say for a walk around the garden?" You asked, wanting to leave the crowded room. Even if you didn't like Sunghoon's personality, your chest hurt to see him dancing with another princess.

"Yes, please!"

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．*Time Skip*

"He is a dick!" Yuna suddenly shouted, your eyes becoming wide. "But a very handsome dick." She sighed and furrowed when she noticed your surprised state. "What? Princesses can't curse? My father is not here anyway. I can do whatever I want."

She scoffed and started walking towards a bench. It was outside of the ballroom, and the music flew through the walls. You clenched your jaw, pictures of Sunghoon and Wonyoung flying back in your mind. And Yuna seemed to have the same memories, because her eyes became watery.

"No, Yuna-"

"Are we really that average next to Jang Wonyoung?!" She shouted, her hands shaped into fists. You didn't know what to reply. Yuna was breaking down in front of you and all you could do was stare. But after that, she felt better.

She cried a few tears, yet after that she was so happy. Her suppressed emotions escaped her chest. Now she was back in her calm state, a small smile on her lips.

Maybe if you express those emotions too, you wouldn't feel that hurt.

"But he is so handsome-"

"And what? What else is he?" You stood up from the bench and Yuna's eyes got wide. "He is nothing more than a handsome face. It's really annoying how he thinks he rules the world because he was born pretty. But you know what? He is dump and boring!"

"No Y/N-"

"His face doesn't cover for his falling grades and his poor etiquette skills. He is rude to everyone and looks us down. But you know what? Park Sunghoon is the dump one for thinking his face can solve anything!"

"Y/N stop-"

"Someone has to bring that ice prince back into reality! Make him realize that he is nothing else than a rude asshole!"

"Ice prince?" The male voice behind you made you froze. Yuna stood up, big-eyed, to see the man behind you. Looking at Yuna, frightened, she nodded at you, and you didn't want anything else to understand who was behind you.

"Prince Sunghoon." Yuna bowed, raising up the edges of her dress. Slowly turning around, you took some steps back, realizing how actually close he had come. His hands were interlocked behind his back, while his head had leaned down at your height.

Your breath got caught at the back of your throat seeing him. Maybe you were lucky enough, and he hadn't heard his name. However, his gaze told you something different. It wasn't his cold, usual one.

He was burning your face with his dark brown orbs. Every part of it turning into ash. You swallowed a hard knot down your neck, not daring to compete against his intense eye contact.

"And who are you exactly?" He asked, a teasing tone hiding in his voice. You couldn't believe in your unluckiness. The one moment you decided to talk. Yuna minutes before was saying even harsher things, yet now she was silent in front of him.

"I asked you a question." He repeated when your mouth stayed close. You wanted to ask him what was he doing out here. Wasn't he supposed to dance with his future wife? But clearly in the situation you were, you couldn't even form a word.

"P-princess Y/L Y/N."

"Mmh." He hummed in approval, straightening his back. His eyes looked at you up and down with his usual critical gaze. His chin was raised, looking down at you like he was doing to everyone.

"Um, I-i am sorry." Suddenly Yuna interrupted, going to stand in front of me. "I am princess Shin Yuna. My kingdom is-"

"I don't care." His words shut Yuna's mouth, a gasp escaping from her. Even if you could only see her back, you could imagine her glittery eyes. She wanted to marry Park Sunghoon more than anyone else, despite her prior words.

Sunghoon took the road back to the ballroom, leaving me and Yuna behind. Yuna spun around, her jaw hanging open. You didn't look at her, your eyes instead on the grass. The humiliation from before wasn't enough. When he almost completely skipped you.

You were sure that you were the princess he had noticed the least. He didn't even know you, or your name. And after your words, he wouldn't even consider you as a friend.

"The ceremony is starting soon. We should go." Yuna informed you, and you nodded. The ceremony in which Park Sunghoon will pick the princess he wants to be with. The princess that is going to accompany him from now on till forever.

The ten princesses were in line in front of him, while his parents sat at the thrones behind him. He knew what he should do. Jang Wonyoung was smiling warmly at him. She knew too.

"So, my son. Which princess are you choosing to create memories with and born the next king after you?" The king said, a smile on his lips. They knew already the results. Yet his final answer shocked everyone.

"Princess Y/L Y/N."

"What?!"

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．*Time Skip*

"Welcome to our palace, your highness." A butler said, pushing open the door. You could tell from everyone's expression that they didn't expect you here.

"Your room is next to the prince's. Let us settle your things." The butler took from your hands roughly the suitcase, rushing with the maid up the stairs.

Your maid had informed you that the palace had been deep cleaning since yesterday morning. The glasses were glittering against the sunlight and the floor was still slippery.

All those preparations. Yet they weren't for you. They had made a deal and Sunghoon broke it. People probably still wonder what you are doing here instead of Wonyoung. But to be honest, you didn't know what you were doing here either.

"You arrived." The queen acknowledge you, her son standing behind her. You bowed at her majesty, nodding at her words. Your gaze immediately went on Sunghoon, whose stone cold expression never left his face.

"Sunghoon, once our maid is done, you shall show her the bedroom. We choose the best one for you."

"Thank you so much, appreciate it." And with that, the queen left. Now you and Sunghoon could talk freely, without hiding behind your masks.

"Why did you choose me?" You hurried to ask him. Judging from his face, he was waiting for that question. It stayed exactly the same, not a muscle moved. It had already become tiring trying to read past him.

"Not even a good morning, or a bow?" He asked ironically, stepping closer. Whatever you did, it felt like he was above you. The power he held was stronger than anyone's and it made you weak on your knees.

"Good morning. Why did you choose me?" You repeated, and he frowned at the pressure. 'A good achievement for a starter.' you thought. "I-i mean, I said a-all those things."

"That's none of your business." He was quick to end the conversation, not giving you any more space. It felt so weird. Minutes before, the dress you were wearing was enough to warm you, yet now it felt too light.

He was really the ice prince.

"Prince Sunghoon." The maid from before came down, gaining Sunghoon's attention. He took some steps back from you, turning towards her. "Her room is ready."

Your nose scratched in annoyance at the maid. She was in a lower class that you, but she called you 'her'. Even the workers here didn't want you.

It made you sad. Your chest was heavy as you walked up the stairs, trailing behind Sunghoon. You would live here alone, without even your dear maid or your brothers. Here, everyone hated you.

'Sunghoon, I hate you.'

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．*Time Skip*

Life with Sunghoon was better than you thought. On the first days, you cried yourself to sleep. Gripping the blankets, trying to drown your sobs. However, as the time passed, people seemed to get more comfortable with you here. Sunghoon as well.

"You play the piano too?" His long fingers gently pushed on the piano's buttons, creating the melody that was currently entertaining you.

You had gone to the library to pick up a romance novel. Something good to pass your time, since Sunghoon wasn't the most talkative person. His schedule was full anyway, so you barely saw him through the day.

This moment was one of the few ones that you caught a glimpse of Sunghoon. A piano was laying across the library, next to the bookshelf that contained your favorite novels.

"Of course I do. Every prince should know at least two instruments." He replied, taking his eyes off of the piano for a moment to look at you. "You don't?" His gaze travelled up and down, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Um, my father made me learn harp, but I must admit I am not good at it." You scratched the back of your neck, an awkward smile on your lips.

Suddenly, you felt self-conscious about your lack of knowledge. Usually you didn't fear admitting that you only played piano. Instead, you supported your unusual decision.

However, seeing how perfect was Sunghoon, made you feel worthless for him.

"Alright." Was the only thing he said, turning back to his work. Seeing him so peacefully hitting the notes made your stomach twirl. The sunlight was caressing his face. But its warmth annoyed him and he closed the curtain.

"W-what are you doing?" Your figure slipped next to his, pushing him aside a little to sit next to him. Your bodies were stuck together at the small seat, your bare arm brushing against his clothed one.

Your finger tapped on the button, creating a noise. Once you got more comfortable, you began playing normally. You tried to copy Sunghoon's prior melody, waiting for him to join you. Yet that moment never came.

Sunghoon could feel his heart beating fast. It was the first time another person made him feel nervous. He was used to making others feel uncomfortable with just his presence. Now his cheeks were on fire, and the fear that you would notice got over him.

He stood up, turning his back to you in order to hide himself. That's when you realized what you had done. You stood up as well, looking at his back.

"I-i am sorry." You said, not knowing what to do. "Continue playing. I am gonna find a book." You rushed back to the shelves, before you could hear what Sunghoon had to say to you.

This was not good. You had started liking Sunghoon, and it was not good.

Going back to your room, you made a promise to yourself.

'Don't fall for Park Sunghoon.'

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．*Time Skip*

The promise soon enough broke when today's incident happened.

"I am sorry. Do you know where prince Sunghoon is?" You stopped a maid, placing a hand on her shoulder. She was holding a basket of dirty clothes against her right hip. Glancing at them, you recognised the suit as Park Sunghoon's.

"Yes, he currently takes a bath, your highness."

"Alright, thank you so much." You let her go, sighing to yourself. The butler had told you to call Park Sunghoon, because they have to talk about something.

Going down to inform him about where the prince was, he replied that it was okay. He even mentioned that once he was out, it would be a pleasure for him to call Sunghoon down.

So that's what you did. You waited some minutes and went up to his room.

First knock, nothing. Second knock, nothing. Your hands began to sweat, thinking that maybe you should wait for him down. However, the door opened without needing Park Sunghoon.

'He had left it open? Or the maid from before?'

Taking slow steps inside, you looked around. It was empty, and the running water indicated that he was still showering. With that on mind, you should have left. But instead, you walked further to his room.

It was way bigger than yours. His bed was in the center of the room and next to each side was one small table. To the one in the left had a candle and a letter. The one on the right was empty.

Your fingertips brushed on the letter, feeling the hard paper. It was plain white and already opened. The paper from inside was peaking, begging you to read it.

You bit down on your lip, shaking off the sinful thoughts. One step back to exit his room, only for you to rush back in. The water was still running. Maybe you had time. You wouldn't read it whole, just the name of the sender.

What strange power had pushed you to do that? Any second Sunghoon could walk in, and then all those friendly feelings would vanish. But you shouldn't care, you don't like him anyway.

Then if you don't, why your heart dropped at the name?

"Jang Wonyoung?"

"What are you doing here?" You hadn't noticed how the water was no longer heard. The letter flew out of your hands, falling on the floor instead of the table you were aiming for.

Sunghoon was right in front of you. Only a towel hanging around his waist. Water was still dripping down his body, caressing his hard abs.

You knew Sunghoon was very fit. He did horse riding every day and practiced dancing three times a week. Your gaze wouldn't leave his figure when his clothes were too tight on his body. Plus points if he was wearing a white shirt.

A lot of fantasies had taken over your head at the sight of him. Imagining how his body looked like under those heavy clothes. And how his skin would feel under your hand.

"Sunghoon!" You covered your eyes, cheeks red as dirty thoughts filled your head. On the other hand, Sunghoon didn't mind that you saw him like this. He even seemed to enjoy your flustered state. You swore you could see a smirk growing before closing your eyes.

That made your will to open them bigger. You were so eager to see Sunghoon pull off another expression. Actually, that was your only comfort and entertainment here. But now you were guilty, and your eyes wouldn't open.

"What is that?" He asked, the smirk from his lips dropping. His attention went on the letter scattered on the floor and his eyebrows furrowed. "Did you read it?"

"No, I swear! I-i am so sorry. Your butler asked me to call you and-" You stopped once you felt his hot breath hitting your neck. Your eyes were still closed, yet the warmth he brought you burned into your skin.

'Could the ice prince be more than just a cold prince?'

The water drops from his hair landed on your face, rolling down from your cheek till your jaw. Your fingers parted, leaving a small line open. Only to make eye contact with Sunghoon. His bored eyes were gazing into yours.

He lowered his body down. Right hand holding the towel, while the other going down with him. Your hands left your face, seeing his fingers hold the letter. 'Oh no.'

"Are you sure you didn't?" He asked once again, standing up to wave the letter in your face. You could see it from his eyes. He didn't believe you. However, you wouldn't let your guard down. You swallowed a hard knot, your eyes pinned on the floor.

"Y-yes."

"Did you see who send it?"

"N-no."

"Stop lying." He came closer to you, his fingers brushing the skin of your hands. It was meaningless to lie to him. He already knew the truth. Sunghoon had seen how fast your eyes went by the letter. And how wide they got once you saw her name.

"Y-yes. I am sorry." A breathy giggle left from his chest. Looking out of the window, then back at you while licking his lips. The smirk came back. Oh, how much more it suited him than his bitter expression.

"And what? Are you jealous?" It was happening. There were all the signs. His head leaning closer to yours, then titling it to the side. Plump lips coming closer to yours, until you pushed him away.

"I am so sorry. I am going now!"

You didn't want to disappoint your parents, but the freedom tasted better. Settling for your parents' standards wouldn't bring that. Maybe that's the moment you have been waiting for.

Rushing back in your room, you reminded yourself of the promise you had made.

'I won't let myself fall into the ice prince's trap.'

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．*Time Skip*

"My butler advised me that we should sleep together tonight."

"What?!" A shout escaped your mouth at his words. After what happened yesterday in his bedroom, you were scared to even talk to him.

The maids had noticed that too. Every time Sunghoon tried to approach you, your body moved away. And every time he questioned you, and you couldn't escape the conversation, your reply would contain only one word. That word was either yes or a no.

You could see from Sunghoon's face that he was getting annoyed. When you ignored him, he would frown or clench his jaw. You admitted it that you felt bad for him. But involving yourself with him would result in unwanted emotions.

Sunghoon opened his bedroom's door, stepping aside to let you in. After his butler's demand, you couldn't do anything other than follow. It would be very suspicious for a couple to not want to sleep together.

"I am gonna change. Please settle yourself as I do." He said, disappearing into the bathroom. The room had stayed the same since last time. Simple and neat. Expect that the letter on the small table was gone.

He must have hidden it in his drawers. After you noticed it, he couldn't do anything else. But you wondered why would he choose you if he wanted Wonyoung instead. Or maybe he choose you, but regretted it?

It doesn't matter. You don't like him in reality as well. And tonight, you will prove it once again. At least that was your first plan.

"You can go change. I am ready." Sunghoon stepped out of the bathroom, revealing his pajamas. It was the first time you saw him in something other than his prince's suit. And he still looked gorgeous. Dark blue satin pajamas, covering him from head to toe.

Seeing his pajamas, you were too shy to wear yours. It was a cute night wear dress. Pink with lace at the edges. At least it reached down your knees, and it wasn't that short. However, one wrong move on the bed and it would ride up.

You swallowed a gulp, slowly stepping out of the bathroom. Sunghoon was sitting at the edge of the right side, a book in his hands. When he heard the door cracking, he raised his gaze to you. And his cheeks reddened.

He froze in place, eyeing you up and down. You had crossed your hands behind your back, your gaze firmly down. You let his eyes wonder on you, and you shifted awkwardly.

"Um, on w-which side of the bed you sleep?" He asked after clearing his throat. You noticed he had already claimed the right side, so you replied left.

"No, it's alright. You can continue reading." You said, watching Sunghoon closing the book and leaving it aside.

"No, I had finished the chapter anyway." He explained, adjusting himself on the bed. You walked to your side, sitting down. Then one leg came up, following the other, and your hand holding the edge of the night wear.

"Um, if you fell uncomfortable, ah. We don't have to do this."

"No, it's alright." It was your change to escape, but as the time passed you were only falling deeper into his sweet trap. He was fighting himself to keep his gaze away from you, till you covered your body under the blankets.

He couldn't believe he had you next to him. His body was already so warm, and with the blankets, it felt like he was on fire. Sunghoon pushed them a little lower from his chest, letting himself breathe.

That was not good. It was easy for him to contain his calmness before, but now he was losing control.

You turned your back to him, curling in your spot. It was obvious that you didn't want to sleep next to him, and his heart dropped. Looking around his bedroom, he finally closed the lights.

He was thankful you were so cold towards him, because if you weren't, he didn't know what he would do. The images in his mind were already sinful enough, and your excitement would make it worse.

"Goodnight." Your faint voice was heard, and his head turned towards you. A smile creeped on his lips, a smile that none had seen. You would kill to see that smile, but he did it only when you weren't looking.

"Goodnight." He replied, turning his back to you.

Morning came fast. A loud knock woke up Sunghoon while you were still sleeping.

"Yes?" He said, rubbing his eyes. It was his maid. She was announcing that you must come down for breakfast. Sunghoon promised you will be down in a minute, and her footsteps faded.

The hand rubbing his eyes went back to its place, humming a bit before closing his eyes. Yet they popped open when he felt exactly what he was touching.

He was still shocked about how you ended up between in his arms. Your small body curled up in his chest, your hands resting on it. He had wrapped his hands around your body. One under your head, caressing softly your hair, while the other on your back.

Sunghoon took his hand away from your back, sitting up a little. He was breathing fast. And he placed his free hand on his chest to calm himself down.

You shifted a bit, and his eyes got wide. His body fell back on the bed, afraid to wake you up.

He shouldn't have chosen you. He knew this might happen, but he didn't think it would be so soon. However, he liked it. Sunghoon's fingertips began twirling the strands of your hair, and you hummed at his touch.

The smile on his lips was getting bigger while his hand discovered more of you. From your hair, it went on your cheek. Drawing a variety of shapes on your skin, your eyes finally opened.

The last shape was a heart, before you flew up. Escaping from his hands, you sat up. Sunghoon mimicked your action, both looking at each other. You were big-eyed, and he had that smile. Your heart skipped at the sight, cheeks heating up.

His smile only added to his beauty. One that you could stare at forever.

"Sunghoon-"

"Breakfast is ready!" The maid cut you off, knocking again at the door. Sunghoon's smile dropped, fixing his hair before standing up. He had forgotten about that.

"We will talk about it another time, Y/N."

"What time?" Sunghoon took his freshly washed clothes, entering the bathroom.

"Today, at 7:00 am, garden." He said, closing the door behind him. Your finger checked your pulse, which was speeding up dangerously fast.

Maybe a future with Sunghoon wouldn't be so bad after all?

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．*Time Skip*

You had come five minutes earlier, curiosity eating you out. Biting your nails, you reminded yourself that you were a princess. But who cares? You didn't want that title.

"Hello." Sunghoon behind you said, and you turned around. The sun hit his face, turning his dark brown eyes into a honey like colour. His hair was messy, and he was in his horse riding uniform.

You liked that side of him. The raw beauty of Park Sunghoon, and not the unrealistic one the rest saw. Under the sun, some face scars were visible, and small pores on his nose. Like a normal person, and not a porcelain doll.

"If I remember right, you had mentioned something about wanting to try horse riding?" Your eyes widened, realizing the reason for his appearance.

It was true; you had told him that you would like to try horse riding. However, you weren't allowed to do so since you were a female. But you loved horses. They looked so elegant and were so kind.

"No, Sunghoon-"

"Oh, don't worry. I will help you." He said, taking your hand in his. Then he drove you towards the stable, where all the horses were. "That's mine." His finger pointed at the only black horse on the stable, and a giggle left your mouth.

'Of course he would choose this one.'

"Choose your horse, and we are ready to go." Your eyes travelled around the thousand horses. You didn't have any particular colour in mind, but the plain white one caught your eye.

"I will take the one that its colour is the opposite of yours." You said, smiling teasingly at Sunghoon. He smirked in response, going towards the one you wanted.

"Was that supposed to imply something?" He asked, bringing the horse close to you.

"Maybe."

"Yes, but you should know that love and hate are two sides of the same coin. With simllar way we can perceive white and black." You caressed softly the horse, and Sunghoon handed you a carrot.

"Mmh, and which one are you, Sunghoon? White or black?" He didn't reply, instead he smirked wider at you.

Sunghoon guided you to feed the horse, then put on the equipment, and helped you settle on it. At first, you were terrified. Your hands were trembling, gripping as hard as you could the saddle. Sunghoon was laughing at you, and your hand pushed playfully on his shoulder.

You thought he wouldn't look prettier after you saw his smile, but his laugh was angelic.

"Are you alright?" Sunghoon got more serious now, since you were ready to start your ride. Your fingers were still twitching, scared at the new experience. Yet you comforted him with a thumbs up, and the ride began.

Sunghoon was patient, going unbearably slow for you. The green paths you crossed were everything, and you whished you could ingrave them forever in your mind. You whished you had practiced more in drawing. So you could carry the scenery on the paper forever.

The sun started going down, and by the time you came back, it was night. The moon had replaced the sun, indicating it was time to go back. You were sure the maids would have gotten worried, but Sunghoon didn't care about it.

It was the first time you saw Sunghoon so free. And the first time you felt so free.

"Here." Sunghoon stretched out his hand, and you placed yours into his. You gave him a tight squeeze, and the other held his right shoulder. Once your feet were on the ground, you raised your gaze at Sunghoon.

He wasn't leaving your touch. His hand still interlocked with yours, while his other was on your arm. You blushed, clearing your throat. Your hands tried to move, but Sunghoon's grip was stronger.

"Y/N, why don't you give me a change?" He blurted, and your eyes popped open in surprise.

"W-what?"

"Since day one, you have been distant from me. Don't you think this could work out?" Emotions flooded in your heart. A unique experience for you.

You thought you could manage it. You thought that a relationship with Sunghoon would be good. But now that he says all those things to you, no words come from your mouth.

"Y/N-"

"Why Wonyoung send you a letter?" The question you wanted to ask since you saw her letter. It finally left your mouth, taking Sunghoon aback. He furrowed, anger building up in him.

"You don't think I secretly talk with Wonyoung or something?"

"I don't know what to think." You replied, and his grip loosened up a little. His hands left yours and fell to his sides. You shouldn't have said it, but you needed an explanation.

"She send me this letter, because I was supposed to choose her. I mean, everyone knew about our parents' deal. But I didn't reply back to her."

"Why?"

"Because I love you." Your shoulders tensed up, looking at Sunghoon's raw emotions drowning him. The ice prince had opened up, and his feelings were anything but cold.

"Sunghoon, I don't want to be a princess."

"Then don't be."

"But what about you?" Sunghoon stepped closer to you, leaning to your eye level.

"I will follow you."

"No, Sunghoon. I don't want to hold you back-"

"You won't." He cut you off, taking your hand back into his. Then he brought it closer to his lips and placed on it a light kiss. You couldn't stop the hot tears rolling down your cheeks, but Sunghoon kissed them all away. One by one.

"Sunghoon, I love you too. But I want my freedom."

"And?" He asked, his hand leaving yours. That same hand then rested on your waist, while the other brushed off some strands of your hair behind your ear.

"Y/N, let's be free together."

And with that, he smashed his lips on yours.

___________________

A/N: Fun fact; this whole one shot was insipired by a tik tok edit. To be honest, I rushed a little the ending bc otherwise it would be way too longggg. That's it, requests are open!

© all rights reserved to me — i do not allow anyone to copy, translate, or repost my works. all my stories are purerly fictional.

[mysunshinetemptress]

Your Royal Support

Leah Williamson x Royal!Reader

Warnings: none fluff talks of Leah’s ACL recovery

Disclaimer: for the purposes of this story actual timelines have not been taken into account I.e Princess Diana and Prince Charles separation.

You hadn’t had to dress in your dress uniform since June when you attend the Royal Garter, but here you where fixing your sash again out of nerves you looked in the mirror before looking at the sleeping form of you fiancé in bed. Leah and her family had travelled to Windsor yesterday to watch the 26 year old footballer accept her OBE and unlike the other recipients of the awards taking place this morning they all slept at Windsor castle, you where happy to sleep in a hotel but your father had insisted on it stating family stay with family when they visit not in a hotel and it wasn’t like the castle couldn’t accommodate them.

Leah stirred slightly as you turned holding your aiguillette in order to stop them from banging together and creating noise wanting the younger girl to sleep a bit longer knowing today was going to be long. You walked towards the bed and leaning down you kissed her head “I’ll see you shortly my love.” Watching her a moment longer you left knowing your Equerry James was standing waiting to give you the rundown of the day.

You had attended a few meetings before the ceremony regarding the statement that would be made at the end of the month regarding your engagement to Leah, you refused to make any decisions without her input stating that whatever information you received would be relayed back to her. You had left that meeting to a flurry of texts from Leah and Amanda, both looking for you in a form of panic as Leah grew more nervous of this afternoon’s ceremony. You called Leah immediately and you could have sworn the ringtone hadn’t even sounded before she answered “hello my love.” Leah sighed hearing your voice “everything ok.” Leah shook her head before realising you couldn’t see her “I don’t think I can do this Y/n.” You looked around the corridor of the castle before walking down towards the left and stopping when you came across the window you where looking for peering out of it you could see into the apartment you had left this morning now though you could see Leah pacing the room with Amanda sat on the couch both dressed. You smiled before beginning to talk again “your already halfway through Le.” Leah shook her head “that doesn’t make sense Y/n the ceremony isn’t for another hour and a half I’m not even close to being half way done.” You smiled once again watching Amanda try to get Leah to sit “your already dressed, your hair is done and although I tell you every morning you don’t need it you have makeup on although on a day like today I understand so you are already ready for the ceremony waiting for it to happen after those two it only has to happen and then we go out later, that’s four things on a check list two completed two to go your halfway done.” Leah sighed again “you always know what to say.” You laughed “if I didn’t by now then you should reevaluate our relationship it’s my job to know you.” Leah smiled before stopping “wait can you see me.” You laughed again watching Amanda and Leah look around the room trying to figure out where you could see them “I told you, you call, you ever need me in moments you feel like no one can see you I can, I see you.” Leah turned looking out the window before spotting you waving at her “oh I love you.” You laughed nodding along “I know but I loved you first.” Leah laughed at the statement you made every time she told you she loved you, you had said you had fallen in love with her when you where on a royal engagement with your older brothers to the Arsenal academy as a kid. You had never publicly had a relationship until her and even then it was rather private stating you had known from the moment your hands touched you knew there was nobody else and even stated you didn’t mind waiting as she dated other people because you knew it was going to be you who she loved last. You smiled at her once more before talking again “I better go I have a meeting with Will about you know what, see you shortly darling.” Leah blew you a kiss before hanging up and turning to her mum who had been watching the interaction.

You stood down the hall waiting for the Williamson family to arrive fixing you uniform nervously before your head shot up at the sound of a wolf whistle, you couldn’t help you face become hot at the sight of Leah walking at a fast pass in order to reach you “I love it when you wear your uniform, your keeping that on all day.” You smiled nodding “sort of have to but I can take the jacket off when we start dancing later thank god.” Leah smiled before placing her hands either side of you cheeks pulling you into a kiss “I’m so proud of you.” Now it was Leah’s turn to blush “seriously Le I am and I worry I never tell you enough but I’m proud of you for one everything you have accomplished in your football career, two for how high you have held your head through these difficult months but mostly I’m proud of you I’m proud of you knowing who you are, never forgetting where you came from while you look forward to where you want to go in the future for understanding you have a voice and using it not just when the public see, I’m proud of all the time you have been in so much pain and admitted to it, whether it is your acl or your endometriosis I’m proud of you not letting anything or anyone define you and I’m proud to be your fiancé I will tell you that I love you how much I have always loved you till I can no longer speak but I need you to know I’m also just as proud of you, thank you for loving me, allowing me to love you, for taking on the crazy that I and my family are and the burden our status brings, for being there when I need you for collecting me and all the baggage but thank you mostly for your support I hope I have supported you as much as you have and will always need because you are always there for me.” Leah melted into your arms “don’t make me cry before I have to go stand in-front of your brother and then the press.” You kissed the top of her head chuckling slightly “but you have and I know how proud and loved I am from you I never understood what love was or how we are meant to only be in love with one person for the rest of our lives until I met you y/n now I don’t want anyone else to be there holding my hand in the hard times and making me smile as hard as I do in the good ones I know trust me I do.” You pulled her into a kiss once more before separating to hold her hand as her grandfather cleared his throat to gain your attention “well are you kids ready.” You nodded pulling Leah into you before turning to the door nodding to the hand stating you where ready when they were.

You stood beside Amanda holding her as Leah stepped forward to receive the award looking at you briefly at something William had said before smiling. “I can’t wait till you both get married.” You smiled at Amanda “any idea where it’s going to be yet.” You shook your head slightly “no not at all Papa has said we could use Westminster Abby, that holds roughly 2000 people but I don’t know it’s already getting televised that’s more people seeing our relationship than either her or I want if I’m being honest, he has also said we could get married here at St George’s chapel like Harry and my cousin but if I’m being honest I would marry her in a registry office with you guys as witnesses but I’m not allowed.” Amanda smiled squeezing your arm “I know your role is hard that there are so many eyes looking at you constantly wishing you harm, but she has told me that for you she would stand in front of them all and protect you no matter what, I worried about her being with you I’m ashamed to say but I did your mother died after marrying into your family, your sisters in law have been torn from limb to limb in the media, as a mother you want to protect your child and that’s all I want for her happiness and protected and for a while I didn’t see you being able to protect her, but then you drove through the night after she got a concussion and you postponed meetings and appearances when she did her ankle and you sat and held her so tight yet so gently when the doctors told her she had endometriosis and you promised her and I you would find the best doctors to look after her should she ever need it, but recently you have shown me your in it for the long run with her acl injury that you would do anything to protect and support her through her worst and best and I feel so much more at peace, it’s you and her until the stars come calling and you really have shown us all that.” You pulled Amanda into a hug feeling yourself tear up. “Thank you.” Amanda laughed lightly “I should be thanking you.” You shook your head “ thank you for being the mum I always needed.” At this Amanda hugged you tighter.

William stood talking to Leah before they both turned to see you talking to Amanda “you know she never knew our mum not really anyway she was to young when she died but she is so like her in the way she loves.” Leah looked at him confused “my mum had a good heart when she fell in love with something she fell hard and she did everything she could to express it whether that be speaking about charity’s or loving her kids. Y/n loves you wholeheartedly and that is the best trait my mother could have passed down to her.” Leah smiled at him looking at you and Amanda hugging “I hope she knows I love her just as much.” William smiled “she does trust me.” William presented Leah with her badge before pulling her into a hug “and we can’t wait for you to join the family.” Leah smiled one last time before stepping back bowing slightly and walking over to you and her family. You stepped back allowing the Williamson’s to grab Leah first a habit she didn’t always appreciate but she understood before you scooped her up into a hug “my girls an OBE.” Leah laughed “I can do you one better my girls a literal princess.” You laughed grabbing her hand waving to your brother before exiting the room and into a private quarter where you couldn’t help but grab her and kiss her not caring who was watching.

“I love you.” Leah smiled into the kiss “I loved you first.” You smiled back before grabbing her into another kiss

[theroyalyandere]

yandere prince trying to denied the fact that he was abso-fucking-lutely obsessed with female servant reader. this man is in his denial stages. he's always shouting at the female servant reader that she was just a peasant and he was a god (we all know he is fuckng delusional but since its a yandere well then its not so suprising.) and the peak is when at one time the prince caughting the female servant reader being too close to the other prince who was visiting his palace. so when he caught up the female servant his jealousness began to rise as much as the rage he's feeling and he immediately pulled her away from the other prince, and then he bring her to his fancy chamber and yk, they fuck while the prince say "fuck i'm.. i'm so fucking in love, fuck.. you're mine now, yeah, yeah you're mine." and the female servant reader is only muttered "no" and "please" repeatedly. please make this noncon, the darker the fics, the better.

yandere!prince x female servant!reader smut 18+

cw: reader has a vagina, delusional yandere, noncon, obsession, jealousy, toxic relationships, male masturbation, humiliation, dacryphilia, drowning, punishments, spanking, groping, power imbalance, cucking (oops), a little god complex maybe???, mentions of children/pregnancy, slapping.

a/n: I put so many warnings please tell me if I missed something. Also I added more elements in this if you don't mind!

you've been working for a while as a servant to the royals and most of the time you attend to the prince because of his request

you do not know why he chose you out of all people he's the one who chose you yet you find yourself always receiving his anger and him shouting at you

the prince loves to humiliate you in front of everyone and you chose to bear it instead of losing your head if you ever snapped

he would often spill his drink on purpose, asking you to lick the liquid on the floor where everyone will see

he would also give you the most complicated tasks leaving you exhausted by the time you complete each you do not know why he torments you this much but he does it out of love, he thinks he loves seeing you on your knees, that desperate look on your face, the way your face falls when he insults you, he thinks you look so pretty and pathetic

he wants to lock you in a dungeon where only him has access to

he would often sneak to your quarters where sometimes you cry out of frustration

he gets hard at the sight of your tear stricken face, he would often close his eyes and masturbate to the thought of you crying underneath him it never fails to make him cum every single time

he tells himself he is not attracted to you yet his territorial nature over you says otherwise

he despises it even if you're a second late after he asked for you

the prince is the one who often delivers punishments when you fail to do something or displease him in any other way (which is all the time)he would bend you over and spank your ass until it's all swollen and your eyes filled with tears, groping you in the process after your punishment you always end up sobbing making his heart flutter with the way you look at him with those doe eyes

the prince can't help himself but be soft on you which can be rare however when he softly kisses your tears away it always leaves you confused then he would later shift back to his cruel self

his torment would continue until..he dragged you away to accompany him to walk beside the pond, he purposely dropped an item of his onto the water and ordered you to get it for him

you reluctantly lean down to the pond to reach for the object then suddenly you were pushed into the water

you watched as everything became a blur the prince looking down at you, just watching you struggle

you flail your arms and try to swim with your might

you keep shouting for help but no one could her you nor help you

as you start losing consciousness, you hear another splash before you faint from exhaustion

you wake up on a bed with people surrounding you, your vision blurry and a head that felt like cotton

you groan out from the aches and pain in your body

you blink to see who was arguing right infront of you

as your vision clears up, you see the prince arguing with someone unfamiliar.

the other person scans your condition and his eyes land on yours

he immediately walks closer towards you despite the prince's protests

he introduces himself as the prince of the neighboring kingdom

he treats you gently like a fragile glass and asks how you were

too lost into his kindness, you fail to acknowledge your prince's presence

you continued to respond to the questions thrown your way while the possessive prince walked out

for the times you were recovering, the kind and gentle prince kept visiting you. always having a bouquet of flowers or food in hand for you.

you slowly became closer to him as he extended his stay to get you even more as his new friend.

you introduce him to a bunch of stuff that doesn't exist yet at his kingdom.

your attention and time preoccupied by the kind hearted prince. you feel at peace, almost living a fairytale life.

meanwhile, everyone else is walking around egg shells when your possessive prince crosses their way

his tantrums got even worse as he watches you go on a date with the foreign prince.

he tried a different bunch of ways to sabotage the other but he always failed.

as he sees how your face glows with happiness he slowly comes to a conclusion that he loves you, after so many times denying it and now he admits how much he wants to touch you, kiss you, and make you his.

he remembered that all he wanted was you and seeing you so happy with another is making his dark intentions come out to light.

he's supposed to be the only one you treat with respect, you should be looking at him and only him. he should be the one you're worshipping and he's about to make you pay.

later that day, after you were escorted by the prince you've come to acquainted with gently kissed your hand before you enter your chambers.

you turn around with a soft smile on your face as you reflect on the events that happened.

you let out a gasp as you see who's sitting at the foot of your bed.

he smiles menacingly as you get stuck in place while he walks towards you.

your knees trembling from fear seeing how dark his eyes look.

you let out a whimper as he corners you and he presses a handkerchief to your face before you fall unconscious.

you wake up tied to his bed in the grand chamber.

you look across you and see your beloved prince tied on a chair with a gag on his mouth, protesting to set him free.

your eyes tear up at his predicament, as you look to the side the possessive prince, the one you despise the most walk over you like a vulture about to gobble up his prey.

you shout profanities at him and ask him to let you go.

it turns him on seeing the flame in your eyes.

he only let's out a dark laugh.

"you think you can live without me? running away with your prince like a happily ever after. but that's alright I'm here to make you realize that you belong to me."

he crawls over you as you try to kick him but the chains restrain you, he gropes your legs, thighs, stomach, then your chest.

burying his face into your breasts as he looks up at you.

"I can't wait to claim you with my child in your womb."

you cry and shout to get away from you but he only kisses and marks you roughly while the one you love watches you get ravaged by the other.

tears stream down your face as he licks your cheek.

he rips your clothes leaving you naked.

the prince forces your legs open before taking out his hard member.

he pulls you towards him as you try to get away but he was too strong.

he looks behind him and rub his cock against your swollen pussy.

"watch as I take her, maybe that should teach you not to touch what's not yours."

with that, he thrusts into your cunny with a groan while you let out a wail of pain

he doesn't let you adjust as he grabs your throat pinning you down onto the bed brutally fucking you.

"No- p-please!! stop!"

tears cloud your vision as your breath lessens from the way he's squeezing your air pipe.

you slowly stop thrashing as you grow tired and come to accept your fate.

you keep crying as he takes you by force.

he slaps your cheek noticing how you seem to lose focus.

"You're all mine you hear me? I love you so fucking much, can't you see that?"

he mushes your lips together and kisses you hungrily.

the prince changes your position so you can see your beloved's reaction at your defilement.

he watches you wide eyed, tears also streaming down his face as he helplessly watches you.

the one ramming behind you pulls you close to him with your back against his chest.

"No one can take you away from me now, you're mine forever."

[deliciousangelfestival]

I Hate It When You're Drunk - 7

Character: bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader

Summary: A forbidden love between a princess and her bodyguard. They love each other deeply, but their relationship is threatened by the tyrant king's oppressive rule and their differing social statuses.

I Hate It When You're Drunk Series Masterlist

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In the other room, laughter and excitement filled the air as you and your bridesmaids gathered for the wedding preparations. Your friends, all hopeless romantics, were thrilled for you, knowing how much this day meant.

They huddled around, admiring your wedding dress—an elegant, simple gown adorned with delicate flower embroidery. The white fabric shimmered softly in the light, making you look like a vision of grace.

You wore a crown that once belonged to your mother, a cherished heirloom that your father had handed to you himself. After receiving his permission for this momentous occasion, the bitterness you once held toward him had softened, if only slightly.

As you stood before the mirror, gazing at your reflection, the crown glinted softly in the light, a symbol of the legacy you carried. You couldn’t help but wish that your mother were here with you, guiding you through this pivotal day.

With the international media coverage, a small part of you hoped that wherever she was, she would see the news and know that her daughter was getting married.

“You look stunning,” one of your bridesmaids said, her voice filled with genuine admiration.

“Bucky’s going to lose his breath when he sees you,” another chimed in, a playful grin on her face.

“You two are perfect for each other,” someone added, placing a hand on your shoulder. “We’ve all seen the way he looks at you. There’s no doubt in my mind this is exactly how it’s supposed to be.”

Their words were heartfelt, and as they each gave their blessings, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth. Their support made the day even more special, reminding you that you weren’t just marrying Bucky—you were also surrounded by people who truly cared for you and wanted to see you happy.

The wedding became a national holiday, a day of grand celebration and international coverage. Streets were lined with eager spectators as the festivities unfolded in a magnificent parade. Soldiers in gleaming uniforms rode atop powerful horses, their disciplined ranks adding a military grandeur to the occasion.

King Leonard seized the opportunity to showcase the might of Veridian, reminding the world of the nation's strength under his iron rule. As Bucky watched the display, he realized with a sinking feeling that he had truly entered the lion's den.

“We have to go to the church,” said Archer, the Defense Minister of Veridian. With no family of his own, Bucky found himself accompanied by Archer, his father’s old friend and now the closest thing he had to family. The ministry of defense, a symbol of the power Bucky was stepping into, stood by his side.

They climbed into a classic Rolls-Royce, the car gliding through the streets toward the church. The clear windows made Bucky an object of attention, with every pair of eyes in the crowd focused on him. People cheered and waved the flag of the country, their excitement palpable as they awaited the groom’s arrival.

“Wave, Bucky,” Archer prompted.

Bucky waved, but it felt hollow. He was like a goldfish in a glass bowl, exposed and on display for all to see.

“Your father would be proud of you,” Archer remarked.

Bucky could only wish his father were there to see this day.

“Except your mom. She’d be furious that you’re marrying the king’s daughter,” Archer added with a wry smile.

“If she’s still alive, I hope this is enough to bring her back, wherever she is,” Bucky replied, his voice tinged with a longing he couldn’t suppress.

“She’s still alive,” Archer said, his tone suddenly serious.

Bucky’s eyes snapped to Archer’s, disbelief and hope warring within him. “Don’t joke with me,” he said, his voice tight with emotion.

“I know where she is,” Archer responded calmly.

Relief washed over Bucky like a tidal wave, the best news he had heard in years. “Where is she?” he demanded, but then hesitated, glancing around. “Wait, is it safe to talk about this here?”

“There are no bugs in the car, and the driver is one of my people,” Archer reassured him.

Thank God, Bucky thought, grateful that Archer had thought everything through. “So where is she?”

“In an enemy state,” Archer said, pausing before revealing the name. “Thalassa.”

Bucky’s world tilted on its axis. Thalassa—the very mention of the place sent a chill down his spine. King Leonard’s decree was clear: anyone who visited Thalassa would be branded a traitor. His mother had chosen to live in a country that refused to acknowledge Leonard as the rightful ruler.

“I hope you can make a change around here,” Archer said, his words heavy with meaning.

Bucky could only hope, his mind spinning with the revelation and the burden it now placed on his shoulders.

👑👑👑👑👑

Bucky arrived at the church first, stepping into the grand hall that had been meticulously decorated for the royal wedding. The aisles were lined with white roses, and soft golden drapes hung from the high arches, casting a warm, regal glow throughout the space. The scent of fresh flowers mixed with the incense, creating an atmosphere that was both sacred and celebratory.

Diplomatic guests from across the world filled the pews, their attire as varied and ornate as their countries of origin. Bucky, however, recognized none of them. They were not his guests but those of King Leonard, each one a powerful figure in their own right, all there to witness the union under the king's command.

Bucky's attention was momentarily diverted to the seats behind King seat. Cassian and his uncle, Duke Griffin, were seated there, their presence adding another layer of complexity to the scene.

Cassian, who had earlier expressed his disillusionment with the arranged marriage, now sat with a mask of indifference. His eyes occasionally flicked toward Bucky, a mixture of pity and curiosity in his gaze. Beside him, Duke Griffin, an imposing figure with a sharp gaze, remained impassive.

As Bucky stood at the front, feeling the weight of their gazes on him, the doors opened to reveal King Leonard. The entire congregation stood and bowed deeply as the king entered, a silent acknowledgment of his absolute authority. Leonard’s presence commanded the room, his every step echoing through the grand hall.

Before taking his seat, Leonard approached Bucky, his expression unreadable. He placed a firm hand on Bucky’s shoulder, a gesture that felt more like a warning than reassurance.

“Your duty is just to make my daughter happy,” Leonard said, his voice low and cold. “I don’t expect anything else from you.”

Bucky didn’t trust himself to speak. He simply nodded, his throat tight, as Leonard withdrew and moved to his place of honor.

A hush fell over the crowd as the master of ceremonies stepped forward. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice echoed through the church, “the bride, Her Royal Highness, the Princess, will now arrive.”

As the church doors opened, the anticipation in the air became palpable. The choir's voices rose in harmony with the music, and the orchestra began playing Canon in D, the notes echoing through the grand hall.

Bucky stood at the altar, his back to the entrance. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a drum of nervous energy that reverberated through his entire being. He knew the moment had come, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around just yet. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to steady himself, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

As you entered the church, the soft rustle of your gown mixed with the melodious strains of Canon in D, creating a symphony that enveloped you. Each step felt like you were walking through a dream, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves.

The grandeur of the church overwhelmed you—the lavish decorations, the rows of esteemed diplomatic guests, and the sea of faces turned in anticipation. But amidst the opulence, your focus was solely on Bucky. He was the reason for every flutter in your chest, every tremor in your hands.

Your bouquet of fresh flowers felt like a lifeline, grounding you amidst the storm of emotions. The crown your father had gifted you, a delicate piece of history, seemed to weigh heavier now. It was a reminder of your lineage and the monumental step you were about to take.

The aisle stretched before you, a path leading to your future. With every step, you could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you. Despite the nerves and the overwhelming feeling that this was all too surreal, a smile found its way to your lips. You couldn’t believe it—after everything you’d been through, you were finally here, marrying the man you loved.

King Leonard, standing beside you, took a firm but reassuring grip on your arm. His presence was both a comfort and a reminder of the responsibility and expectation that came with this union. As he guided you down the aisle, the weight of the moment was palpable. His role was to lead you to Bucky, ensuring that you were united in front of everyone who mattered.

As you reached the midpoint of the aisle, you looked up at him with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Father."

Leonard's gaze softened slightly, though his voice remained steady. "If he ever makes you cry or hurts you, just tell me."

You met his eyes with unwavering confidence. "That will never happen."

As you walked closer, Bucky finally found the courage to turn around. The sight of you took his breath away. You looked like a vision, an ethereal presence that made his heart skip a beat. His chest tightened with a mix of love and fear, knowing that this was it—the moment that would change both your lives forever.

The ceremony began, and the priest’s voice filled the air with solemnity and grace. He spoke of love, commitment, and the vows you were about to take. The words washed over you both, their weight sinking deep into your hearts. Bucky glanced at you, his heart pounding, as the priest asked him the most important question of his life.

"Do you, James Buchanan Barnes, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, till death do you part?"

Bucky’s voice was steady, though he felt anything but. "I do."

The priest then turned to you, and you felt a wave of emotions—love, fear, excitement—crash over you.

"And do you, Princess, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, till death do you part?"

With a voice filled with certainty and love, you answered, "I do."

The priest smiled warmly and announced, "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Bucky reached up to lift your veil, his hands trembling slightly. As he finally revealed your face, your smile met his, a beacon of pure joy that made his heart race.

Without waiting for the priest to instruct you, Bucky leaned in and kissed you. The spontaneous, heartfelt gesture drew laughter and applause from the guests, filling the church with a warmth that melted away any lingering tension.

Hand in hand, you and Bucky turned to face the guests, but first, you both bowed deeply to the king.

King Leonard, with a measured smile, stepped forward. "Welcome to the family, James."

Bucky met the king's gaze, doing his best to suppress the unease bubbling beneath the surface. "It's an honor, Your Majesty."

With the formalities complete, you both began the procession down the aisle, greeting guests as you went. Outside the church, the crowds had gathered, their cheers erupting as you stepped out. The sight of you in your beautiful white dress and Bucky in his military uniform was like something out of a fairy tale. The people waved flags and called out well-wishes, celebrating what seemed to be the happiest day of your life.

But Bucky couldn’t shake the gnawing fear that clung to him. The memory of the blood-red message burned in his mind, making him feel vulnerable in the open space. As much as he tried to keep up appearances, the urge to get inside, away from prying eyes, was overwhelming.

Thankfully, the ornate carriage that awaited you both was fitted with bulletproof glass, offering a sense of security that Bucky desperately needed. Once inside, you beamed with happiness, the joy of the day radiating from you.

"Can you believe it, Bucky? We’re finally married!" you said, your voice bubbling with excitement as you squeezed his hand.

Bucky forced a smile, trying to match your enthusiasm. "Yeah… finally."

You leaned closer to him, your eyes sparkling. "I knew this day would be perfect, but I never imagined it would feel this incredible."

Bucky nodded, his mind racing. "It’s everything you deserved."

You noticed a hint of something in his voice—a flicker of doubt, perhaps—but dismissed it, too wrapped up in the joy of the moment to let it linger.

As the carriage began its journey back to the castle, you continued talking about the day, the guests, and the future that lay ahead. Bucky listened, his hand still holding yours, but his thoughts were elsewhere, his eyes flicking nervously toward the bulletproof windows. The carriage offered safety, but the dread in his heart remained.

Unaware of the storm brewing inside him, you smiled, resting your head on his shoulder, content in the belief that this was the start of your happily ever after.

👑👑👑👑👑👑

Bucky had just finished changing into a suit when he stepped out of the room, adjusting his tie. The weight of the day was pressing down on him, but he was determined to keep it together for your sake. As he walked into the hallway, he was suddenly shoved back, his shoulder slamming into the wall. The shock of the impact made him blink, and when his eyes focused, he felt as if he were seeing a ghost.

"Lucas?" Bucky's voice wavered in disbelief.

The man before him was a wreck—a shadow of the comrade he once knew. Lucas’s face was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot and wild, his clothes disheveled like he had crawled out from the depths of hell. His hands trembled, and in one of them, a gun was pointed directly at Bucky's chest.

"You… you fucking traitor!" Lucas spat the words with venom, his voice cracking under the weight of betrayal. "We trusted you! Our comrades… our friends… and you sold us out to that monster!"

Bucky raised his hands slowly, trying to calm his friend. "Lucas, listen to me—"

"Shut up!" Lucas’s voice was a shriek, desperate and unhinged. He shook his head, his grip on the gun tightening. "You don’t get to talk! Do you know what they did to us? What they did to me?"

"I know, and I’m going to make things right," Bucky said, his voice low, trying to keep it steady even as his heart raced. "But killing me won’t change what happened."

"You don’t get it, do you? It’s too late! It’s all too fucking late!" Lucas’s eyes were filled with rage and sorrow, a man broken by unimaginable horrors. He took a step closer, the barrel of the gun trembling but still aimed squarely at Bucky.

Bucky could see Lucas was beyond reason, his mind fractured by the torment he had endured. Every second felt like an eternity as the gun wavered, Lucas’s finger twitching on the trigger. The fear was real, but Bucky couldn’t let it control him.

"Lucas, please," Bucky��s voice was almost a whisper. "I swear, I didn’t betray you. We can fix this together—"

A gunshot rang out, the sound echoing through the hall like a death knell. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, expecting the searing pain of a bullet tearing into him. But nothing came. No pain, no darkness. He opened his eyes, and the sight before him made his breath catch in his throat.

Lucas stood there, his eyes wide with shock, blood seeping through his shirt from a wound in his chest. He staggered, his grip on the gun loosening. Bucky instinctively reached out, catching Lucas before he could collapse to the floor.

"It… it wasn’t you. I’m… Avenge us," Lucas choked out, blood bubbling up in his mouth as he spoke.

"Don’t speak, Lucas. I’ll get help," Bucky said, his voice breaking as he tried to hold back the tears. He could feel the life draining out of his friend, the warmth leaving his body.

"It’s… too late," Lucas whispered, his voice barely audible now.

Bucky looked up, desperation and anger swirling in his chest, and that’s when he saw him—Isaac. The man he thought was dead, standing there as if nothing had happened. Isaac was clean, composed, his hair neatly combed, and his suit pristine. He looked every bit the part of someone who had just stepped out of a palace, not a prison.

"You," Bucky growled, his voice filled with fury as he held Lucas’s lifeless body. "It was you."

Isaac’s lips curled into a cold smile. He bowed his head slightly, a mockery of respect. "From now on, I serve you, Your Highness."

"You fucking traitor!" Bucky’s voice was a roar of pain and anger. He wanted nothing more than to rip Isaac apart, to make him pay for everything he had done.

"Oh, what a good job youdid on your first day." A cold, authoritative voice cut through the tension.

Bucky looked up to see King Leonard, his presence commanding the room. The king walked in, seemingly oblivious to the blood-stained scene before him, as if Lucas's dying body was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Isaac straightened up and greeted the king with a formal nod. "It’s my duty, sir."

King Leonard smiled, his gaze shifting to Bucky, who was still cradling Lucas’s lifeless form. "Let me introduce you to the new head of the castle guard, Isaac."

Bucky’s anger simmered just below the surface, his hands clenched into fists. Isaac, the man who had betrayed them all, was now standing here with the king’s blessing. This was no longer just a political game—this was personal.

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[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen - 6

Summary - The year 115 AC brings about many changes in Westeros.

Warnings - character death, childbirth, general HOTD warnings

The bed was cold when (Y/N) awoke. He reached out to where Rhaenyra was laying, only to find empty sheets. He groaned, burying his face in the pillow. 

“I’m over here.” Rhaenyra said, hearing his movements. He mumbled into the pillow in response. “What was that?” 

(Y/N) turned onto his back, “It is too early for you to be up.” 

Rhaenyra stood, walking over to the bed. “It is nearly midday.” 

“Oh.” 

Rhaenyra sat down next to him on the bed, “Oh.” 

He sat up on his elbows. “Why didn’t you wake me?” 

She reached out, running her fingers through his messy hair. “You looked like you needed sleep.” 

(Y/N) smirked, sitting up further and grabbing Rhaenyra, pulling her onto his lap. She yelped indignantly, smacking him lightly on his chest as he laughed. He pressed a kiss to her lips, and she smiled against his mouth. “I think we both need sleep.” 

“That is not what I meant and you know it.” 

He pulled back, “I am fine.” 

“You have not been sleeping well,” Rhaenyra said. “You have been stressed since your cousins left.” 

“I am just worried about my grandsire. He is not well.” 

“And Gunthor.” 

(Y/N) shook his head, “Do not worry about him.” Rhaenyra frowned, opening her mouth but before she could speak (Y/N) captured her lips in his. He pulled away, resting his forehead against Rhaenyra’s. “If you worry about him, I must worry about him. And I do not wish to, I want to just be here with you.” 

Rhaneyra frowned, but nodded nonetheless. She untangled their legs, standing up and grabbing (Y/N)’s hand. “You should eat.” 

He broke his fast as Rhaenyra’s handmaidens moved in and out of the room, helping Rhaenyra properly dress and leaving clothes out for (Y/N). Rhaenyra helped (Y/N) dress when she was finished. They did not leave the room after they were finished, they had not been asked to court since their wedding. (Y/N) did not mind the break from the court, allowing him to spend his days in the yard and with Harwin, checking on the knight’s wounds. Rhaenyra did not share his indifference, feeling like once again her father was neglecting her role as heir. She refused to listen to (Y/N) when he tried to soothe her worries, but (Y/N) could not blame her. The two heirs were in different situations and (Y/N) had only words to offer in ways of comfort. 

Ser Erryk entered the room, drawing the attention of the two teens. “Prince Daemon is here to see you both.” 

Rhaenrya looked to (Y/N) who nodded, before speaking, “Let him in.”

(Y/N) frowned at his father’s demeanor as he entered the room, waiting for the door to close behind him before opening his mouth to speak. “A raven came for you, (Y/N).” 

(Y/N) gestured for his father to hand it over, and as his father placed the letter in his hand he said, “You must leave for Runestone at once.” 

(Y/N)’s heart dropped, and he opened the parchment. 

Prince (Y/N), 

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you. Your grandsire, Lord Yorbert, Lord of Runestone, passed during the hour of the owl. He went peacefully, and he is with your ancestors now. I am aware you are in the first days of marriage, but with your grandsire’s passing you are now the Lord of Runestone. 

Maester Pate 

“Your cousins have not yet reached the Vale.” Daemon spoke. “If you take Vermithor you will get there to claim your seat before they even cross The Trident.” 

“Claim your seat?” Rhaenyra looked between the two men, and (Y/N) handed her the letter. She read it quickly, eyes widening as she took in the words. 

“You must claim your seat.” 

“Uncle his grandsire has just died,” Rhaenyra objected. “Let him mourn, the politics of the realm-” 

“This is not about the politics of the realm.” Daemon spat, turning to (Y/N). “This is about taking your rightful place before Gunthor learns about your grandsire’s death.” 

Rhaenyra frowned, “(Y/N) is the rightful heir, Gunthor would not be so bold as to try to undermine that.” 

Daemon gave his son a pointed look, and (Y/N) sighed letting his hand fall into his hands. He did not know his cousin’s intentions, he did not trust him, but a simple feeling did not prove anything. In fact he barely knew his cousin, having only met him half a dozen times in his youth, but the unfamiliarity only fuled his distrust.

He rubbed his face, groaning, “I cannot take that chance. I must leave for Runestone.” 

Daemon nodded, “I will make sure your things are packed.” 

Daemon turned on his heel, walking out of the room. Rhaenyra turned to her husband as soon as the doors were shut. “I am coming with you.” 

“You must stay here-” 

“You are my husband.” Rhaenyra stood, standing directly in front of where (Y/N) was sitting. “I should be at your side.” 

(Y/N) sighed, reaching his hand out and Rhaenyra gently grasped it. He looked at Rhaenyra, “You are the heir to the Iron Throne. You are already uncertain of your place in this court. I do not know how long I will be at Runestone, but you cannot afford to be away from court for too long, not now.” 

Rhaenyra scoffed, and (Y/N) continued, standing up from his seat, “I will fly to Runestone on Vermithor. I will secure my seat, our future child’s seat, and then when that business is done I will return to you.” 

Rhaenyra cupped his cheek, bringing their foreheads together. “Take what is yours, and then return to me.”

“Lord Royce.” 

(Y/N) looked up from the books he was looking over, placing down his quill. The boy standing at the door looked between (Y/N) and Maester Pate nervously, holding a piece of parchment in his hand.(Y/N) recognized him as the young page that had been attending to Maester Pate in the rookery. 

Maester Pate cleared his throat, “Well, what is it?” 

“There is a raven for Lord Royce.” 

“Give it here.” (Y/N) waved the boy over. The boy placed the rolled up parchment on the desk. “What is your name?” 

“Jasper, my lord. I mean- my prince.” 

(Y/N) chuckled, “My lord is fine, thank you, Jasper.” 

Jasper bowed, practically tripping over himself to run out of the room. (Y/N) picked the parchment up between two fingers, it bore the seal of House Targaryen. He’d received many ravens from Kingslanding in his absence, many from his father, the most from Rhaenyra. 

He kept them both updated on the situation in Runestone. Not that there was much to update, Gunthor was still playing an active role in the governance of the keep, much to (Y/N)’s frustration. He had no real proof that the man was up to anything, other than his odd actions during his grandsire’s final months and the queasy feeling that settled in (Y/N)’s gut anytime the man opened his mouth. 

He picked his dagger up off the table, carefully prying off the wax seal before unrolling the parchment and reading the letter. 

Valzȳrys, 

I hope you are well, and that Runestone is prospering. 

I have been quite ill these past few weeks, the maesters could determine no cause. Until last week. 

My maids were dressing me when Elinda pointed out that my dress did not lace as tightly as it had before, and that I had not bled since before the wedding. Immediately the maester was called, and it is Grand Maester Mellos opinion that I am with child. He estimates that I am in my second moon of pregnancy, and my father already suspects the babe will be a boy.

I apologize for not writing of the news sooner, but to tell the truth when I first heard the news, and even now, I am not sure how I feel. I am overjoyed at the idea of a child with the best features of us both, a future dragonrider, and the future heir to The Iron Throne. But my mother died on the birthing bed, and suffered long before then through countless unsuccessful births. I do not wish to die in a puddle of my own blood as she did. But despite my fears, I am happy with the news, as surprising as it is, and I hope that you share my feelings. 

I think of you every night, and miss your presence by my side. 

Olvie jorrāelagon, 

Rhaenyra 

(Y/N) read the parchment three times, dissecting every word written by his wife. He looked up at where Maester Pate was still standing. “Bring me my cousin.” 

“Gunthor?” 

“Gerold, Pate.” 

The maester bowed, exiting the room, and (Y/N) sighed leaning back in his chair. He resigned himself to getting no more work done today, and started to put the books away. When Gerold entered (Y/N) did not speak, he simply handed him the letter and watched his cousin’s face as he took in its contents. 

“I wish to return to Kingslanding.” (Y/N) said when it was clear his cousin was finished. 

“Of course.” Gerold said. “I do not blame you.” 

(Y/N) bit his lip, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Will you not be returning?” Gerold asked, taking in his younger cousin’s tense posture. 

“What do you think of Gunthor?” (Y/N) asked, deciding it was better to be blunt than to beat around the bush. Especially if he wanted to make his decision. 

Gerold paused, opening his mouth and closing it multiple times as if he was struggling to articulate his answer. 

“Speak honestly, cousin. I will not fault you for your opinions.” 

His cousin took a deep breath, “I do not know what to think.” 

(Y/N) motioned for him to elaborate. 

“I had not seen him in years until your grandsire fell ill. I wanted to write to you to tell you of his illness, since as his chosen heir it would’ve been your place to take over the responsibilities of Runestone. But your cousin Gunthor urged me not to disturb you.” 

(Y/N) nodded, “Can I trust you, Gerold?” 

“Of course.” 

“I fear Gunthor may have ambitions above his station. I cannot prove it but-” He paused, unsure of how to continue.

“You do not feel comfortable leaving Runestone unsure of his intentions.” His cousin finished, and (Y/N) nodded. 

“You must understand,” (Y/N) said. “I wish to see my wife, and help her through these times but I cannot in good conscience leave Runestone when my position is not yet secure.” 

Gunthor frowned, “What will you do then?” 

(Y/N) groaned, dropping his head in his hands. “Can I not send him away and be done with it all?” 

“Sending him away will not stop him,” Gerold said. “It may just incentivise him further. It is easier to keep him close where you can watch him and those who may support him than to send him away to move in secret.” 

(Y/N) sighed, looking up at his cousin and taking in his expression. Defeated, he leaned back in his chair, “I cannot leave can I?” 

“I cannot tell you what to do, (Y/N).” 

“Just-” (Y/N) closed his eyes, frustrated with the entire situation. He longed for Rhaenyra, wishing to be there to see her through her pregnancy. “Just be honest, Gerold.” 

“No, you cannot leave.” 

(Y/N) nodded, reaching for a blank piece of parchment and his quill. “Thank you for your counsel, cousin. Tell Maester Pate I wish to send a raven to Kingslanding with my decision.” 

Rhaenyra would have to understand, securing his position was for the good of their future family. Their second child will inherit Runestone after him, and (Y/N) would stay for as long as he needed to ensure that.

Rhaenyra’s labor had begun only hours after (Y/N) had set foot in Kingslanding. Viserys and Daemon had been thrilled at the news, but Rhaenyra’s fears of the birthing bed had not at all ebbed throughout the many moons of her pregnancy. (Y/N)’s absence from court during those moons had not helped her trepidation, but as the labors started (Y/N) assured her he would pick her over any babe. 

(Y/N) was not allowed in the birthing room despite his protests, after a particularly rough scream tore itself from Rhaenyra’s throat (Y/N) had pulled his dagger on one of the guards, which subsequently caused his father to drag him even further away from the room. 

His father and Ser Harwin were watching the young Lord of Runestone as Rhaenyra’s screams and curses echoed throughout the halls. Daemon was silent, wincing at his nieces wails every so often, while Harwin had taken to whispering words of comfort to (Y/N). 

“She is strong.” Harwin said, hand resting softly yet reassuringly on (Y/N)’s shoulder. 

“Cunt!” (Y/N) chuckled softly at Rhaenyra’s words, and Harwin smiled. 

“See.” Harwin said, “She is doing well.” 

Footsteps sounded down the hallway, (Y/N) looked over to see King Viserys and Queen Alicent approaching the group of men. Alicent was holding her own swollen stomach as she approached and (Y/N) was reminded that she too was soon headed toward the birthing bed once again. Alicent frowned at Harwin, and (Y/N) narrowed his eyes at the young queen. 

“Ser Harwin,” Alicent addressed the knight, “Does Rhaenyra need her sworn protector-” 

“I wished him to be here.” (Y/N) cut her off, and she looked at him, frowning. 

“Of course.” 

Viserys paid the three of them no mind, he looked exhausted. (Y/N) had heard from both Rhaenyra and Daemon about the king’s deteriorating health these past moons. The letter had given no justice to truly how bad Viserys looked, although he still insisted on acting as if he was alright. 

“How is she?” 

“Well,” (Y/N) replied, “I think. They would not let me in.” 

Viserys gave him a sympathetic look, as the cry of a babe captured all of their attention. (Y/N) pushed himself quickly off the wall rushing into the room, Daemon and Viserys following closely behind him. 

Rhaenyra lied in bed, face pale and covered in sweat, her normally perfectly styled hair was messy and sticking to her skin. She lifted her head at the sound of people entering the room, smiling and relaxing at the sight of her husband. The maester handed the babe, wrapped in a deep brown cloth, with a mop of dark curls peeking out, to (Y/N). 

“A boy, your grace.” 

(Y/N) stared silently at the babe, still crying although slowly but surely calming, (Y/N) looked up to Rhaenyra, who the midwife was attending to. He traced his son's features gently, fearful of hurting the precious bundle. He had not understood the fear his father spoke of until the babe had been placed into his arms, and he remembered that Daemon had been no older than he was now when (Y/N) was born. 

“He’s perfect.” 

Viserys and Daemon came up next to him, and (Y/N) remembered he was holding the future heir to the Iron Throne. He gently handed the babe to his uncle, and he smiled, allowing his brother to peer at their grandson over his shoulder. “What is his name?” 

(Y/N) looked to Rhaenyra, “Whatever you wish.” 

Viserys handed the babe off to Alicent, whose frown deepened. Daemon spoke before Rhaenyra, “He should have a name fit for a king.” 

(Y/N) shot his father a dirty look, already knowing that his father was implying his son should not have a Vale-like name. “Rhaenyra labored to bring our son into this world, she shall pick whatever name she wishes.” 

“Jacaerys.” Rhaenyra said, motioning for the babe to be brought to her. (Y/N) took the babe from Alicent, her expression making the Lord of Runestone uneasy. He handed him to Rhaenyra, pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of her head, and Rhaenyra laid down head resting on (Y/N)’s side. “His name will be Jacaerys Royce.” 

Alicent did not linger around any longer than she needed to, exiting the room as soon as attention was on Rhaenyra. Viserys gave his daughter a kiss on the forehead before following after his wife. Daemon lingered the longest, looking adoringly at his grandson. (Y/N) had feared his father’s reaction to his son’s more Vale-like features, but Daemon did not seem to mind. 

“Congratulations.” Daemon smiled, pressing a soft kiss to both of their cheeks before taking his own leave. “I will fetch someone to clean the sheets and help you dress.” 

Rhaenyra nodded her thanks before the two new parents were left on their lonesome. Rhaenyra, wincing, sat up further, handing the bundle off to (Y/N). (Y/N) smiled down at Jacaerys, tensing when the babe opened his eyes, big and brown, but instead of breaking back into sobs he just stared up at his father. (Y/N) reached down, smiling softly as the babe grabbed his finger placing it in his mouth. 

“I think he is hungry.” (Y/N) chuckled. “Shall I fetch a wet nurse?” 

Rhaenyra nodded, and (Y/N) handed the babe back to her. He opened the door, looking at Ser Harwin who was still waiting outside the door. 

“Would you like to meet him?” 

“Him?” Harwin asked, and (Y/N) nodded. 

“It is a boy.” (Y/N) smiled, “I am going to fetch a wetnurse, but I am sure Rhaenyra would be delighted to introduce him to you.” 

As Harwin gingerly stepped into the room, (Y/N) tracked down a wetnurse. As he returned to the chambers, he took a seat by Harwin and Rhaenyra’s side as Jacaerys was handed off to the nurse. As soon as the nurse was out of earshot Rhaenyra turned to her husband. 

“How long are you staying?” 

(Y/N) frowned, “Nyra-” 

“I will not beg you to stay, (Y/N). I know you will not.” Rhaenyra said. 

“That is not fair. You know-” 

“The complexities of politics are not lost on me, (Y/N).” She was obviously tired from her labors, but (Y/N) could tell he was not getting out of this conversation. “But what of our son? Will he grow up without you because you were too busy infighting with your cousin?” 

“I am doing this for our son.” 

Rhaenyra sighed, the fight going out of her at his comment. “Yes, I know- I just- I want Jace to grow up with a father.” 

“He will.” (Y/N) promised. “But not until I am sure Gunthor will not undermine me at the first opportunity. I will return to you, I promise. And Harwin will be here watching over you both to make up for what I am missing.” 

He turned to Harwin, who nodded a silent promise to the prince. (Y/N) took his hand in thanks. 

“Did you see Alicent’s face when she held him?” Rhaenyra looked across the room longingly at where their son was now asleep in a cradle, the wetnurse long gone. “I am sure she is already spreading her poison.” 

“Fuck Alicent.” (Y/N) spat, causing both Rhaenyra and Harwin to laugh. “She can spread whatever rumors she wishes, they will go nowhere. Our son is a Royce, he has Vale-blood, that fact alone will be enough to quell her whisperings.” 

Harwin squeezed his hand in reassurance, bringing it up to press a soft kiss to its back. “I have missed you, (Y/N).” 

(Y/N) smiled at the knight, before turning to his wife. “I do wish I could stay with you three.” 

Rhaenyra reached for (Y/N). “We will pray for your success, ñuha jorrāelagon, and await your triumphiant return to us."

---

Translations -

Valzȳrys - Husband

Olvie jorrāelagon - Much love

Ñuha jorrāelagon - My love

[lumarhorrors]

Idk if u can do this request so if u don't like it ignore it lmao, how abt a Top prince x Bottom Male reader servant, since the prince is well, the prince, he can do anything so he orders his servant (reader) to have sex with him, with spanking and breeding kink from the prince and dub con (if u feel uncomfortable don't do it)

Of course, I'll make this request! Everything is in my I will write section ^^ also this is my first time writing none Vanilla NSFW so sorry if its sucks.

CW: dun-con, breeding kink, spanking, power play, slightly semi-public I guess? Raw sex.

You were just a lowly servant working for the King and queen as their son's personal servant. Whatever he wanted you did.

To you, the prince was a brat, extremely spoiled and a bit of a perv. You always caught him staring at you, whether it's at your ass or lower regions but it always makes you slightly uncomfortable. To you, you were there to do a job and be paid so you could finally be free. You wrote all thus in your diary and well....the prince found it and was not happy his eye candy was planning on ditching him. So As you made your way back to your sleeping quarters for the night and hand grabbed you pulling you into a semi private hallway.

When you turn to look glaring at you is the prince. And he was angry. "So When were you going to tell me you were leaving!" He yelled at you. "I-I..." you stuttered not ever seeing him this angry before. "as punishment for your little plan you'll have sex with me," he smirked as he knew you would listen to whatever he said. He pushed you down onto your knees and your face pressed into his clothed bludge. Your face goes red and your eyes widen...he's definitely big. "I...yes...your Highness" he whispered as you unzipped his pants and pulled them down leaving him I'm his boxers.

He threads his hands through your hair as you kiss along his clothed cock. You kiss up to the tip before pulling them down, his cock smacked against his shirt. You shakily placed your hands on his hard length and take it in your mouth. "Fuck!" He groaned as he placed one hand on your hair and the other bracing the wall behind you. The Prince grabs your hair tightly and fucked into your mouth using you as he pleased. "Mmm~" you moaned as his Cock hit the back of your throat. You gagged as he thrusted with no remorse tears pricked your eyes. "aww is the little maid boy crying?" he taunted. "Too much for you? Well take it" he glared forcing himself down you as he painted your tongue and throat white

the prince had you pressed against the wall your legs around his waist and his cock buried deep in your tight hole. "hah...please no...hah...more" you begged and whined. he continued to thrust in and out ignoring your pleas for him to slow down, his cum dripped down your thighs onto the clean carpets of the hallway. you tried to keep quiet as to not wake anyone in the palace and get caught, you let put a yelp followed by a moan as he spanked your ass. "I want to hear those pretty noises my little maid" he said coldly. "ah...okay..." you moan as he painted your walls white for the second time. a while later you had moved to his room. the door locked and your faced pressed into a pillow your hips lifted onto your knees back arched as he slammed roughly into your used and abused hole. "t-too...much~" you whimper as you cum for the third time painting the sheets and making a white sticky puddle of cum.

you knew the price was a fuckboy and a perv but you never expected him to breed you like a bunny in heat. you felt a hard slap on your ass as he spanked you again. he leaned down and sucked and bite your neck marking you as his. "you're mine little maid...you're not leaving ever~" he marks your neck with many hickeys. "fuckk baby...so tight for your prince~. gonna breed you all night~." he moaned in your ear. you were exhausted and tried to wriggle free from his grasp only to be flipped and sat in his lap cock still buried deep inside you. "plea- no....mOrE~" you whimpered as he roughly bounced you up and down occasionally smacking your ass till it was read, you felt yourself tighten around his large length signalling your fourth release of the night. he continues to abuse your poor hole even after you released your fluids over your chest and stomach "ughh one more love~" he said releasing his load into you.

after you both finished he kicked you out of his room naked and used. you sat on the floor in front of his closed with only a bed sheet he threw at you. you felt broken and hollow...the prince used you for himself only. you shamefully walked to your quarters and put on your clothes and packed your things and snuck out the palace. you left on your horse to the neighbouring kingdom. when the prince realised you'd left he was furious, but his parents just replaced you and his new maid boy was more than willing to be a toy for the prince so you were soon forgotten and lived your life in peace as the neighbouring kingdom's prince's maid.

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