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â starcrossed losers â˘
at age fifteen, youâre betrothed to a prince named jeonghan. at age twenty-five, youâre set to marry him. so when your father gives you a chance to find love all on your own, you immediately take it. now if only jeonghan would stop fucking sabotaging every relationship youâre trying to get into.
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FEATURING;Â jeonghan x reader
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 WORD COUNT; 21k words
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 TAGS; princess!reader, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, magic & fantasy, betrayal (not frm jh), angst, minor character death, blood and violence, smut (MINORS DNI)
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 NOTES; two years... it took me TWO YEARS to write this and post it AJAHDSFJSHFDGDF i am sorry? SO DEEPLY SORRY!?!?!? but that aside, this probably only starts to get more jeonghan-centric at the 10k word mark... OUGH..... i needed to do a lot of worldbuilding AHAHAHAHA BUT I PROMISEE it's for good reason!
this is part of the itâs complicated series.
PART ONE | PART TWO
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 SMUT TAGS; vaginal fingering, making out in places where you shouldn't, semi-public sex (that's it for this part unfortunately...)
Your life changed forever on a Tuesday morning.
As a princess, your days were dictated by a perfectly curated schedule. Every hour accounted for, every moment neatly placed in a grid of expectations and duty. It should have felt restrictive for most girls your age. But not for you. You liked the structure. The routine gave your life shape and purpose. You didnât have to wonder what the day might hold or scramble to meet your obligations. All that was required of you was to show up, shoulders squared, chin high, and play your part in the ever-charming production of royal daughterhood.
Mondays and Wednesdays were for lessons with your private tutorâarithmetic, magical history, the foundations of politics and diplomacy. Tuesdays and Thursdays belonged to physical training. Fencing and archery were your common favorites. Fridays were reserved for etiquette, where you were taught about flawless posture, graceful curtsies, and a hundred ways to say no without ever using the word. Meanwhile, weekends were for socializing, when nobles from Ancarra and beyond paraded their heirs and fortunes before the court like trinkets at market.
On this particular Tuesday, Changkyunâs form was sloppyâleft shoulder too low, footwork too eagerâand you exploited it mercilessly, driving him back across the mat with a flurry of perfectly timed lunges. He faltered on his retreat, lost his balance, and went down with a sharp oof before the tip of your foil points just shy of his collarbone.
You didnât smirk, but it took effort.
Flat on his back, your fencing partner let out a groan and flung an arm over his eyes. âYouâve been spending too much time with Master Yesung. Heâs turned you into a menace.â
âIâve always been a menace,â you tell him, withdrawing your foil with a flick. âYouâre just slow today.â
From the far end of the training hall, a low, throaty rumble of approval rolled across the floor like distant thunder. You glanced over your shoulder to find Reya lounging on the polished stone, tail twitching like heâs amused with your victory. The massive white tiger regarded you with half-lidded pride, resting his chin on his paws like the king he thinks he is.
Changkyun gave Reya a wary glance. âHe still hates me.â
âHe hates everyone,â you replied fondly. âExcept me.â
You didnât say the rest: that Reya is more than a pet. That you hadnât tamed himâyou found him, half-starved and snared by a hunterâs trap in the snowfields. That when your magic surfaced and it turned out you werenât a fire-wielder, or a stormcaller like the other gifted scions of noble houses but simply a girl who could speak to animals: everyone acted like youâd been cursed with the art of babysitting.
That is not real magic, they said. It will never be useful in court.
So you honed your body instead.Â
Foil. Footwork. Form. You mastered it all, until no one dared question your worth out loud. And maybe Changkyun is the only person who ever looked at you without that shadow of disappointment on everyoneâs faces when they thought you wouldnât notice.
Your fingers brushed as you help him to his feet, and your heart liftsâ
âjust as Royal Advisor Siwon clears his throat.
The sound snapped through the air like a blade cracking on steel. You and Changkyun jump apart.
âYour Grace,â Siwon said, bowing deeply. His silver-rimmed spectacles gleam in the sunlight. âThe king requests your presence. Immediately.â
You blinked. âIâm in the middle of training.â
âIâm afraid this takes precedence, Princess,â he told you with the faintest edge of regret in his tone. Heâs always been considerate of your feelings. âThe matter is⌠personal.â
Your stomach twisted at that.
Moments later, you pulled off your gloves, tucking them under your arm beside your training foil. Reya got up from his corner with a huff as he padded silently toward you, his presence at your heel like a silent question.
âIâll return,â you told Changkyun, though youâre not sure you will.
The halls of the Castle of Ancarra were quiet at this hour, but never truly still.
Morning sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, spilling pools of color across the floor dancing faintly over the stone as if the palace itself breathed. The scent of blooming flowers drifted in through open archways from the garden courtyards beyond, clinging to the walls like perfume. Somewhere distant, you heard the faint hum of magic wards being tuned by the royal mages, that soft shimmering sound like glass being struck gently by wind.
You, on the other hand, smelled like sweat.
Each step echoed a little too loudly as you padded down the eastern corridor. Beside you, Siwon walked with his usual glacial calm, every inch the model of a court advisor. Reya prowled silently behind you, massive white paws silent against marble. His fur rippled like snowdrifts in motion, and his blue eyes tracked every passing flicker of movement with the lazy wariness of a predator who knew he had nothing to fear.
You squinted up at Siwon, who maintained his pace without so much as glancing at you. âYou know, if you donât tell me whatâs going on, Iâm going to assume Iâm dying.â
âI assure you, Your Grace,â he replied without inflection, âyou are not.â
âThen Iâm being exiled.â
âAlso incorrect.â
âThen what is it?â
He gave a patient sigh, the kind adults always gave when they thought you were being childish. (You were fifteen, not five, but that never seemed to matter.) âIt is not my place to say.â
You groaned. âThatâs what you always say.â
âBecause it is always true.â
âCan you at least tell me if Iâm going to like it?â
âSome might consider it an honor.â
â...Will you make me one of those snowman figures with your frost magic to shut me up?â
Siwon glanced at you, startled but amused. âI thought you already outgrew those, Princess.â
You huffed, and Reya let out a rumble behind youâhis version of agreement, no doubt. You didnât like the way this was heading. Siwonâs face gave nothing away, as usual, and thereâs no way to break through his defenses.
Rounding the corner near the west wing stairwell, you nearly collided with one of the younger palace maids, who let out a startled yelp and nearly dropped her stack of linens.
âOh! Princess!â she gasped, eyes wide as saucers. âYouâre still in your fencing kit?â
You look at her bizarrely. âYes? Itâs fencing day?â
Regardless, she looked horrified. âYour hair is allâyour tunicâoh dear, youâre soaked. I-Iâll have the other attendants prepare a bath immediately. Do you want rosewater or lavender? I can call for your blue silks, or maybeââ
âShe wonât have time for that,â Siwon interrupted mildly, stepping forward. âHer Highness is expected in the kingâs study at once.â
The maid faltered. âOh. I see. O-Of course.â
You offered a weak smile. âItâs fine. My fatherâs seen worse. Remember when Reya broke into the aviary and I spent half a council meeting covered in goose feathers? This canât be worse than that.â
Behind you, your tiger gave a low, pleased chuff. You could feel his smugness. The maid tried to laugh politely but gave up halfway through. She curtsied and retreated with all the urgency of someone fleeing a burning room.
You scratched behind Reyaâs ear absently as you continued walking with Siwon. âYouâd think theyâve never seen sweat before.â
âYou are a princess, Your Grace,â Siwon said. âThe ideal princess does not perspire. She glows.â
âIâll be sure to glow after Iâm dead.â
Siwon did not react.
Which, of course, was the worst reaction of all.
He reached the grand oak door at the end of the corridor and knocked twice with the back of his hand, the sound deep and final before opening the door.
âAfter you, Princess,â Siwon said, and you stepped across the threshold, sweat-streaked and bracing yourself for the sentence that would ruin the rest of your youth.
The scent of ink and parchment greeted you first.
Not the cloying perfume of court scrolls but something plainer. Vellum stacked in rows, ink dried in the well, candle wax crusted in yellow pools on the old wooden desk. A fire smoldered low in the hearth, casting long shadows over the high shelves. A half-eaten plate of bread and cheese sat untouched near the window, forgotten beside a ledger the size of a paving stone.
Your father sat behind the desk, hunched over a thick sheaf of correspondence, pen stilled in his hand.
The King of Ancarra was not a large man, not like the kings in your history books who towered over battlefields in gleaming armor. He was wiry, silver streaking his dark hair while the creases at the corners of his eyes deepened not by age but by long nights and hard decisions. He looked up when you entered, and the tiredness in his face softened.
âBug,â he said, smiling gently. âYouâre here.â
As Siwon left you two your own devices, you bowed because you were expected to. But when you straightened, you didnât hide the concern in your face. Not even that old, endearing nickname could dispel your unease.
âYou look awful.â
He barked a tired laugh and set the pen aside. âThank you, sweetling. Thatâs what every man longs to hear from his daughter.â
You stepped forward, Reya padding behind you with the faintest growl of warning. He never liked this room. Maybe it reminded him of confinement, or maybe he just hated the smell of parchment.
âYouâre still doing all the ledgers by hand,â you said, eyeing the mountain of work.
Your father didnât deny it. âWho else would?â His smile was wry. âThe ministers mean well, but theyâd outsource my soul if I let them. I trust my own hand better.â
You bit your lip. Heâd always been like thisâstubborn in his solitude, steadfast in his refusal to lean on others. Ever since your mother died, heâd carried everything himself. That day was etched into your life, even though you werenât old enough to remember it. You were told she passed giving birth to you. That her last words were your name. Your father never married again, never even considered it.
Part of you always wondered if that was loyalty, or guilt.
You moved to stand beside him, your sweat-streaked fencing gear looking very out of place in the quiet glow of his study. âYou could have waited for me to change.â
He gave a soft hum. âDidnât want to waste time. I know how long it takes for you to pick a ribbon for your hair.â
You gave him a playful glare.
And then, his expression changedâjust slightly. The weariness didnât fade, but something settled in beside it. A sort of gravity youâd seen only a handful of times in your life.
He gestured to the seat across from him. âSit. Thereâs something I need to tell you.â
The hairs at the back of your neck prickled, but you do as youâre told. Reya let out another disgruntled noise as he curled at your feet, frost blue eyes squared on your father. Shortly after sitting down, you folded your hands and straightened your spine like youâd been taught.
âIs something wrong?â you asked.
â...Youâve grown,â Your fatherâs fingers brushed across the parchment before him, as if searching for the words inside it instead of in his own mind. âFifteen now. Three years left until youâre given the Dawning Crown.â
That doesnât quite answer your question.
The Dawning Ceremony was a rite of passage for every member of Ancarran royalty. On your eighteenth birthday, the veil of childhood would be lifted. Youâd stand before the court in ceremonial robes, swear your oaths beneath the kingdomâs banner, and receive the Dawning Crownâa silver circlet that marked your right to advise the throne, to lead, to inherit.Â
But something told you that wasnât what the king summoned you for today.Â
âYes,â you said warily. âWhat of it?âÂ
Your father looked up at you then. His eyesâtired, kind, and quietly burdenedâsearched your face as if trying to memorize it before he said something you wouldnât forgive.
âIâve arranged a betrothal for you.âÂ
Silence dropped between you like a stone into water, and it rippled in your chest. You blinked, as if youâd misheard. âWhat?â
âA betrothal,â he repeated gently. âTo Prince Jeonghan of Seraphia. The engagement will be announced before the yearâs end. Youâll be married once you both come of age.â
Your throat went dry as you sat there stiffly, the rest of your body frozen while your brain scrambled to catch up. Outside, you could hear the distant flutter of birdsong through the windows, absurdly cheerful for the moment. Reya stirred at your feet, sensing your shock.
âButâŚâ You swallowed. âI thought I wouldâ I thought Iâd be able to choose.â
Your fatherâs face flickered with regret, but his voice was firm. âI did what I had to, bug. This alliance is necessary. Seraphiaâs port routes feed half our inland trade. And their King trusts Jeonghan to succeed him one day. Heâs⌠heâs a good boy.â
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried not to make a sound like a dying bird.
Jeonghan.
You remembered him only in flashes. A diplomatic visit when you were thirteen. A boy with moonlight hair and a smile made of silk and sunshine. All the noble daughters swooned while he bowed and kissed their hands like something out of a storybook.
But you saw it.
You saw the glint of amusement in his eyes when he flattered people just to watch them squirm. The flick of his wrist when heâd âaccidentallyâ stepped on your dress train. The way heâd offered you a honeyed tart, only for you to discover it was filled with chili paste. Your lips had burned for hours.
You scowled. âI wouldâve preferred his brother. Joshua at least has a soul.â
The kingâs sigh was long and worn, as though heâd rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in his head and never found a version where it didnât end with you furious.
âI know this isnât what you wanted,â he said quietly. âBut itâs whatâs best. For the kingdom.â
You could feel the pressure in your chest start to swellâtight and hot and helpless. You shoved back from your chair, the legs scraping loudly against the polished floor. Reyaâs ears flicked at the sound.
âSo thatâs it?â you demanded. âYou marry me off to another kingdom and hope I forget everything I wanted? What about Ancarra? Who do you expect to rule when youâre gone, if Iâm stuck in the next kingdom over with a husband I didnât choose?â
Your voice rang louder than you meant it to, but once it started, it wouldnât stop.
âFather, Iâve trained my whole life to help you. Iâm learning about the laws, the politics, the treaties. Iâve fought and studied and bent over backwards to prove Iâm not some fragile little girl just because my magic doesnât shoot lightning out of my hands!â you sniffled, barely breathing with how much your throat feels like itâs stuffed with cotton. âAnd now youâre saying itâs all just... for decoration?â
Your father closed his eyes.
For a moment, the silence returned. Not heavy like before, but much more somber.
âYou think I donât want you here?â he asked, and your heart cracked at the roughness in his voice. âYou think I havenât dreamed of the day Iâd see you on the throne beside me, crowned and proud, finally free to shape this kingdom with your own hands?â
The king stood behind his desk, and the gesture felt too slow for the weight of what he carried.
âYouâll still rule Ancarra in my place one day, bug,â he said, his voice low with weariness. âBut Iâve seen the parts of you that mirror the worst of me. The way you shoulder everything on your own. The way you keep others at a distance, offering only whatâs required and nothing more. I know that kind of loneliness. Iâve lived it. And I wouldnât wish it on you.â
He looked at you then, and the weight behind his gaze was heavier than any crown.
âIâm not trying to chain you to another kingdom. I just want you to have someone by your side. Someone who sees you not as a sovereign, or a symbol, but as a woman. As a queen who doesnât have to stand alone.â
You turned away, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the anger from spilling out again. Just minutes ago, youâd been silently fretting over your fatherâs terrible habit of grinding himself into the groundâand now he was saying you were the same. That youâd inherited his loneliness like it was part of your bloodline.
Reya brushed against your side, his fur warm and solid as a low huff vibrated in his chest. Youâre not alone, he said. Iâm still here.
But the comfort didnât dull the sting. It didnât make the room feel any less like a cage.
âPlease, bug,â he said softly, reaching across the desk to take your hands in his. His grip was warm, steady, and just a little too gentle. âI need you to trust me. Just for now.â
You looked at himâat the sleepless shadows beneath his eyes, the ink smudged into the creases of his fingers, the quiet burden he carried alone because he never let anyone close enough to share it. Your chest ached.
You nodded, once. âJust for now.â
Life went on, as it always did.
Your schedule remained unchangedâlessons, training, etiquette, more training. The castle walls stayed the same shade of honeyed stone, and the banners still rippled with the wind in Ancarran silver. No one treated you differently, but that was the worst part. The servants still curtsied, the guards still bowed, and Siwon still handed you your briefing scrolls with quiet efficiency. As if nothing had changed. As if your future hadnât just been carved into stone.
But when you walked through the halls, people looked at you a little longer. Nobles smiled a little too kindly. Maids paused mid-task to whisper behind their hands.
Reya sensed the shift, too. He stayed closer than usual, his great striped head brushing your elbow when you walked, his breath warm at your back when you slept. His presence grounded you, but not even he could quiet the nervous churn in your stomach as the ceremonial dinner approached.
The Seraphian royal family arrived two days after the harvest moon. Their procession was the usual fanfareâbanners and courtiers, guards in gilded armor, a fleet of pearl-dappled carriages led by plumed steeds. You watched it unfold from the balcony with arms crossed, ignoring the way your heart drummed harder when you spotted Jeonghan stepping out in gold-trimmed robes, his hair ink-black and tied back with a silken cord.Â
It used to be much lighter, didnât it? Though there were always rumors about the eldest Seraphian princeâthat he changed his hair as often as his wardrobe, either by spellcraft or cosmetics. You werenât sure which unnerved you more.Â
The ceremonial dinner was held that evening in the Grand Marbled Hall. Candles glittered in every chandelier. The finest cutlery had been polished to mirror-shine. You were seated at the right of your father; Jeonghan sat directly across from you, grinning like this was all terribly funny.
For the sake of appearances, you were perfect. Pleasant and regal as you should be. You smiled when prompted, clinked your glass when toasts were made, and managed not to stab anyone with your fork. But once dessert had been cleared and the nobles began drifting into smaller pockets of conversation, you stepped away from the main table.Â
And, of course, Jeonghan followed.
âYouâre brooding,â he said, appearing at your side like a shadow. âItâs a charming look on you, truly. Very mysterious, but also very tragic.â
âIâm resisting the urge to toss you into the fountain,â you said coolly, still upset over Reya being barred from the ceremonial dinner. Siwon claimed your tiger would terrify half the guests into fleeing back to their homelands, but honestly? Thatâs exactly where you want Jeonghan to be.Â
All of a sudden, Joshua materialized behind him with a sigh. âBrother, maybe you shouldnât antagonize your future wife during the first dinner.â
The older boy raised an innocent brow. âIâm simply trying to get to know her better. Itâs called bonding.â
âItâs called being a smug little shit,â you muttered, turning to Joshua. âRemind me again why they didnât marry you off instead?â
âBecause Iâm only thirteen, Princess,â Joshua said with a rueful smile. âAnd unlike Jeonghan, I canât talk my way out of anything. Or into it.â
Jeonghan pressed a hand to his chest. âYou wound me.â
This was what your interactions looked like for the next few years.Â
Time wore on in polished routines and reluctant familiarity. Your lessons deepened. You traded your fencing foil with a sword. Your council briefings grew longer. And through it all, the shape of your future loomed larger, carved into every careful glance from the court, every politely worded expectation.
Jeonghan visited often enough to fulfill duty, but never more than that. He was cordial in public, infuriating in private. He knew just how to smile at the other noble girls, how to offer a compliment sweet enough to make them blush. But never you.
You werenât sure when it started to bother you.
He didnât try to charm you. Didnât send letters. Didnât hover by your side during banquets or take your hand when music played. Instead, he teased you, irritated you, challenged you. When you dueled with the court trainers, heâd lean against a post with a smug grin and critique your footwork. When you won a mock debate in strategy lessons, heâd ask if you were aiming for tyrant or empress.
He wasnât cruel. Just⌠completely uninterested.
And so, you mirrored him. Distant, cool, and unimpressed.
It was easier that way. You told yourself it didnât matter, that you preferred it like thisâthat it was better if neither of you cared. That way, when the Dawning Ceremony finally arrived, and the court crowned you with silver and called you queen-to-be, you wouldnât look for him in the crowd. You wouldnât hope he was watching. Wouldnât wonder if he saw more than just a political pawn.
You were eighteen now. The veil of childhood had been lifted. The Dawning Crown gleamed in your reflection like a weight youâd only begun to feel.
The door creaked open behind you. Your stylists fell silent at onceâone still halfway through pinning the final clasp on your ceremonial mantle. When they turned and caught sight of who had entered, they dipped into low bows, murmuring deferentially before excusing themselves in a flurry of silks and whispered footsteps.
You met your fatherâs reflection in the mirror.
He looked tired. Always did, these days. The strain of kingship lived in the soft slump of his shoulders, in the silver threading through his dark hair. But tonight, he wore a quiet pride that almost softened it.
âI still remember when you used to run barefoot through the garden, covered in dirt and insisting youâd seen a dragon in the clouds,â he said, his voice low and fond. âAnd now look at you.â
You turned to face him fully. The ceremonial robes felt heavier under his gazeâwoven from Ancarran silver and river-blue silk, embroidered with threads that shimmered like starlight. The Dawning Crown had been nestled into your hair not ten minutes ago, and already it felt like a permanent weight.
âYouâve grown into a fine heir,â he went on. âThe court respects you. The people speak your name with hope. I have no doubt youâll rule even better than I did.â
The words landed gently, like feathers instead of stones, but you only offered a small nod. âIs that all, or did you come to deliver another surprise engagement?â
He huffed a laugh. âNot today.â
A shape lingered in the hall behind him. You turned toward the figure, and felt your spine straighten when he stepped inside. You recognized him immediately.Â
Lord Kwon Soonyoung of the River Quarter. Young for a noble, but sharp-tongued, quick-witted, and endlessly frustrating to the older lords who couldnât keep up. He spoke boldly during court sessions, often to your quiet amusement. Not because he was reckless, but because his suggestions made sense. Because they werenât rooted in pride or greed or tradition-for-traditionâs sake.
You could tolerate Soonyoung.
More importantly, Reya mirrored the same sentiment. Your beast stirred at your side but made no noise. His tail thumped once against the floor, and when Soonyoung reached out, Reya allowed him to touch his headâwithout biting or growling or snarling.
You blinked. âHe never lets anyone do that. Not even the king.â
Soonyoung smiled faintly. âI bring very expensive jerky to council meetings.â
Your father gave a dry cough that mightâve been a laugh. âI thought it was time you had an advisor of your own,â he said, shifting his weight. âSomeone who understands your vision. Who wonât cower, but wonât sabotage you either. Youâll still have access to the council, of course. But from now on, Lord Kwon will report directly to you.â
You glanced back at Soonyoung, one brow arching.
He inclined his head solemnly. âIf youâll have me.â
And despite the crown digging into your temples, despite the pressure mounting outside those palace doors, you found yourself almost relieved for once.
The kingdom held its breath as the sun dipped low behind the peaks of Ancarra, casting long shadows across the capital. From the grand plaza to the marble steps of the palace, thousands had gathered to watch you rise.
The Dawning Crown sat heavy atop your headâwoven silver and moonstones, forged centuries ago for this moment. You wore it like you wore the future: unshaking, though it pressed against your every thought.
You stepped forward beneath the carved arch of the Grand Marbled Hall, every bell in the capital chiming at once. Your people stood below. Nobles flanked the raised pavilion. The wind caught your cape and made you look more like a figure from myth than flesh and blood.
Jeonghan, of course, was in the very front of the crowd, cloaked in Seraphian white and gold. His black hair fell loose tonight, ribbon tied lazily at the nape of his neck, and his expression is half amused, half something else. He didnât look proud. He didnât even look solemn. That damn prince simply looked like he was waiting for something only he knew the shape of.
You tore your gaze from him as the High Chancellor stepped forward.
His voice carried through the twilight air: blessing your name, your bloodline, your title. You bowed your head at the proper moment.
When it was your turn to speak, you found your voice more easily than expected. You spoke not just as a daughter, but as a queen-in-waiting. You spoke of duty, and legacy, and of your peopleâof Ancarraâs strength. The crowd answered with a roar.
And just like that, it was over. The stars blinked to life overhead. The music would begin soon. So would the toasts, the dancing, and the procession of noble flatterers lining up to be seen. But firstâyou slipped from the velvet crush of the crowd and found Soonyoung waiting just off the ceremonial steps, where the torchlight flickered low and Reya prowled like a sentinel in the dark.
He stiffened when he saw your expression. âPrincess?â
You pulled him aside, away from the footmen and ladies-in-waiting, and met his eyes.
âYouâre my advisor now,â you said, voice low but steady.
He nodded.
âThen this is your first task,â you whispered. âIf you cannot stop my betrothal to Jeonghan⌠delay it. Months, yearsâI donât care. Just buy me time. As much as you can.â
Soonyoung blinked. âAnd if they ask questions?â
âThey wonât.â You stepped closer. âBecause youâll be clever. And because no oneânot the council, not the court, not even my fatherâcan know that it was me who told you.â
Your advisor hesitated only a moment longer.
Then he smiled, something sharp and wolfish. âConsider it done.â
Years passed like storms over open fieldsâloud, relentless, and gone before you could catch your breath.
Your title grew heavier with each passing season. Every month brought new scrolls to sign, new decisions to weigh, new nobles testing your patience and pretending not to. But by your side, always, was Soonyoung.
He proved himself more than just a quick wit and a clever tongue. He was tactful when you were tired, bold when you hesitated, and disarmingly good at navigating court politics without letting it twist him. Most importantly, he did as you asked: he stalled. And stalled. And stalled.
Soonyoung often cited economic instability. He sowed polite doubt about timing. He suggested further diplomatic exchanges. And every time the matter of the betrothal crept to the surface, he found a way to push it back under without leaving fingerprints. For that, you trusted him more than most.
Still, no amount of clever maneuvering could keep Jeonghan away.
The Seraphian prince was a constant thorn in your side. Not overtly cruel but sharp enough to get under your skin. He made biting comments over tea with the council. Danced merely once at galas, and always with just you, even if his smile never reached his eyes. He acted the perfect prince in public, all grace and golden formality, but in private he still found delight in teasing your temper and smirking when it frayed.
And you matched him, blow for blow. It was the only way you knew to survive it.
You tried everything else. You proposed policy changes that would jeopardize the alliance. You drafted appeals to dissolve the arrangement. You whispered to other members of court, trying to find a crack in the centuries-old yet unspoken agreement binding Ancarra and Seraphia. But the betrothal endured, untouched, like some ancient curse carved into stone.Â
You were set to marry each other once you both turned twenty-five, and not even Soonyoung could circumvent the inevitable for longer than he already had. Â
On the eve of your twenty-fourth name day, you couldnât bear it any longer.
You found your father in the observatory, where he often retreated these days, away from court noise and council bickering. He looked older nowâsofter around the eyes, silver threading his entire beardâbut still steady, still listening.
âIâve done everything you asked,â you told him, voice low but urgent. âIâve honored the engagement. Iâve strengthened our kingdom. Iâve waited. But pleaseâŚâ Your hands clenched at your sides. âPlease let me find love on my own. Not in a treaty. Not in an obligation.â
The king looked up at you, quiet for a long moment. And in that silence, your heart thudded so loudly you feared he could hear the break in it.
Your father didnât answer right away. He looked at you for a long time, like he was peering through the layers of duty you wore like armorâpast the queen-in-waiting, down to the little girl who used to trail behind him with ink on her sleeves and admiration in her eyes.
Then finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair, wearier than youâd ever seen him.
âIf you must,â he said softly. âThen choose. But do it wisely.â
And just like that, the floodgates opened.
Soonyoung, ever your loyal accomplice, was the first to act. But your fatherâs advisor, Siwon, was ten steps ahead. Between them a list was compiled: eligible bachelors from noble families across the continent. Men with good standing, decent lineage, tolerable personalities. A thick folder of names, portraits, court records, and correspondences appeared on your desk within the week.
âYou asked for love,â Soonyoung reminded you, lifting an eyebrow. âNot obscurity. We still have to make it look⌠proper somehow.â
You stared down at the endless sea of faces, all of them smiling too politely. The illusion of choice wrapped in silk and gold. It wasnât exactly what youâd hoped for, but it was somethingâa sliver of agency in a life that rarely allowed any.
Near the end of the list, a familiar face stopped you cold.
Im Changkyun.
The boy who used to spar with you in the training yard until both your arms gave out. The only one who never pulled his strikes. Who called you âlightfootâ just to get under your skin and laughed when you beat him anyway. Heâd left court years ago to pursue something abroad for a few yearsâyou hadnât heard from him since.
You held his portrait a moment longer than the others.
He looked older now, jaw sharper, eyes steadier. But something in his expression was the same: direct, unafraid. You set the image aside, just slightly, like a card at the top of a deck.
âConsidering him?â Soonyoung asked, not even trying to hide the curiosity.
You didnât answer. Not really. Just tapped the edge of the page and muttered, âHeâs not terrible.â
Several days later, you invited Changkyun to the castle.
The back gardens were quiet this time of dayâjust enough sunlight spilling through the high hedgerows to illuminate the walking path in pale gold. The magnolias were in bloom, their wide petals fluttering in the breeze like fallen silk. You waited near the old stone bench beneath the olive tree, Reya sprawled lazily in the grass at your feet like he didnât weigh as much as a small carriage.
Siwon and Soonyoung lingered at the archway entrance, trying and failing not to look like posted guards. Youâd already told them three times that Reya was protection enoughâand given the way the striped beast flicked his tail with bored menace, you were fairly confident no one would get within lunging range without permission.
Still, you appreciated their presence. Just as you appreciated the way the household staff had been strictly instructed, sworn to silence, and double-compensated for their discretion.
No one from Seraphia could know.Â
You heard footsteps before you saw himâlight, careful, and familiar. When Changkyun emerged from the vine-draped path, the first thing you noticed was how tall heâd gotten. His frame was broader, shoulders squared. His hair was longer now too, tied back against his nape.
But then he grinned, and you knew it was still him.
âWell,â he said, stepping into the clearing with a casual ease that made Reya lift his head. âSome things donât change.â
You quirked an eyebrow. âLike what?â
âYour taste in terrifying pets.â He nodded at your tiger. âStill looks like he wants to eat me.â
Reya snorted through his nose. You werenât entirely sure it wasnât a laugh. âHe does. But only a little.â
Changkyun bowed low, more mockery than formality, then straightened and met your eyes. âYour Highness.â
âDonât,â you said, voice softer than you expected. âNot here.â
His expression eased. âAlright, Lightfoot then.â
You nodded despite the jab, the name fitting better in his mouth than you remembered. And for a moment, standing there in the hush of a secret meeting surrounded by the scent of olive and magnolia, you felt like a girl again. A little reckless. A little hopeful.
âSo,â Changkyun said, glancing past you to where the advisors waited in careful silence. âAm I here for tea, or a political inquisition?â
You smirked. âThat depends on whether youâre still terrible at fencing.â
âOh no,â he groaned. âYouâre going to beat me again, arenât you?â
âIf youâre lucky,â you said, turning to lead the way deeper into the garden. âIf youâre not, Reya will.â
And Reya, as if understanding perfectly, bared his teeth in a lazy grin.
You walked side by side with Changkyun through the garden path, Reya ambling behind like a silent chaperone. The quiet between you wasnât uncomfortable, just tentative. It had been years, after all. Heâd grown into his frame the way trees settle into their rootsâsteady, grounded, and unpretentious.
You stopped at the far end of the gardens beneath a low-limbed willow, leaves swaying like curtains in the wind. When you turned to face him, the words tangled briefly on your tongue.
Changkyun tilted his head. âYouâre fidgeting.â
âIâm not.â
âYou are,â he said, grinning. âSame way you used to before you asked to borrow my practice foil. Or when you were about to do something reckless.â
You huffed, cheeks warming. âIâm not here to be reckless. Iâm being strategic.â
âSame thing, in your case.â
You gave him a look, then sighed. âFine. Iâll be frank with you.â
âThatâs new.â He raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.
You ignored him. âYouâre here because Iâm⌠looking.â
His expression shiftedâcurious, but not alarmed. âLooking? For what?â
âA husband,â you said quickly, like yanking a bandage off. âSomeone suitable enough that my council and court will approve. Someone who could make this kingdom feel less like a cage, andââ You stopped, biting the inside of your cheek. âSomeone I could maybe stand.â
Changkyun blinked, taken aback for a moment, then leaned in slightly. âBut⌠arenât you already betrothed?â
You stilled before carefully saying, âItâs complicated.â
He looked at you for a long moment. Not pressing, not even judging, but he did take a moment to read between the lines.
âRight,â he said finally, with a nod. âComplicated.â
You were grateful he didnât pry further.
Hmph, you thought. If Jeonghan were this thoughtful, I wouldnât have a problem with it.
You immediately wanted to punch yourself. What? No. No. Why in the worldâ? You shook the thought off like water from your hands. Ridiculous. Completely and utterlyâ
âIâm flattered,â Changkyun said gently, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. âReally. It means a lot that youâd even consider me.â His eyes dimmed just a little. âBut I canât.â
Your heart paused. âCanâtâŚ?â
He nodded, almost apologetically. âThereâs someone else. Weâve been together a while now. Sheâs not from a noble house, so it was never going to be public, but⌠weâre expecting a baby in the spring.â
It hit you like a brick wall of mortification. âOh, godsâChangkyun, I didnât know. Iâm sorry, I didnât mean to put you in aââ
âNo, no,â he said, holding up a hand. âI know you didnât. You never would have tried if you did. Iâm honored you thought of me, but Iâve already made my choice.â
You took a step back, mortified beyond belief. âI just tried to poach a taken man.â
âWith a pregnant partner,â he added with a teasing grin. âA bold move, even for you.â
âStop laughing,â you hissed, trying to suppress the heat crawling up your neck. âThis is a diplomatic disaster.â
And of course, when you turned to stalk back to the garden entrance, you saw themâSoonyoung and Siwon, standing just where you left them, whispering like schoolboys and failing horribly at hiding their laughter.
âYou both knew, didnât you?â you growled.
Siwon cleared his throat and looked up at the sky. Soonyoung offered a helpful shrug. âWe just wanted to see how long it would take for you to find out.â
âYouâre both fired.âÂ
âYouâve said that four times this month,â Soonyoung said cheerfully.
âAnd it gets less believable every time,â Siwon added.
Behind you, Changkyun laughed again. Reya huffed. You tried very hard not to fling yourself into the hedge and disappear.
You went back to the drawing board with a vengeance.
The wall of your study, once reserved for regional maps and grain forecasts, was now a collage of organized chaos. Pinned parchments fluttered in the breeze from the open windowâportraits, lineage charts, summaries of estates and personalities. It looked less like a matchmaking effort and more like a war room. Reya had taken to curling up just outside your door, wisely avoiding the flurry of thrown quills and muttered curses.
Siwon and Soonyoung stood to one side, arms crossed like generals surveying a battlefield. They were your most loyalâyet infuriatingly connivingâadvisors, offering unfiltered commentary with the energy of drunk gossip mongers.
âLord Hwan?â Siwon suggested, tapping one parchment with a silver quill.
âToo stiff,â you replied without a hitch. âHe talks like heâs trying to sell me on an insurance scheme every time he opens his mouth.â
âWhat about the Crown Viscountâs second son?â Soonyoung asked. âHandsome. Educated. Keeps birds.â
âHe also believes women shouldnât sit in council chambers. Next.â
After a while, the portraits dwindled down to just a few names that hadnât been immediately dismissed. Among them, a new face caught your eyeâa boyish nobleman from the southern coast. You remembered him. Soft-eyed but sharp-tongued. He has an earring glinting in his official portrait, a reputation for charity work, and biting courtroom wit.
âBoo Seungkwan,â Siwon said, noticing your gaze. âHeir to the wine barons of Chasan.â
âIsnât he the one who screamed at the High Treasurer for misappropriating village taxes last winter?â you asked, intrigued. â
Soonyoung grinned. âThe very one. Rumor has it the Treasurer nearly cried.â
You plucked Seungkwanâs page from the wall. âI like him.â
âHeâs a bit dramatic,â Siwon offered.
âHeâs principled,â you corrected, pinning the portrait near the top of the selection board. âAnd Iâve had enough of spineless men. Give me someone who isnât afraid to raise his voice when somethingâs wrong.â
âHe also sings,â Soonyoung added helpfully.
âEven better.â
You three stood there a moment, gazing up at the organized chaosâyour court of candidates, your silent rebellion. It could be the most brilliant plan in the world, or the one that precedes its impending doom, but youâre more than willing to take a gamble.
It didnât take long for you to make the journey to Chasan.
You traveled in an unmarked carriage with Soonyoung at your side, no royal banners or official escorts. Siwon had protestedâloudly, thoroughly, and with increasing despairâbut your father, ever the silent observer of your misery, gave his blessing with one condition: Keep a low profile.Â
Chasan was warm with early spring, the hills rolling green and gold beneath a sun that glinted off the distant sea. When your carriage pulled up to the modest but elegant estate of the Boo family, no one rushed to greet you. No horns. No footmen. Just a confused stable boy blinking at you like youâd ridden in on a cloud.
You glanced at Soonyoung, who raised an eyebrow.
âGuess no one told them the queen-to-be was dropping by.â
âI did write in the letter that Iâd come in person,â you muttered.
One of the household servants scurried out after some frantic internal shouting. âOur deepest apologies, Your Highness, Sir Boo is in the lower vineyards at the moment. We⌠we werenât expecting you so soon.â
âItâs fine,â you said, already stepping down from the carriage. âWeâll find him ourselves.â
Soonyoung caught up, eyes scanning the gentle sprawl of grapevines that stretched toward the southern slope. âMaybe youâll get to see what heâs like in the wild,â he joked.
You shot him a look.
The two of you wandered down narrow earthen paths between sun-dappled vines, boots crunching softly over tilled soil. A few workers paused to bow, but no one made a fuss. Chasan was humble in the way that made you ache a little. No gold plating, no marble archways. Just earth, sky, and the scent of crushed grape skins in the wind.
âThere,â Soonyoung whispered, grabbing your elbow and pulling you behind one of the taller vine trellises. You followed his gaze and stopped short.
Boo Seungkwan was farther down the row, partially shielded by the grapes, one hand still gloved in working leathers. He was laughing, light and warm, as he leaned close to the young servant boy in front of him.Â
And then, without hesitation, he kissed him.
Not a scandalous kiss. Not a stolen one either. But soft, sure, and heartbreakingly tender.
You stared, your heart thudding with a strange sort of⌠sorrow. Or maybe guilt. You hadnât meant to intrude. You hadnât expected this.
Soonyoung gently nudged your arm. âGuess weâll be checking him off the wall.â
You swallowed and turned away, careful not to make a sound as you whispered, âLetâs go. He deserves to enjoy this moment without a royal shadow looming over it.â
Neither of you spoke again until you were halfway back to the estate, the quiet breeze tugging gently at your cloak.
ââŚSiwon is never going to stop laughing about this,â Soonyoung said at last.
You sighed. âI know.â
That crushing defeat hit you harder than you thought.
You didnât speak to anyone for days. Not after Seungkwan. Not after Soonyoung tactfully burned the last of the correspondence in your fireplace while Siwon wordlessly updated the registry of Unviable Matches with a heavy sigh.
Maybe this was your fate. Maybe it had always been. Maybe you were foolish to think you could outrun the gods' ink when the story had already been carved in gold. Betrothed at fifteen. Crowned at eighteen. Wed to Jeonghan byâ
You didnât let yourself think the year aloud.
Your advisors, mercifully, didnât try to coax you out of your misery. No jokes. No teasing. No âweâll find anotherâ or âwhat about this one.â Just silence and quiet presence.
Siwon left your tea in the mornings and your scrolls at dusk. Soonyoung started keeping his sarcasm locked behind his teeth. Even Reya laid his massive head across your lap while you read, his usual restlessness tempered as if he, too, knew your storm was not one that could be barked away.
You went through the motions. Court duties. Decrees. Oversight reviews. But your spirit dragged its heels, worn and brittle. And after nearly a week of going nowhere, you couldnât take the stillness anymore.
So you left.
No guards or carriages. Only a cloak over your shoulders and Reya at your side, his striped form padding silently beside you as you stepped out into the humming heart of the capital.
The city had always been your balm. Cobblestone streets. Songbirds in the eaves. Familiar chatter from vendors and weavers calling out their wares. The people greeted you with warmth, not fanfare. They knew Reya by sight nowâknew his name, evenâand parted for him without fear. Children ran up to scratch his ears. Old women offered you candied dates or weathered blessings.
You wandered further through the market square, slowing as a tapestry caught your eye. It looks new, strung between two wooden postsâits threads shimmering silver in the sunlight. A dragon this time, coiled mid-roar and stitched with care and pride.
Before you could move on, a small hand tugged at the hem of your cloak. You looked down to find a boy, no older than ten, staring up at you with wide, serious eyes. In his hands, he held a delicate ring of daisies and chamomile.
âItâs a crown, Your Highness,â he said shyly, holding it out like a secret. âNot the fancy kind, but it feels nice to wear.â
You crouched to his height, gently taking the floral gift with both hands. âThen itâs perfect,â you whispered. âThank you.â
Thank the stars you hadnât worn your Dawning Crown. It wouldâve felt like mockery now. You slipped the flower ring over your head and straightened. The child beamed. Reya gave a gentle huff of approval, as if to say: See? You still matter to the people.
You exhaled slowly and looked over the rooftops where the palace glittered far above the city.
You werenât ready to give up yet.
After purchasing some trinkets to bring home to your father and your lousy advisors, your footsteps take you further beyond the market. The flower crown sat a little lopsided on your head, but you made no move to fix it as you settled onto the edge of the city squareâs old stone fountain.
Reya laid down beside you with a content grunt, his chin resting on his massive paws as his tail flicked idly across the cobblestones. A warm breeze blew, catching the scent of fresh bread and sun-warmed stone. Pigeons cooed and strutted about the square like they owned it.
One of them hopped closer, cocking its head.
âWell?â you asked it. âI donât have food but you get conversation. Fair trade?â
The pigeon blinked, unimpressed. Youâre not who usually feeds us. Whereâs that baker girl with a soft voice and flaky biscuits?
âHm. Sheâs got better treats and a softer voice,â you laugh. âYou birds have standards.â
Another pigeon joined the first, eyeing Reya suspiciously. Why do you always drag around that oversized tiger? He looks like he eats things like us for fun.
Reya rumbled low in his throat without lifting his head. Keep talking, feathers. I havenât had lunch.
The pigeons flapped backward in alarm, cooing indignantly.
Savage! Barbarian! You wouldnât dareâ
âIgnore him,â you said, stifling a smile. âHe likes pretending heâs scarier than he is.â
Reya huffed again, this time clearly offended.
One pigeon scoffed. He nearly ate one of us the last time you were here.
âAnd one of you tried to steal his jerky. Actions have consequences.â
You sat there for a few more minutes, chuckling quietly at the birds' gossipâhalf of it nonsense, half of it accurate enough to be alarmingâuntil you heard a voice behind you. Gentle and familiar in a distant, unexpected way.
âMay I join you, Your Highness?â
You turned your head, and nearly gasped.
Standing just beyond the sun-dappled edge of the fountain was a boy you hadnât seen in years. Noânot a boy anymore. He was taller now, broader at the shoulders, his dark hair falling just past his collar. Instead of court finery, he wore a pared-down version of Renxing armor: travel-worn, softened at the edges, the pauldrons stripped away and the gold embroidery dulled by dust and sunlight.
You blinked, almost laughing from the sheer surprise of it all. âMinghao! Stars, it is you.â
âItâs good to see you again, Princess.â He caught your hands when you reached outâsteady and familiar.Â
But before the moment could settle, Reya let out a low growl, rising onto all fours. His ears are pinned back, blue eyes locked on your old friend with unmistakable suspicion.
âOh, stop that,â you said, stepping in to soothe him with a hand on his head. âReya, Haoâs a friend. Not lunch.â
Somethingâs wrong, he growled, muscles coiled beneath your touch. He smells like fire and blood.
You hesitated, fingers buried in Reyaâs thick ruff as his growl faded to a low, vibrating hum. His tail didnât flick, his gaze didnât waver.
Fire and bloodâŚ
Minghao probably did smell like both, even if you couldnât catch the whiff. Maybe in the way old battlefields did. Burnt magic clung to his clothes like smoke. His hands bore the marks of sword work, knuckles darkened with bruises that hadn't fully healed. Still, he was a fire elemental. And the general of the Renxing army. What else was he supposed to smell like? Roses?
But hostile as he was, Reya had never reacted like this before.
You gave his ear a scratch, more for your comfort than his. âHeâs just being dramatic,â you said lightly. âDoesnât like surprises. Or anyone whoâs taller than me.â
Minghao smiled. âI could kneel, if that helps.â
âDonât tempt him.â
He chuckled, stepping closer with a graceful ease that didnât match the war-weathered armor. âDid he say anything interesting?â
âNo,â you lied smoothly, straightening up. âJust a lot of growling and wounded pride. Why? Worried heâs giving away secrets?â
âOnly curious,â he said, voice soft. âItâs not every day a celestial tiger growls at me like I kicked his favorite moonstone.â
âYou did once steal a peach tart from my plate. He never forgot.â
âI regret nothing.â
You looked him over, still stunned. The years had sculpted him into something sharp and striking. Thereâs a faint scar curving along his forearm, and the unmistakable presence of someone used to command. But his eyes⌠his eyes were exactly the same.
âI didnât even know Renxing was sending delegates.âÂ
âTechnically, soldiers,â Minghao amended. âMy father offered support in fortifying your kingdomâs defenses. He sent me and a small contingent to assist in training.â
âThatâs the official reason, isnât it?â you teased.
He chuckled. âYouâve grown sharper.â
âAnd you havenât changed at all,â you interject with a beaming smile. âDo you still carry that lopsided bow you used to train me with?â
Minghao grinned. âI retired it years ago. But I remember those lessons well. You nearly took out my eye once.â
âIt was one time,â you said, rolling your eyes. âAnd you moved too close to the target!â
Reya, however, didnât find this reunion nearly as delightful. He rose behind you, placing himself between Minghao and your side with a deliberate flick of his tail.
You gave him a dry look. âHe taught me archery, Reya. If he meant to hurt me, heâs had a ten-year head start.â
âI mustâve offended him in a past life.â Minghao chuckled, giving a short, respectful bow towards the tiger.Â
âHe just doesnât like being left out of things,â you said, motioning for Minghao to sit with you by the fountain again. Some of the pigeons scattered as Reya circled, settling beside you with an annoyed huff. You pretended not to notice the way he kept one sapphire eye trained squarely on your old friend.
âItâs strange,â you said, watching the breeze stir the trees across the square. âI feel like I shouldâve known you were coming. Or that I wouldâve felt it somehow. We used to be glued to the hip during all those summer visits.â
âWe were children,â Minghao replied gently. âBut I remember it, too. I was glad when my father chose me to come here. I hoped Iâd see you again.â
You flushed, just a little. âWell⌠you have. And Iâm glad. Really.â
âIâll be staying at the castle with the soldiers,â he told you. âWe begin drills in a few days. Until then, I thought Iâd take a walk through the city. See whatâs changed.â
You grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your face. âNot much. The pigeons are still rude.â
A few feet away, one of them let out a coarse squawk. Youâre the one talking to birds like a madwoman. Canât even find a husband.
You lobbed a pebble at it. âYou eat garbage.â
Minghao watched in silent amusement as you finished your not-so-private argument with the townâs most opinionated pigeons. When you finally noticed his expression, you offered a sheepish grin.
âI missed this,â he said, the corner of his mouth tugging up.
You raised a brow. âThe pigeons?â
âYou,â he said, laughing softly. âYouâve always had a⌠unique way of handling the world.â
âYou say that like itâs a flaw.â
âItâs not.â His gaze lingered, warm and thoughtful. âItâs justâvery you.â
Reya let out another displeased noise. But you were too caught up in the moment to notice the way his muscles stayed coiled beneath his striped coat, the faint bristle in his fur. He didnât like this reunion.
But you? You were just happy to see an old friend.
Back at the castle, preparations for your guest had moved quickly. One of the east-facing guest roomsâtypically reserved for visiting dignitariesâwas swept, polished, and perfumed with lavender water. Minghaoâs soldiers were escorted to the royal barracks, where Ancarrian efficiency met them with warm cloaks, strong cider, and a welcome that was formal but kind.
By morning, the dining hall was bathed in golden light, sunlight spilling through the tall arched windows. The table had been set with a surprisingly casual spread: flaky breads still warm from the oven, crisp autumn pears, spiced porridge, and thick cream served in polished stoneware.
You were already there, hunched slightly over a steaming cup of tea, still groggy but determined not to show it. Reya was helping himself to whatever lavish breakfast the castle chefs had laid out for him, utterly absorbed in his bowl. From the way his ears twitched with contentment, your tiger was clearly pleased. You only looked up from your own food when you caught the quiet rhythm of approaching boots.
âGood morning, Your Highness,â Minghao said, bowing first to your father, then offering you a softer nod. âPrincess.â
âYouâre early,â you replied, smiling into your cup but it drops the moment Reya starts baring his teeth at your friend again. âReya. Knock it off.âÂ
Your father chuckled. âHe tells me his men were stretching at dawn on the south field. Quite the commander.â
âDiscipline is second nature in Renxing,â Minghao said, lowering himself into the seat next to yours with smooth, princely ease. âThough Iâll admitâyour lands make it easier. Crisp air. Clear skies. Even my men look taller here.â
âFlatterer,â your father said, grinning. âCareful, or youâll find yourself a permanent guest.â
âThat would be no punishment,â Minghao said, his eyes catching yours for the briefest moment, light with mischief.
You bit back a laugh and nudged the basket of pastries toward him. âTry the honeyed ones. Theyâre dangerous enough to make you not want to leave.â
He did, and the way his face lit up made you grin. âYou werenât exaggerating.â
Across the room, Soonyoung and Siwon stood with the servants near the door, their posture still and unreadableâsave for the way Soonyoungâs brow lifted slightly when you leaned in, listening to something Minghao murmured beneath his breath.
You talked like it had been days, not years. He spoke of Renxingâs northern reachesâwild coasts and glass-shelled beetles that migrated through frozen rivers. Of teaching a recruit to read by bribing him with hawthorn sweets, only for the boy to repay him in river crabs. Your father listened with gentle amusement, but it was you who laughed the most
And then, without warning, the thought crept in like smoke curling under a door.
What if it were him?
The match with Jeonghan had been sealed long ago, your fate marked in ink and crown and ritual before you could even attend council meetings officially. But what if it hadnât? What if you hadnât spent your whole life dodging destiny like it was a creature waiting to pounce?
What if love was simple?
A shared pastry. A soft story. Warm hands over tea and morning sun.
You looked at Minghao againâhis easy smile, the grace in his posture, the power quiet and controlled beneath the silks and steel. And in that stolen, treacherous heartbeat, you let yourself wonder.
What if it had been him instead?
Before your thoughts could wander dangerously, however, your quiet meal was interrupted.
You noticed the change before you heard it. A flicker of movement by the door. A servant, breathless and wide-eyed, darted toward Soonyoung and Siwon. She was whispering something too fast for you to catch.Â
Minghao was still speaking beside you, animated as he described a night march through an ancient canyon in northern Renxing where their footsteps echoed like ghosts trapped in a glass cage. His voice was smooth and warm, and you wanted to listen, truly you didâbut your gaze kept slipping back to the door.
Soonyoungâs arms were folded now. Siwon murmured something in return to the servant, nodded once, then approached the table with the quiet stride of someone who only ever brought important news. The king glanced up at the shift in mood, and you followed his gaze as Siwon stopped just behind your chair and bent slightly at the waist.
âYour Highness,â he said softly, his eyes flicking toward you, âPrince Jeonghan of Seraphia has just arrived. Heâs asked to speak with the princess at her earliest convenience.â
There was a beat of stillness.
Minghaoâs story paused mid-sentence. He looked toward Siwon with faint curiosity, but said nothing. Your father gave only a slight nod, an order to let him join breakfast, and returned to his tea as if this were a perfectly ordinary disruption. But your hand, still resting near the plate of fruit, curled into a quiet fist.
Moments later, the doors opened with their usual hush, but somehow it felt louder this time. Jeonghan stepped in, haloed in sunlight through the high windows. He was still draped in Seraphian silks, still unfairly beautiful.Â
His hair was brown now, swept back with a soft curl falling over his brow in a way that seemed carefully unintentional. He moved with that same effortless poise you had grown up watching and (grudgingly) admiring.
Minghao, ever-so gracious, stood as Jeonghan approached, offering a nod before shifting seats to the other side of the long table. It left the space beside you open intentionally.Â
Jeonghan slid into the empty chair like heâd belonged there all along. âGood morning,â he greeted, his voice dipped in velvet, his smile almost disarmingly warm. âI apologize for the surprise visit. I was in one of my moods and thoughtâwhy not go see my future wife?â
You gave him a withering look, but it faltered when he leaned in just slightly and added, âJoshua sends his regards. Heâs recently been engaged himself, you know.â
âOh?â the king said, lifting a brow. âCongratulations are in order.â
âYes,â Jeonghan said with a calm nod. âThe daughter of one of our royal mages. She isnât of noble blood, but sheâs well-versed in magic and negotiations. My brotherâs always had a soft spot for strategists.â
âSounds like he inherited that from someone,â Minghao said mildly.
You raised a brow. Jeonghan only smiled, utterly unbothered. âHardly. I prefer my companions predictable. Less likely to start a war over breakfast.â
A chuckle moved around the table.
Then Minghao tilted his head and said, almost idly, âAnd heâs not using magic, still?â
Jeonghan blinked. âPardon?â
âJoshua,â Minghao clarified with a small smile. âBoth of you, actually. Last I heard, neither of the Seraphian princes had taken up their birthright. The royal bloodline in Seraphia is known for its strength in enchantment, no? And yet you keep it buried, still?â
You stiffened a little. Not in shock, but because the question came from nowhere. Your spoon hovered above your tea. Magic was always a strange subject between nations. But the abstention of Seraphiaâs recent royalty was somewhat a hot topic among the surrounding kingdomsâAncarra included.Â
Minghao, for his part, was infamous across empires as a fire elemental prodigy. The youngest to command a regiment of war mages in Renxingâs history. His aura carried that same warmth now, flickering low like a hearth. Reya, beside your chair, shifted uneasily. His icy blue eyes fixed on the man across from him like a second set of judgment.
Jeonghanâs gaze didnât waver. âOur magic is not the crownâs priority. Seraphia thrives through diplomacy, not flames.â
Minghao leaned back, folding his hands. âA shame, really. I always wondered what it would look likeâroyal Seraphian magic unleashed.â
You didnât miss the slight tension in Jeonghanâs jaw.
And that, more than anything, gnawed at the back of your mind as Minghao took another sip of tea. You sat there in your seat with perfect posture and a polite smile, but the thought slipped into your skull like a splinter.
Youâve never seen Jeonghan use magic.
Never seen him spark even a flicker of it. Never caught a rumor, never heard a whisper. Not even from the palace gossip mill, which had happily speculated about the color of his undershirts once and still hadnât shut up about the time he laughed too hard at a coronation toast.
And you wouldâve asked. You shouldâve asked.
But that wouldâve required speaking to him longer than a required greeting, longer than the bare-minimum exchange you both had perfected over the yearsâsmiles for the court, ice behind closed doors. You found out about Joshuaâs affinity by accident, really. Heâd once stopped to admire a hedge maze in your gardens, and when he touched a dying stalk, it bloomed again beneath his hand. Simple and gentle, much like the boy himself.
But Jeonghan?
Nothing.
No elemental surge. No runic marks. No rumors of illusions, or voicecraft, or even basic wards. Either he had nothingâor he was hiding something so carefully, so deliberately, that no one had been able to name it.
And now Minghao was here, a walking blaze of power, and Jeonghan was smiling like none of it even mattered. You reached for your teacup, mostly to keep your hands busy.
You didnât like mysteries. Especially not when they sit beside you, pretending to be harmless.
The silence stretched just long enough to begin tasting uncomfortable. Minghaoâs smile didnât falter. Jeonghanâs posture remained infuriatingly elegant, but you could tellâif only because youâve spent years learning how to read himâthat heâs ready to change the subject.Â
Itâs your father who spared him the effort.
He cleared his throat and gently set his goblet down. âAnd how long will you be staying with us this time, Prince Jeonghan?â
You turned slightly toward the head of the table, grateful for the break in tension. Jeonghan flicked his eyes toward the king and answered smoothly, âJust a few days, Your Highness. I was passing through the border en-route from the east and thought it best to pay a visit.â
âAn unannounced visit,â Soonyoung muttered under his breath from his post by the door. Siwon nudged him with an elbow.
The king chuckled, brushing past the remark. âIt is always a pleasure, no matter how sudden.â Then he glanced toward you. âPerhaps you and my daughter might walk the gardens this afternoon? The roses have finally bloomed this year.â
You almost choked on your tea.
Jeonghan nodded with a faint, serene smile. âOf course. It would be an honor.â
Your spoon clinked against porcelain just a little too hard. Reya emitted a low growl from under the table, whether in protest of the plan or of Minghaoâs lingering presence, you canât tell.
Minghao, to his credit, simply sips his tea again. But his gaze flicks to you, then to Jeonghan, curious. Assessing.
And for the first time in a long while, you canât tell which prince unsettles you more.
You didnât get far from the dining hall before your hand shot out to catch Soonyoung by the sleeve, dragging him into the shadowed archway beside one of the tapestry alcoves. Siwon followed of his own accord, arms folded neatly behind his back, expression already knowing.
âIâm asking this plainly,â you whispered, eyes flicking back toward the corridor. âAre we absolutely certain Jeonghan doesnât know what weâve been up to?â
Soonyoung blinked. âAs in the matchmaking campaign?â
You stared at him.
âRight, yes, that,â he amended. âThen no. I mean yes. As in, he doesnât know. Iâm almost sure of it.â
âAlmost?â
Soonyoungâs smile twitched. âPrince Jeonghan is⌠difficult to read. Cheerful as he is, he doesnât quite let anyone be privy to his intentions.â
You pinched the bridge of your nose. âWhat if heâs just biding his time? Waiting until Iâm alone before springing some awful, âYouâve dishonored our familiesâ speech and demanding we set the wedding date?â
âPrincess,â Siwon said gently, âheâs had nearly a decade to pull such a stunt. And he hasnât. Donât start doubting the quiet now.â
You glanced up at him, voice lower. âBut what if Minghao's presence stirred something? What if he sensed it, somehowâthat Iâm searching for someone else?â
Siwon regarded you with the patience of a man who had outwaited a thousand royal tantrums and twice as many council disputes. âPrince Jeonghan is many things. But petty is not one of them. Heâd confront you if he had suspicions, not toy with them.â
âNot petty, huh?â you muttered, âIâm not so sure about thatâŚâ
Soonyoung scratched the back of his neck. âWe did keep the search quiet, Princess. Every servant sworn to secrecy, every meeting arranged through as discreetly as possible. If Prince Jeonghan knows, heâs clairvoyant. Or just very, very nosy.â
You sighed and pressed a hand to your forehead. âThis whole morning felt cursed. Reya was uneasy the whole time. Iâgods above, I liked being with Minghao again. Thatâs the worst of it. I liked it, and Jeonghan probably sensed that.â
âSo?â Soonyoung said, baffled. âYouâre allowed to entertain visiting nobility, especially if theyâre your friends. Prince Jeonghan doesnât own your breakfast companions.â
âBut heâs my betrothed!â
âIn title only.â
Your shoulders sagged, and you gripped the edge of the column beside you. âI felt like Iâd been playing a game I didnât know the rules of. And everyone else was holding cards Iâd never seen.â
Siwonâs gaze softened. âThat is the nature of court.â
A sigh escaped your lips. âIâm supposed to walk the gardens with him soon.â
âTry not to trip into the koi pond again,â the older advisor added.
âThat was once,â you scowled. âAnd it was raining.â
Soonyoung grinned. âStill your most graceful fall.â
You shook your head and pushed away from the column. âPray for me.â
âIâll light a candle,â Siwon said dryly.
âIâll start digging a moat,â Soonyoung chirped.
You waved them off and stepped back into the corridor, spine straightening with every step. Whatever awaited you in the garden, you would meet it with dignity.
The royal gardens stretched out before you, awash in morning light where sunlight filtered through the trees that swayed with the breeze. You walked slowly along the mosaic path, hands clasped loosely before you, Reya trotting a few steps ahead. He hadnât growled onceânot even when Jeonghan fell into step beside you like a ghost slipping from a dream.
âItâs been some time since we walked here,â Jeonghan said plainly.
You didnât meet his eyes. âHas it?â
âI suppose not that long,â he amended with a soft chuckle. âBut long enough to miss the scent of the roses. Your gardeners have always done them justice.â
You glanced toward the flower bed just aheadâwide as a banquet table and brimming with tangled stems of roses. Their leaves are a lush, lacquered green, buds curled tightly on the branches like secrets not yet told. A few bold blooms had already unfurledâdeep crimson, velvet-soft, catching the morning light like drops of spilled wine.
âTheyâre late in blooming this season,â you murmured.
âMaybe theyâre waiting for a sign,â he said. âSomething worth blooming for.â
You didnât respond. There was always something slippery about himâhow his compliments wore the face of riddles, how his tone was too gentle to grasp without suspicion. You didnât trust softness when it came from him. Not when youâd spent half your life bracing against it.
Still, he continued beside you, hands tucked behind his back in perfect princely grace. His eyes scanned the gardens, the trees, the rooftops just beyond the horizon.
âI heard your fatherâs invited Renxing to join our military councils,â he mused.
You stiffened, just slightly. âHe has. Their soldiers arrived yesterday.â
âAnd Minghao is their prince and general?â Jeonghan added lightly, almost amused.
That makes you pause. âYouâve met?â
âA long time ago,â he said. âI doubt heâd remember it, but he does seem aware enough of my existence to want to pick a fight with me .â
You huffed. âYou make it easy for anyone to want to pick a fight with you.â
Jeonghan didnât deny itâjust offered a knowing smile, the kind that curled at one corner of his mouth and made you want to both slap it off and stare a little longer. You walked in silence for a few steps. The wind stirred the trees again, rustling petals onto the stone path, and somewhere nearby, water trickled over the lip of a marble fountain.
Then he said, almost offhandedly, âHe likes to speak first. Draw lines before anyone else has a chance to set the terms.â
You glanced sideways at him. âYou mean Minghao?â
Jeonghan nodded. âHeâs clever. Knows exactly where to place a cut for the deepest bruise.â
âWell, heâs a general. Heâs trained for that.â
âHeâs also a prince,â your fiancĂŠ pointed out, tone light but edged. âWhich makes it harder to tell when the bladeâs diplomatic.â
You didnât answer. Not because he was wrong, but because you were surprised he noticed. Still, Jeonghan wasnât looking at you. His gaze wandered, serene and distant, as if this was just another quiet stroll instead of a conversation tensed on the knife-edge of politics.
âFor what itâs worth,â he added after a moment, âIâve never liked men who think precision is the same as power.â
That caught your attention.
You studied him for a beat longer. His posture, as always, was deceptively relaxedâtoo smooth, too practiced. But something had shifted. Maybe it was the way he said it, or the fact that Reya brushed gently against his side as he passed, tail flicking once before moving on. Jeonghan looked down at the beast, a faint smile twitching at his lips.Â
âHeâs warming up to me.â
You scoffed. âHeâs tolerant, at best.â
He tilted his head with a lazy smile. âStill better than hostile.â
It was. You hated that you agreed.
Days drift by in a hush. You expect tension, expect something grand to stir. After all, two foreign princes now share your roof, both with their own legacies, their own shadows trailing behind them. And yet, the palace breathes as if nothing has changed. No great disruptions, no clashing tides.Â
The soldiers in the barracks adjust to the presence of Renxingâs warriors with the wary politeness of men trained to kill side by side, and the kitchen staff still sends up too many pastries at tea. Minghao spends most of his days in the training yards or reviewing your kingdomâs defenses with the captains. He is gracious when he joins you at court, always with a smooth word or charming smile. Reya still watches him like a hawk from afarâbut the tension has settled into a sort of cold awareness, like two great cats pacing the edge of each otherâs territory.
Jeonghan, on the other hand, has made it his personal mission to haunt your every quiet moment.
He never speaks of the conversation in the garden again, but you can feel it hanging in the air whenever he appears. You pass him in the corridor, and he gives you a smile. You leave the solarium early, and heâs somehow in the hall just outside, pretending to admire a tapestry. You ask the cooks to surprise you with something new for breakfast, and he comments idly at the table that youâve always liked tart things with honey.
Itâs maddening.
By Thursday, youâve had enough.
You marched down to the archery range before breakfast, bow in hand, and jaw set with razor-tight focus. You havenât had time for this in weeks, and it shows in the tension of your shoulders, the crackle in your spine. You notch your arrow, draw back your arm, exhaleâ
âGood morning, Your Grace!â
You startled a little too dramatically. The arrow sailed in a wide arc and landed somewhere in the hedges with an unceremonious thwack.
You spun around to find Jeonghan standing at the edge of the range, hands clasped like heâs arrived for a morning stroll. Beside him was Soonyoung, who gave you a guilty, wide-eyed look before mouthing Iâm sorry and quickly stepping out of the line of fire.
Your voice came low and clipped. âAre you following me?â
Jeonghan only lifted a brow. âWhy, of course not. I was merely enjoying the views that the Ancarran castle has to offer. As your future consort in alliance, I should know the corners of your kingdom, donât you think?â
Soonyoung took one careful step back, and from his perch under the nearby tree, Reya let out a snort that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Jeonghan didnât even bother making himself look like he didnât purposely startle you at all.Â
You sighed and retrieved another arrow. Next time, youâll aim for him.
You notched another arrow, shoulders tight with barely restrained irritation. Behind you, Jeonghan and Soonyoung settled onto the bench near the range like they have every right to be there. Which, technically they do, but that didnât stop your fingers from twitching with the urge to send an arrow through the wood beside Jeonghanâs ear.
Another shotâcloser to the bullseye this time. Still not enough to stop your pulse from thrumming too fast.
âYouâre good,â Jeonghan said, his tone easy and observational, like heâs commenting on the weather. âShua and I werenât trained like this in Seraphia. As you know, our court prefers diplomacy and dance over daggers and bows.âÂ
You didnât turn, but you heard the amusement laced through his voice. Soonyoung gave a small, sympathetic shrug from beside him. âItâs true. I once saw him faint at the sight of blood.â
âExaggeration,â Jeonghan replied airily. âI merely swooned with elegance.â
You let out a slow exhale, notched another arrow, and fired. This one landed square in the center of the target. You heard a low whistle from your advisor andâmore infuriatinglyâa small, approving hum from Jeonghan.
âItâs rather convenient,â the prince mused, crossing one ankle over the other. âMy future queen being so fearsome with a bow. I daresay I wonât need to lift a finger. Youâll protect me, wonât you, Princess?â
The arrow youâd just pulled from the quiver snaps between your fingers.
âIf I protect you,â you said coolly, âitâs only because I donât trust anyone else to finish the job of ending your miserable existence cleanly.â
Soonyoung looked away, coughing suspiciously into his sleeve.
But Jeonghan? He beamed like you handed him a bouquet. âHow romantic,â he sighed, resting his chin on his hand as if admiring a painting. âYou do know how to make a consort feel cherished, after all.â
Your heart pounded, and itâs not from the archery.
The morning was clear the day Jeonghan left.
A soft breeze combed through the courtyard where his carriage waited, draped in the white-gold sigils of Seraphia. The horses pawed the cobblestones impatiently, as if mirroring the mood of the man they wait forârestless and infuriating to the very end.
You stood beside your father beneath the marble archway, cloaked in the formal grays of a diplomatic farewell. The kingâs voice was kind when he spoke to Jeonghan, and your fiancĂŠ was all grace and bows and eloquent farewells. Even Minghao lingered beside you with an inscrutable smile, hands behind his back like a soldier at ease. Youâre aware of the others watching tooâSiwon and Soonyoung among the entourage, the guards, the servantsâall witnesses to this perfectly polite departure.
Itâs nearly done.
But then Jeonghan stepped forward to take your hand in his. He kissed it, gently and reverently, all according to protocol. And then he leaned in too close for comfort.
âI look forward,â the prince murmured into your ear, warm breath brushing your skin, âto the next time I get to ruin your aim.â
You jerked back before the blush could spread to your ears, willing your face into a mask of court-trained calm. Every lesson you endured under the glare of etiquette tutors saved you in that momentâyour shoulders straight, your smile pleasant, your tone as composed as a glacier.
âHave a safe journey, Prince Jeonghan,â you said, eyes narrowed in the most ladylike way possible. âDo try not to miss me.â
His smile could set cities alight.
âOh,â Jeonghan began, stepping back toward his carriage, âI intend to do exactly that.â
You resisted the violent urge to throw something at his head.
Heâs gone before you could reply, the carriage wheels rolling across the stones like the closing of a storybook chapter.Â
Only, you suspectedâno, you knewâheâll be back soon.
By the time Jeonghan vanished beyond the gates, you'd already gathered Siwon and Soonyoung in the war roomânot for military strategy, but something far more treacherous:Â
Court-approved matchmaking.
âWeâre at a consensus then,â you said, tapping your finger once against the map of Ancarra. âPrince Minghao is not a viable option. Even if I wanted toââ
âWhich you actually do,â Soonyoung cut in with a pointed look.Â
âEven if I did,â you repeated with force, âit would be a diplomatic nightmare. Calling off an engagement with Seraphia for the prince of Renxing? Weâd be lucky if we only lost trade ports and not entire border towns.â
Siwon chuckled. âIâm surprised youâre willing to pick the task up again, Princess. You looked⌠quite dejected after your trip to the Boo Estate.â
You had to pin Soonyoung down with a glare to keep your advisor from saying anything that will raise your blood pressure to dangerous levels. âFailure is part of the journey to true love. Hasnât anyone told you that, Siwon?âÂ
Your fatherâs advisor hummed, his spectacled gaze skimming the interior list of nobility youâd had scribes compile over the past few weeks. âSo the suitor needs to be from Ancarra. Someone who can cause enough gossip, enough scandal, enough public affection to make it plausible you fell wildly in love and couldnât help yourself.â
Soonyoung grinned. âWhich means we need a boy you could realistically kiss in public without gagging. Oh, and someone that wonât run when Reya so much as growls at them.â
You glared at him. âYouâre on thin ice.â
Your advisor raised his hands in defense. âWhat? Iâm just sayingâyou do tend to scowl at most men like theyâve insulted your bloodline. Same goes for your beast.â
Siwon, ever the calmer tactician, cleared his throat. âWeâll approach this with structure. Letâs narrow the list to eligible bachelors who meet the following criteria: loyal to the crown, reasonably attractive, tolerable by Reya, andâpreferablyâalready a little in love with you.â
You tapped your fingers again, faster this time. âIt doesnât need to be a real romance. Just enough of a performance to convince Seraphia the engagement fell apart because of me, not them. If Iâm the reckless one, Jeonghan saves face. Everyoneâs happy.â
Soonyoung leaned back, arms behind his head. âYou really think Prince Jeonghan cares about saving face?â
ââŚNo,â you admitted, remembering the smirk he wore as his carriage departed. âBut Seraphia might. And the court definitely will.â
âThen we manufacture a heartbreak,â Siwon said simply. âWe choose someone charismatic, familiar, close to the palaceâenough that no one questions why you spent time together. Youâll laugh too loud at the gardens. Leave flowers in his rooms. Maybe evenâgods forgive usâwrite a poem.â
Soonyoung winced. âThatâs low.â
âAll is fair in love and politics,â you muttered. âOr at least, in fabricated love.â
You glanced out the window, where the sun slipped behind the edge of the tower, casting long shadows across the floor. Jeonghan was gone, and your future hung on the next name you circled with ink and lied through your teeth about.
War you could prepare for. But this? This was treasonous theater. And it didnât help that the world kept sending you warning signs left and right.
It began with Lord Doyoung of the northern territoriesâa bookish type with a gentle voice and decent bone structure. You think, Yes, this one might do. But the very morning heâs due to arrive in the capital, his carriage overturned on a clear road with no other travelers. His horse? Spooked by a pigeon. A pigeon wearing what the guards swear was a tiny gold ribbon.
Suspicious.
Then thereâs Jaehyun, a second-born noble who helped manage his familyâs glasswork business. Intelligent, considerate, and crucially uninterested in politics. You traveled discreetly to a manor on the coast to meet him. However, the moment you arrived, he was gone. Apparently left the day before to pursue an urgent pilgrimage after receiving a mysterious letter from a "reputable Seraphian monastery" asking for his divine insight.
But the worst, the true collapse of your sanity, came when you tried to court a commoner. A sweet, curly-haired apprentice scribe from the capital. You met by accidentâhe dropped his stack of scrolls, Reya frightened the life out of him, and you ended up laughing like someone in a romance novel. You arranged to meet him again secretly by the statue of the winged lion after dusk.
And guess whoâs already there?
Jeonghan leaned against the base of the winged lion like it was a throne carved just for him. The dusk painted him in gold and shadow, and he looked utterly at homeâone ankle crossed over the other, arms folded loosely, a single wildflower tucked behind his ear like heâd stolen it from a love-sick dream.
âYouâre early,â he said lazily, as if heâd been waiting minutes rather than hours. âI almost thought you werenât coming.â
You stopped dead. âYouâre not him.â
âNo,â he agreed. âBut Iâm certainly better-looking.â
âYouââ You took a sharp breath, rage tightening behind your eyes. âWhere is he?â
Jeonghan tilted his head. âThe apprentice? I believe heâs having a lovely evening at home. His mother made delicious stew, and he felt itâd be rude to miss it. Or so the note said.â
You stared. âYou intercepted him?â
Your fiancĂŠ smiled, all teeth and wicked charm. âTechnically? I intercepted the opportunity. You never said this was an exclusive audition.â
âYou are unbelievable.â
âAnd yet,â he said, stepping into the moonlight, that damn wildflower still tucked behind his ear, âyou keep trying to replace me with men who donât know the difference between a sword hilt and a dinner spoon. Truly, you wound me, Your Graceâ
You didnât realize your fists were clenched until your nails dug crescent moons into your palms.
âThis isnât about you,â you hissed.
Jeonghan stepped closer, voice maddeningly gentle. âIt always is.â
Your fists were clenched so tightly your arms shook, your breath short and ragged. The statue's winged shadow barely concealed you from the open square, where lanterns were being lit one by one, their warm glow spreading like a slow-burning fire.
And Jeonghan just stood there.
Mocking you with that unbearable calm, his eyes full of all the things you hadnât said in ten years. The flower behind his ear was ridiculous. His shirt collar was crooked. His entire existence was meant to push you to the edge of insanity.
âYouâre infuriating,â you snapped.
He smirked. âThen stop chasing ghosts andââ
You didnât let him finish.
Your hand fisted his lapel and pulled hard, slamming your mouth against his before your brain caught up with your body. It wasnât soft or sweet or measured, but raw, full of teeth and fury and years of words swallowed down in silence. Youâd meant to shove him, maybe slap him. But somehow, your lips found his instead.Â
And the worst partâthe truly damning partâwas how good it felt.
The warmth of his mouth. The way he froze for the barest second, then exhaled against you like heâd been holding his breath for a lifetime. And then he kissed you back.
Jeonghan didnât just return it. He answered it.
His hands slipped to your waist, slow but sure, like heâd dreamed of this and was finally awake. He kissed like he knew every inch of your stubbornness, every sharp edge, and loved the way you cut him open. One hand tangled in your hair, tilting your face, deepening the kissâand it became something molten, dangerous, entirely public.
Somewhere behind you, Reya snarled like a warning. You werenât alone. The statueâs shadow didnât hide the way Jeonghanâs hand curved around your hip, the flush in your cheeks, the hunger in the space between your mouths.
You tore away first, panting and wide-eyed as your heart thundered in your ribcage. Jeonghan looked at you all while swiping that tongue of his across his bottom lip.
âWas that part of the act?â he asked softly, lips still red, voice dangerously close to tender.
You didnât answer. You couldnât. Because if you spoke, you might admit it wasnât the kiss that terrified you.
It was how long youâd wanted it.
By unspoken agreement, neither of you addressed the kiss behind the statue. Not in words, anyway. But everything afterwards shifted.
Jeonghan began appearing in Ancarra with alarming regularityâalways with a perfectly valid excuse. Delivering letters from Seraphia. Attending diplomatic luncheons. Touring agricultural reforms that absolutely did not require a princeâs attention. And every time he stepped through the gates with that lazy smile, your blood pressure spiked.
He was still insufferable. Still poking at you like a child with a stick and a beehive.Â
âYou missed me,â heâd say, voice low in the hallway.
âI was hoping youâd gotten arrested,â youâd reply without looking at him.
âYou dreamed about me again.â
âReya dreamed about biting you. I just watched.â
But no amount of sarcasm could undo the heat that had settled between you like a splinter you couldnât dig out. And while your verbal battles raged on, your bodies fell into an entirely different rhythmâone of breathless tension and stolen moments.
A quick kiss when no one was looking. A lingering touch at your waist beneath the pretense of helping you onto a horse. A late-night visit to the library that ended with your back pressed against the cold wall of a forgotten corridor, his mouth hot against your throat.
You hated him.
You hated how good he was at knowing when to push you. You hated how you let him.
One day, Jeonghan found you in the west wing solariumâalone, for once, dressed in something plain for the heat. The moment he stepped through the arched doorway, you already knew he was going to do something reckless.
You tried to keep your tone sharp. âDonât even think about it.â
âI wasnât,â he said innocently, approaching anyway. âI was remembering how you kissed me first.â
âI kissed you to shut you up.â
âWell,â he murmured, stepping behind you, brushing your hair aside to press a kiss just below your ear, âit didnât work.â
You didnât stop him when his hand slid beneath the hem of your dress, fingers trailing up your thigh with infuriating patience. You shouldâve. You always told yourself you shouldâve. But instead, you exhaled through your teeth and leaned back into him, fists clenching the edge of the table as he teased his way higherâhis touch maddeningly sure, maddeningly soft.
And when his fingers finally slid inside you, you didnât even pretend to resist.
Because for all the years of distance, all the fire and anger and scarred memory between you, Jeonghan still knew exactly where to find the weak spot beneath your armor.
âYouâre shaking,â the prince murmured against the shell of your ear, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. âDidn't know you could be so delicate.â
âI will break your nose,â you hissed, breath catching as his fingers curled just right. âShut up and get it over with.â
He chuckled. âYou say that like Iâm doing this for me.â
âGods, I hate you.â
âYou donât sound very convincing.â
You bit down hard on your lip to stop the moan rising in your throat. His hand moved with a maddening rhythmâconfident and precise, like heâd learned you in secret. Maybe he had. Maybe Jeonghan had always known how to find the cracks in your walls, the fault lines in your resolve.
Your knees nearly buckled when he dragged his thumb over your aching clit. The spot that made your vision flicker, made your breath stutter.
He caught you before you fell.
âOh,â your fiancĂŠ said with mock sympathy. âIs this where the princess begs?â
You turned your head, eyes glittering with fury and heat. âYouâre so lucky Iâm unarmed.â
âAm I?â He dipped his head to kiss the corner of your jaw. âBecause right now, I feel like the one being conquered.â
You made a soundâpart growl, part gaspâas the pleasure crested higher. You hated how easy it was for him to pull you under, hated how your body betrayed you, trembling at his touch even as your mouth spat venom.
But gods, it felt good.
It felt like revenge, like surrender, like twelve years of wanting something you swore youâd never let yourself need. He played your body like an instrument only he knew how to tuneâdrawing out every gasp, every tremor, until the fire in your gut finally, finally broke.
You clutched the table edge like a lifeline, moaning his name as each wave of your orgasm shuddered through you. You felt sticky and unclean, and Jeonghan thought it to be a good idea to smear the mess heâs made of your cunt across your inner thighs.
As if to mock you even further, he leaned in, lips brushing your cheek as he whispered, âYouâre going to think about this tonight. When youâre all alone.â
You whipped around and shoved himâhalf-heartedly, breathlessly.Â
âGet out before I feed you to Reya.â
Jeonghan grinned, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your knuckles like a knight, of all things. âIâll come back when you miss me.â
âI never do.â
He was already gone by the time you realized your legs still hadnât stopped trembling.
Thankfully, Jeonghan left before lunch. That meant you could change your ruined dress and have a meal in the peace and quiet you deserved after that daunting encounter in the solarium.
You sat between your father and Minghao in the smaller sunlit dining chamberâthe one reserved for informal meals and less scrutiny. Sunlight poured through the windows, glinting off the crystal decanters and catching in the honey glaze of the roast pheasant. The servants came and went like shadows. Minghao poured you some tea without asking, which you would have appreciated, if you werenât so wrapped up in your own mind.
âSo,â Minghao says casually, âhowâs the treason?â
You glanced sideways at him. âTreason?â
He smiled. âYouâve had that look on your face since you walked in. Like someone who just burned a letter and buried the ashes under a rose bush.â
Before you can answer, it began.
The birds.
You heard them before you saw themâthree magpies nestled like gossiping witches along the arched windowsill. One of them fluffed her feathers and gasped loud in your skull.
She was scandalous with a man just this morning!
Your eyes widened. No one else reacted. Of course they didnât. Only you could hear them.
Back in that room again, another cooed. Pressed up to him like a heat-starved mareâ
I told you, the third interrupted with a huff, sheâs betrothed to him. Itâs legal. The king said so. Even if she climbed that prince like a ladder, it would still be state-sanctioned.â
You nearly choked on your tea.
Your father paused mid-sentence. âSomething wrong, bug?â
You covered your mouth with your napkin, glaring furiously at the birds. One of them winked.
âJust⌠feeling a little hot,â you muttered.
Oblivious to your internal unraveling, thye king picks up his fork and says, âWe should start finalizing your name-day celebration soon. Twenty-five is a milestone.â
âI vote we skip it,â you said darkly, eyeing the window again. The birds have not left.
Minghao hummed. âYouâll have to get used to celebrations. Especially now that your wedding with Prince Jeonghan is not far behind.â
You hesitated just long enough for him to notice.Â
â...Unless itâs not happening?â the general asked jokingly.
You didnât know how to explain it. How every time Jeonghan visits, he kisses you like he wants to ruin you. How your body remembers the curve of his smile before your mind catches up. How you tell yourself itâs a temporary madnessâjust lust, just unfinished business, just war-born tensionâbut your hands keep betraying you anyway.
And now the damn magpies were singing it to the skies.
She moaned his name! one of them cackles, beak open wide. She gripped his hair likeâ
âExcuse me,â you said sharply, standing up so fast your chair skitters back. âI need some air.â
Your father looked mildly concerned. Minghao raised an eyebrow.
âShould I send someone with you?â
âOnly if they can shoot birds,â you mutter, already turning toward the hall, cheeks blazing.
Behind you, you heard one final chirp:
Reckless princess. Sheâll marry that boy or die trying.
The weeks leading up to your twenty-fifth name-day blur into a storm of brocade, guest lists, and mental breakdowns.
What was once meant to be a modest royal banquet has spiraled into a full-blown spectacle at your fatherâs behest. The ballroom has been draped in gold silks and strung with imported glass lanterns, and couriers from neighboring kingdoms have arrived daily, bearing gilded gifts and stomach-turning compliments. Youâve had to write nearly a hundred invitations by handâbecause of course you did, since your father insisted that nothing but your own pen would do for a celebration of this scale.
Four gowns. Four. In one night. Each more elaborate than the last, all designed by different tailors to reflect âthe four faces of the princess.â (Whatever that means.)
And looming behind the lace and laughter and godforsaken gemstone embroidery is the other event everyone is whispering about: your wedding.
To Jeonghan.
You tried to keep a mental list of reasons to loathe him, just to stay anchored. Heâs insufferable. He flirts with everything that looks his way. He laughs when youâre mad. He kisses like he owns the air you breathe and gets away with everything because his face is tragically symmetrical.
And worst of all?
Youâve started to imagine what it would be like to marry him and not hate it.
The very thought sent you into a tailspin of self-loathing and denial. But no matter how many times you told yourself you didnât want this, something traitorous inside you fluttered every time he looked at you with those unreadable eyes and said your name like heâs always known it.
By the time your name-day arrived, youâre equal parts exhausted and vibrating with tension. The maids were still pinning the final layers of your first gownâa deep rose silk trimmed with silver threadâwhen someone knocked at your chamber doors.
âPrincess?â one of the guards called. âPrince Jeonghan and Prince Joshua request to see you.â
You nearly groaned aloud, but waved them in. âFine. But if they mess up a single pin, Iâm going to skewer them with it.â
The door opened, and the two Seraphian princes entered like they own the placeâJeonghan with his usual amused swagger, and Joshua with a more subdued grace you havenât seen in months.Â
You didnât rise from your seat as your maids were still halfway through adjusting the fall of your sleeves. but you did narrow your eyes when Jeonghan swept in with a smirk and a flourish. The new color of his hair wasnât lost on you eitherâdeep burgundy red. You still had no idea how he changed its color like the seasons.Â
âHappy birthday, Your Grace,â Joshua greeted warmly, offering a polite half-bow.
âThank you,â you replied, eyes softening. âItâs good to see you again. I thought youâd be too busy planning your own wedding.â
Joshuaâs smile flickered, but he was quick to recover. âAh. Well. Some things are in motion, others⌠less so.â
You raised a brow. âThat doesnât sound ominous at all.â
âItâs complicated,â he said, then adds with a small laugh, âBut Iâve learned from Jeonghan not to overshare.â
His brother leaned against the wall with a lazy smile. âIâm an excellent role model.â
You snorted. âYouâre a warning sign carved into a cliff face.â
Before either man could reply, a footman appears in the doorway, whispering something in Joshuaâs ear. The younger prince bowed again before excusing himself, promising to speak with you again before the night is over.
And then itâs just you and him.
Jeonghan eyed the gown youâre still being pinned into with a mock-solemn look. âDo I get to see all four today, or is this one the final form?â
âDonât act like you care,â you quipped, trying very hard not to shift under his gaze.
âOh, I care. Iâve always loved watching you suffer.â
âWonderful. Then youâll enjoy what happens next,â you told him coolly, gesturing for the maids to step back. âBecause if youâre going to keep staring at me like that, Iâm going to assume you came here to be mauled.â
As if on cue, Reya let out a rumble of noise from where he was being pampered by one of the braver palace maids. Ferocious as he was, he always did like getting his claws clipped, as well as wearing his favorite collar if the occasion permits.Â
Jeonghan closed the distance between you with infuriating calm, eyes never leaving yours as he flashed a wicked grin. âYou look beautiful when you threaten me.â
Your pulse did that annoying thing it always did when he looked at you like thatâlike you were something worth chasing, even when you were bristling with knives. You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly dislodged the Dawning Crown pinned into your hair.Â
âAnd you look like a scandal waiting to happen.â
His grin widened. âThatâs the nicest thing youâve ever said to me.â
Before you could come up with something scathing in return, Reya padded over, nails clicking softly on the polished floor, his gleaming coat freshly brushed, a ridiculous silk bow tied around his collar. He stopped beside Jeonghan and huffed, as if unimpressed with the theatrics.
Jeonghan crouched smoothly to scratch behind Reyaâs ears. âAh, my true supporter arrives. Donât worry, Iâll protect you from her wrath.â
Reya growled, just faintly.
You smirked. âHeâs siding with me, clearly.â
âIâm wounded,â Jeonghan said, rising with mock offense. âBetrayed by beauty and beast alike.â
Then he extended his arm to you. âShall we?â
You stared at it for a beat, suspicious. But Reya nudged your leg gently with his snout, and you sighed, slipping your hand into Jeonghanâs. âFine. But if either of you embarrass me tonight, Iâm feeding you to each other.â
âRomantic and resourceful,â Jeonghan said with a wink. âYouâll make an excellent queen.â
You didnât dignify that with a response. But as you walked down the corridor, Reya flanking your other side like a silent shadow, the three of you looked like a tableau of something unspoken and inevitable.
The ballroom was a gleaming vision of excess: golden drapes spilling from vaulted ceilings, glass lanterns casting slow-dancing light over a sea of jewel-toned silks and polished marble. An orchestra played on a raised dais, their melody light and sweet, but charged with the weight of spectacle.Â
You stood beneath the tallest chandelier, Reya sitting loyally at your side despite the sea of legs and perfumes swirling around him. The first toast had long since passed. Youâd curtsied, smiled, and performed your gracious-lady routine so many times your cheeks hurt. And then the master of ceremonies called your name.
A hush fell.
Your father approached with a dignity that made your throat tighten. He was dressed in deep blue, embroidered with your kingdomâs sigil, and he extended a gloved hand with gentle formality. You placed yours in it, and let him lead you into the center of the floor. The music swelled.
Your first dance had been rehearsed, of courseâweeks of steps and spins and graceful nods. But when he whispered, âYouâve grown into someone Iâm proud to call my heir,â you missed a beat. His voice was low, almost shy. âAnd I know⌠itâs time to let my little girl go.â
You blinked hard, eyes stinging. âFatherâŚâ
âI asked too much of you, bug. Pushing this match before you were ready.â He exhaled, voice heavy but warm. âBut Jeonghan⌠for all his faults, heâs steady in the ways that matter. If youâve come to accept him, then maybe I wasnât entirely wrong to hope.â
You didnât correct him. You couldnât. Not when he was looking at you like thatâlike someone trying to make peace with the things he had broken, and still dared to believe he hadnât ruined everything.
The dance ended in soft applause, and you embraced him tightly before slipping away into the crowd. You barely had time to exhale before another hand reached for yours.
Minghao.
He wore black trimmed with crimson thread, Renxingâs crest gleaming like bloodied gold on his shoulder. His touch was precise, his posture perfect, but his eyes held a steadiness that grounded you. Your heart warmed even further.Â
âIâve never liked these things,â he murmured as he led you into the dance. âThe court politics. The pageantry. Celebrations of this caliber are rare in Renxing.â
You gave him a dry smile. âAnd yet you came anyway.â
âI came because Iâm loyal to the alliance between our two kingdoms,â he said simply. âAnd to you.â
That steadinessâhis quiet presence, his unwavering calmâhad always comforted you. Minghao was the shield between Ancarra and the unknown. For months, his men had trained your countryâs footsoldiers and honed them into formidable warriors. You felt safe with him, the way one does with stone walls and drawn blades.
But then he added, almost as an afterthought, âItâs a beautiful kingdom. Shame what war does to beautiful things.â
You glanced at Minghao, frowning faintly. âWeâre not at war.â
âNo,â the general said, still smiling. âNot yet.â
The song ended, and he bowed with courtly precision. You blinked after him uneasily. But there was no time to dwellâanother partner was approaching.
Of course, it had to be him.
Jeonghan offered his hand with a dramatic flourish, his red hair far too striking to ignore. âMay I steal the final dance of the night?â
âOnly if you promise not to talk,â you muttered, taking it.
He did not promise. Of course not. He pulled you in with the confidence of a man who knew every beat of your rhythm, every angle of your resistance. His hand rested lightly on your waist, the other guiding you effortlessly into the waltzâs pattern.
âYou cried,â he said smugly.
âI did not.â
âYou almost cried.â
You glared up at him. âIf I did, it was because I had to dance with you.â
His grin softened, just slightly, something real shining through the mischief. âYouâre beautiful. Not just the dress. You. I thought you should hear that without a punchline attached.â
You blinked.
It unsettled you more than his teasing ever had.
The song slowed, spiraling toward its final note. For a moment, your fiancĂŠ held you still, one breath closer than necessary. The world spun in candlelight and cello strings around you, and you hated the way something in you leaned toward him instead of away.
âI wonât always be an enemy, you know,â he said quietly.
âI know,â you replied, just as quiet. âThatâs what makes you dangerous.â
After the dances, your stomach practically growled in protest.
Dinner was winding down into a soft haze of candlelight and velvet laughter. The tables glittered with the remains of a decadent feastâglazed meats, sugared fruits, wine-stained napkins folded like petals. Reya lay at your feet, gnawing contentedly on a thick strip of jerky, a gift from Soonyoung (via the royal kitchens, of course). Every so often, his tail thumped against the marble with a low rhythm, as if to remind the room that he was still on guard.
You barely had time to sit between greetings, pulled into conversations and compliments from all sides. There was Yeri, a childhood friend turned court mage, who gave you a vial of bottled starlight as a name-day gift. And Seulgi, the clever young ambassador from the coastal isles, who kept trying to guess which gown was your favorite. You laughed freely for the first time all night, warmed by the company, the flicker of candles, the slow-blooming sense that maybe everything might be all right.
Until it wasnât.
Near the center of the ballroom, Jeonghan stood facing Minghao. It looked almost casual, but only on the surface.
Then Jeonghan said, loudly enough for the conversation to die around you, âTell me something, General. How many times have you tried to kill your own father and emperor now? Was it three?â
Minghaoâs eyes narrowed. âThatâs a bold accusation to make in public, Seraphian.â
âAnd yet,â Jeonghan replied with unbearable calm, âyou havenât denied it.â
You stood up from your seat, heart jumping to your throat. Minghao stepped forward, his voice still even, but you could hear the warning beneath it. âI serve Renxing with my blood. My father knows this.â
âDoes he?â Jeonghan tilted his head. âOr did you send his last stand-in home in pieces, too? Or was that an âaccidentâ like the rest?â
A cold, electric silence followed.
âIâve seen the way you linger at the map of Ancarra when no oneâs looking,â Jeonghan added. âThe way your men move when no orders are given. Youâre not here to serve the alliance. Youâre here to watch it rot.â
Minghaoâs hand twitched. Just a flicker. Just enough to make Reya growl.
You shoved back your chair and moved, fast. âJeonghan, stopââ
Too late.
âI shouldâve cut your tongue out the moment I knew what you were,â Minghao hissed.
âAnd I shouldâve told her what you are days ago,â Jeonghan snarled, and without waiting for another word, he punched him. The impact rang through the ballroom like a crack of thunder.
Minghao didnât fall. Of course he didnât. But his head jerked back, his lip splitâand when he turned back, he looked every bit the general people feared. Cold and murderous. You stepped between them before another blow could land.
âEnough!â you said, chest heaving. âThis is a royal banquet. On my name-day. You will not spill blood here.â
Reya pressed his flank to yours, snarling low. Behind you, guards surged forwardâbut no one dared act before you gave permission. Jeonghan wiped his knuckles on a napkin. âYou should tell your father. Or donât. Doesnât matter. The truth always shows eventually.â
Minghao didnât speak. But his silence was louder than anything. And just like that, the celebration fractured. Not with a scream, not with bloodâbut with the breaking of something deeper.
Trust.
It was several hours past midnight when you heard three gentle but firm knocks on the door to your bedchambers.
Annoyed, you stared at the collection of unopened gifts stacked high on your vanity. From delicacies imported from neighboring kingdoms to the most expensive cosmetics in all of Ancarra, your guests had certainly spared no expense in trying to curry your favor. But not even their lavish presents could dispel the pure vexation that had made your blood boil the entire evening.
You didnât bother to answer the door. Instead, you swept yourself into the plush seat tucked beneath the dresser mirror. There was only one half wit currently residing in the castle brave enough to disturb you in the dead of night, and with how miserably tonightâs festivities had gone, you were in no mood to extend your hospitality to anyoneâleast of all Seraphiaâs exasperating, insufferable, schemingâ
âIsnât it a little too late to be testing out swatches, Your Grace?â
You tried to ignore him. The way his silken dress shirt dangled half untucked from his trousers. The self-satisfied look on his face when he noticed you fumbling with the cherry red rouge youâd been applying to your lips.
But try as you might, you couldnât ignore Jeonghan when he reached a hand in front of you, nimble fingers wiping off the excess color youâd accidentally tinted just a few millimeters past your lip line.
Not when his smoldering stare held yours captive in the image reflected in your gilded mirror. Not when you couldnât even find it in yourself to resist when he gently grabbed your chin and forced your gaze to marvel at the man himself.
âSulking again, Princess?â Jeonghan sneered, and you wanted to hate him for it, but you couldnât. âI saved you from a man charged with treason three times in a single decade. Why are you pouting at me like I took away the love of your life?â
âBecause youâve made it your lifeâs purpose to make mine miserable,â you snapped, lacing each word with venom. âMinghao isnât a traitor. If he was, he wouldnât become the general of the Renxing army. He wouldnât even be daring enough to live in our castle for months.â
He sighed, sounding almost sympatheticâbut youâd long seen past the ruse. âPoor little thing, still being played like a fool all because you abhor the idea of one day becoming my wife. Tell me, didnât you find it odd, how persistent he was in pursuing a woman whoâs already spoken for?â
âMinghao is not pursuing me, and I am not spoken for,â you hissed, trying not to crumble from the way his thumb dabbed lightly at your lower lip. âNot by you. Not by anyone. Father gave me a choiceââ
âYes, of course. Everyone knows the story of the Ancarran Princess chained to a troublesome foreigner. So troublesome that she had to beg on her knees just to get the king to reconsider,â Jeonghan cooed, his face inching closer to yours.
âBut as it turns out, all the other men youâre trying your damnedest to replace me with are even worse fiends than I.â
Your lungs burned as if theyâd been set aflame, and Jeonghan was merely fanning the fire. âYouâre despicable.â
âAnd you, Your Grace, are far too gullible,â he chuckled, each breath searing against your skin. âIâd say just give it up and surrender, but youâve been fighting me since we were children. Ending our relationship in such a boring way wouldnât make for a good story, now would it?â
You remembered something Soonyoung once told you in passing: how Jeonghan loved deeper than anyone expected. He loved his homeland. He loved his family. He loved his people. And with how tirelessly he kept pulling you back into this engagement, anyone would assume he loved you too.
But how were you supposed to believe that someone like him was capable of love when all he did was thrive off your misery?
âThis new rouge youâre testing,â he murmured, as if he hadnât just stomped on your last nerve. âItâs the kind that takes days to remove once it dries, isnât it?â
âIn what way does that concern you?â you gritted out.
The despicable prince simply hummed. âOh, nothing. Iâm just curious about its actual longevity.â
Your heart practically stuttered to a stop when he closed the distance between youâonly a hairâs breadth separating your mouth from his. You didnât know how it happened, but your fingers were suddenly coiled in the fabric of his shirt. Searching for purchase. For solid ground.
But you should have known better than to anchor yourself to someone as volatile as Jeonghan.
âIf someone were to ruin it in the next ten seconds,â he whispered, his voice all heat and danger, âwould you be even more furious than you are now? Or would it have the opposite effect? Would you finally melt into their arms? Would you let them tear all your defenses asunder?â
Your pulse roared in your ears, and suddenly, you couldnât remember how to breathe. His intense gaze pinned you in place no matter how badly you wanted to flee. The scent of expensive champagne lingered on his lips, and to your horror, you found yourself craving a taste.
But you couldnât. You couldnât want that. You couldnât want him.
This was the man who had made your life a waking nightmare for as long as you could remember. The man youâd be cursed to sit beside in the throne room if you didnât act soon.
You knew these facts perfectly well, and yetâŚ
A scream ripped through the corridor, sharp and blood-chilling.
Jeonghan snapped his head toward the door. The sound of shouts followed, heavy footsteps, the unmistakable ring of steel against steel.
âWhat was that?â you breathed, your voice brittle with disbelief.
Jeonghan was already on his feet, eyes narrowing as he reached for the dagger he always kept hidden inside his coat. âTrouble,â he said grimly. âExactly the kind I warned your father about.â
Another cry echoed down the hallâthis one closer.
Then the door burst open.
A castle guard staggered inside, crimson soaking the front of his uniform. His mouth opened, a desperate warning hanging on his tongue, but it was too late. A blade sliced across his back, and he fell with a gasp. Behind him came two men clad in obsidian armor trimmed in blood-red. Their faces were obscured by masks, but the crest etched into their chests was unmistakable.
Renxing.
You couldnât speak. Couldnât move. Couldnât breathe.
Jeonghan swore violently and grabbed your wrist. âWe have to go. Now.â
He yanked you into motion. Your bare feet slapped against the cold stone floor as he led you out the side passage and into the corridor beyond. Chaos bloomed all around you. Servants scattered, guards fell, and the dark-clad invaders moved with deadly precision through the castle.
âJeonghanâwhat is happening?â you gasped, stumbling to keep up with him as he veered toward the grand stairwell.Â
He didnât look back. âThe Renxing Empire. Minghao. Heâs making his move.â
âNo,â you said, heart lurching. âNo, he wouldnâtâheâs still here, heâs been living hereââ
âHeâs been watching you. Learning the gives in your defenses. Counting how long it takes for your soldiers to mobilize.â Jeonghanâs voice was hard as steel. âAnd now heâs using it all against you.â
Around the corner, a blur of motion caught your eye.
Reya came barreling through the hallâhis snow-white maw stained crimson. He pounced with his teeth bared, knocking one of the Renxing soldiers clean off his feet, and with a snarl, clamped his jaws around his neck.
You let out a cry. âReya!â
The tiger lifted his head, ears twitching, and bounded back to you, fur bristling, blue eyes alight with fury. Jeonghan cursed under his breath.
âI knew it,â he spat. âI knew that bastard wasnât here to play diplomat.â
He grabbed your hand, fingers firm and unyielding. âWe have to find the king. Now.â
The three of you sprinted through the castle, Reya leading the charge with a guttural roar. The corridors grew slick with blood. Familiar facesâservants, guards, noblesâlay scattered and motionless. The once-gleaming halls of your home were being razed from the inside out. When you finally reached the kingâs bedchambers, the massive oak doors were already ajar. The scent hit you firstâmetallic and thick. Then you saw him.
Your father lay slumped over the edge of his bed, blood soaking through his embroidered robes, pooling beneath his lifeless hand. And standing above him, eyes cool and unrepentant, was Minghao.
His sword dripped with red.
You stumbled backward in disbelief. âNoâŚâ
Jeonghan stepped in front of you, shielding you instinctively. âSo this was your grand plan, was it?â he growled, tone deadly. âCozy up to the Ancarran throne and strike the moment our backs are turned.â
Minghao didnât even flinch. âYou were never naĂŻve, Jeonghan. That was always your problem. But the princessâŚâ His gaze flicked to you, unreadable. âShe wanted so badly to believe in goodness. It made her easy to control.â
Your heart shattered. âWhy?â Your voice was barely a whisper. âWhy do this?â
âBecause peace is a lie,â Minghao said, voice cold and resolute. âAncarra has grown weak. Soft. You live behind silk curtains and delude yourselves with choices you were never truly free to make.â
He stepped forward, sword still glinting in the torchlight. âI came to study my enemy. And now Iâve buried your king. The only thing left to do⌠is take the rest.â
Jeonghan snarled and drew his blade. And behind him, Reya let out a thunderous roar, low and full of rage. You stood paralyzed between the past and the future, your kingdom falling apart in front of youâbetrayed by one youâd defended, protected by the one youâd hated. Your hands shook at your sides. Jeonghan wasnât a warrior, heâd said it himself. You were unarmed too, but even with your weapons, your down spiral into grief would make it impossible to wield.Â
A sudden blast of cold tore through the chamberâsharp as shattered glass, singing with elemental fury. The air cracked as a jagged beam of frost magic erupted from the doorway, striking toward Minghao with blistering speed.
He parried it without hesitation, raising his palm as searing fire spiraled out from his fingers. The two magics collided midair, frost and flame meeting in a violent, hissing explosion that shook the floor beneath your feet and bathed the room in blinding steam. You staggered back, stunnedânot by the impact, but by the magic itself.
You knew that spell. Youâd seen it only a handful of times, in hushed moments of practice behind closed doors. Only one person cast frost magic that way.
Siwon.
The kingâs most trusted advisor, robes singed at the edges, his eyes blazing not with panic but with purpose. He emerged from the ruined entrance, frost still crackling at his fingertips.
âThereâs no time,â Siwon said, voice hoarse but commanding. âYou have to go. The southern gates have already been breachedâSoonyoung and Prince Joshua are waiting with a carriage at the old postern tunnel.â
âNo,â you gasped, still frozen in place. âIâm not leaving him. I canâtââ
âPrincess,â Siwon cut in, harsher now. âThe king is gone.â
You shook your head, the burn in your throat rising with each breath. Your eyes remained fixed on your fatherâs bodyâhis crown toppled, his blood soaking the carpet your mother once chose. It felt impossible. It felt wrong to leave him here alone. But Reya had already made his decision. With a deep growl, your tiger stepped forward, nudging your side with his enormous head. His low whine was almost mournful as he lowered himself to the ground, offering you his back.
âReyaâŚâ you whispered.
He growled again, firmer this time, nudging you harder. And thenâmiraculouslyâhe allowed Jeonghan to climb on behind you, his tail lashing with urgency. Jeonghan didnât question it.
âLetâs go,â he said, gripping your waist as Reya tensed beneath you, muscles bunching like coiled springs.
âDonât let him take the throne,â you whispered to Siwon, your throat raw.
He gave a single nod, eyes heavy with something far more complicated than grief.
And then Reya bolted.
You clung to her as she raced down the blood-soaked halls of the royal wing, Jeonghanâs arms around you, the wind screaming in your ears. Behind you, the flames of Minghaoâs betrayal burned hotter than ever, and you knew this was only the beginning.
The wind had long since dulled into a low, steady whistle as Reya carried you through the winding woods beyond the outer citadel. The scent of smoke clung to your skin. The copper taste of blood still lingered at the back of your throat. But you felt none of it. Not until his paws hit the forest floor and slowed, the ground beneath him trembling slightly with the echo of distant explosions. The rendezvous point was just aheadâa small ridge overlooking the secret passage that led to the waiting carriage below.
Reya knelt again.
You slid off his back slowly, your knees buckling the moment they touched the ground. You didnât cry out. Didnât speak. Just curled your fingers in the dirt and stared at them like they didnât belong to you. Jeonghan dismounted after you, quiet for once. He took a step forward, maybe to say something, maybe to steady youâbut you turned away, shoulders trembling with the weight of everything youâd tried to keep inside.
The tears came then. Finally. Hot and merciless, carving tracks down your cheeks as a sob tore itself from your throat. âI should have known,â you whispered. âHe was here for months. And I didnât see it. I trusted him. I trustedââ
Your voice cracked, the image of your fatherâs lifeless body flashing in your mindâs eye again. âFather told me I had a choice. And I chose wrong.â
âYou didnât choose wrong.â Jeonghan knelt beside you, gently pulling your hands away from your face. His teasing smile was gone. All that remained in his eyes was something gentler. âYou chose to believe someone could be better than the world made him. Thatâs not a flaw, Your Grace. Thatâs who you are. Itâs why people love you.â
âBut the kingdom... M-My father, Siwonââ
You shook your head, overwhelmed with memories of Siwon making ice sculptures for you in secret, of your father lifting you into the air when you were small, telling you that Ancarra would someday be yours. That all the land the sun could touch was worth protecting.
âI was supposed to protect them,â you said, voice raw. âBut I couldnât.â
A rustle in the trees cut the air like a blade. Then another. And another. Jeonghan rose to his feet instantly, hand going to his waist where his blade was sheathed. You scrambled up behind him, Reya growling low in his throat as shadows stepped out from the dark.
Renxing soldiers.
Half a dozen at least, clad in black and red, their armor glinting beneath the moonlight.
âWell, well,â one sneered. âThe little princess, right where we want her.â
âYou think youâre getting out of this alive?â another added. âYou let your kingdom fall from within. You let us in. And now you want to run? After everything?â
Their words twisted in your gut like poison. You didnât speak. But beside you, Jeonghan went terrifyingly still. And thenâyou saw it. A glint in his eyes, sharp and inhuman. Something reptilian. Slitted pupils. A golden gleam, cold and ancient. It vanished a second later, but it made your breath hitch.
Before you could question it, Reya stepped forward, positioning himself between you and the soldiers. His tail lashed. His fur bristled. But most startling of allâ
Go.
Your eyes widened. Reya never spoke like thisârarely ever with such clarity. But his voice rang clearly in your head, steady and resolute. Iâll hold them off.
âNo,â you gasped aloud. âReya, noââ
He turned his massive head toward you briefly, his frost blue eyes impossibly calm.
Ancarra will never die as long as you live.
Then he charged.
âReya!!â you cried, arm outstretched, but Jeonghan grabbed you from behind.
âWe have to go,â he said firmlyâthough you knew he hadnât heard a word your tiger said. Somehow, he still understood.
You stumbled after him, barely able to breathe, heart threatening to break clean in halfâbut you ran. You ran, tears blurring your vision, Reyaâs roar behind you echoing in your bones as you and Jeonghan raced for the ridge where Soonyoung and Joshua were waiting.
You didnât look back.
Because looking back would break you beyond repair.
PART ONE | PART TWO.
⢠end notes: oh mein gott... after two years, i finally put this baby out of my system and into existence. HELLOOOOO lovely people of caratblr, i missed you all so terribly!!!!! this story has been camping in the back of my mind the entire time i was gone, and i'm so happy to finally get to share it with you! the entire thing is 40k ish in total, and i've been told tumblr gets EXXXTRA cranky if i even dare to dump everything in one go, so here we are, chopped into two parts :( i will probablee have the next part up next week just to keep you guys on your toes heh. i hope you liked reading this as much as i loved writing it. i miss jeonghan so terribly, and this fic got me to blow off that steam SIGHHH.
this is part of the itâs complicated series.
#seventeen smut#svthub#jeonghan smut#seventeen x reader#jeonghan x reader#svt smut#svt x reader#lovelyhan#full length fic đ
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a vow â joel miller x reader
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equest: âHI!! Was wondering if you could write something where Joel Miller isnât big on PDA, or anything really despite reader being in a relationship with him, and after a fight over it with the reader he gets mad that sheâs holding hands or something cute with another guy at Tipsy Bison? Followed by some smut/possessive apologetic Joelâ
đŽummary: After a fight, Joelâs jealousy boils over when he sees you with another man.
đ˛arnings: possessive!joel, hurt, joel and reader fight at the beginning, comfort, age gap, unprotected sex, riding, slaps, idk how to tag anymore
đuthorâs đŠote: well this made me realize that maybe i like to write fights sorry
đ˛ord đount: 6k
It started in his kitchen.
Where most things did â the fights, the makeups, the silences that said too much.
You were leaning against the counter, arms crossed, still in his denim jacket, backpack slung over your shoulder like you werenât planning on staying. And Joel? He was standing near the sink, jaw tight, hands braced on either side of it like the metal might anchor him.
âYou really gonna get mad about this again?â His voice was low. Tired. Irritated in that way that made you want to poke harder.
âAgain?â you echoed, eyes narrowing. âIâve barely said anything about it. But yeah, Iâm getting mad â because itâs fucking weird, Joel.â
He looked over at you, eyes flat. âItâs not weird. I just donât like people beinâ in my business.â
âItâs not just people being in your business!â You threw your hands up, voice rising. âYou donât even look at me when weâre outside. Wonât touch me, wonât talk to me half the time unless no one else is around. Itâs like I only exist in your house â or your bed.â
He flinched at that. Just barely. But you caught it.
âAnd what, thatâs not enough for you?â he said sharply. âMe takinâ care of you, keepinâ you here, riskinââshit I havenât risked in a long timeâfor someone? That ainât worth nothinâ unless Iâm makinâ some public show of it?â
You crossed your arms tighter, heat in your chest. âItâs not about some show. Iâm not asking you to fuck me in public. Iâm asking you to hold my hand when we walk into a bar. To stand next to me like Iâm yours instead of some secret you keep in your back pocket.â
He stared at you for a beat, then looked away â jaw flexing hard, that stubborn set to his shoulders that you knew too well by now.
âI donât do all that cute shit,â he muttered. âI never have.â
You blinked. âYeah. No kidding. Youâre a fucking robot half the time. Meanwhile, Iâm out here looking like the stupid girl hanging on the grumpy old man who wonât even admit weâre together.â
Joelâs eyes cut back to you, dark and sharp. âYou fucking done?â
You tilted your head, stepping toward him, mouth curling just enough to twist the knife. âYeah, Iâm done. Done trying to get you to act like you give a damn outside your bedroom.â
And with that, you grabbed your bag, turned, and walked out â the screen door slamming behind you hard enough to rattle the frame.
You didnât expect him to come after you.
And he didnât.
Which is exactly why, two nights later, you were at the Tipsy Bison wearing your tightest pair of jeans, drink in hand, laughing at something one of the guys across the table said â one hand casually resting on his arm, your smile just a little too sweet.
Joel walked in then.
Big and brooding in that flannel and denim, the weight of him practically sucking the oxygen out of the room. He saw you in less than five seconds. Saw you â and the way that kid leaned toward you like he had a fucking chance.
And that was the first time youâd ever seen Joel Miller jealous.
The Tipsy Bison was louder than usual. But you werenât listening. Not really.
You were perched on the high stool, drink in hand, legs crossed just right. Laughing at something that wasnât funny. Smiling at a guy whose name youâd already forgotten.
What was his name again? Tim? Troy?
Didnât matter. He was sweet enough. A little younger than Joel. Definitely not as interesting â or as dangerous â but that was the point. He was harmless. Just enough to make sure Joel saw.
And oh, he saw.
You could feel it before you even glanced his way â that heavy, unblinking stare from across the bar. He hadnât come in with anyone. Just walked straight to the far end of the room, sat alone, and ordered a whiskey. Same as always. Except this time, he didnât look away when your eyes met.
He didnât even blink.
You let your gaze slide past him, casual, like he was just another stranger. Sipped your drink. Laughed again, brighter this time, fingers brushing the guyâs forearm like heâd said something charming â which he hadnât. He was boring as fuck, talking about crops or horses or patrol routes. You werenât listening.
You were acting.
Joel, on the other hand, wasnât.
He didnât move. Didnât drink. Just sat there, watching you like you were something feral he was trying not to chase. One hand clenched around his glass, the other twitching against his thigh like he wanted it somewhere else.
Probably on your waist.
Or your throat.
You smiled wider, legs crossing tighter, leaning forward just a little as the guy beside you asked another question you didnât hear. You nodded anyway, tilted your head, gave him a look that you knew was dangerous when used correctly.
Joel shifted in his seat.
You saw it.
The flick of his jaw. The slow exhale through his nose. Like he was trying real hard to be civil â and failing. Because Joel Miller didnât do jealous. He didnât do soft. And he sure as hell didnât do being ignored.
But thatâs exactly what you were doing. Ignoring him.
Just like heâd ignored you on the street, in the mess hall, at the market â brushing past like you were nobody. Like months of sweat and skin and soft, sleepy mornings meant nothing in daylight.
So now?
He could sit in the dark and watch.
The guy beside you leaned in closer, and you let him. Just enough. You laughed again, letting the sound carry â high and teasing â then finally turned your head to glance at Joel.
Just for a second.
Just to let him see that glint in your eyes.
Youâre not the only one who gets to pretend.
Joel didnât smile. Didnât look away.
But his hand left the glass.
And curled slowly into a fist.
Youâd just started tracing the rim of your glass, that little bored swirl of your finger that only showed up when your patience ran thin â which it had. The guy beside you â Troy, you remembered his name now â was halfway through another story about patrol routes and some close call near the fence when you felt it.
A shift in the air.
That slow, unmistakable pull of gravity â like a storm rolling in behind you.
You didnât turn. Didnât need to.
You felt Joel before you saw him.
Bootsteps. Heavy. Measured.
Then a pause. And his voice, low and sharp as a blade.
âSheâs with me.â
It cut clean through the room.
Troy blinked, looking up. Confused. âSorry, what?â
You finally looked over your shoulder â and there he was.
Joel fucking Miller.
Standing behind you, jaw locked tight, flannel sleeves rolled to his elbows, heat practically pouring off him. His eyes were pinned to Troy, but his hand was already settling on the back of your stool â not quite touching you, but claiming the space around you like a perimeter.
Joel didnât repeat himself.
Didnât have to.
The silence around your little corner of the bar stretched tight. Troy glanced at you, uncertain, half-laughing. âUhâshe didnât mentionââ
âI donât give a shit what she mentioned.â Joelâs voice was flat. Dangerous. âSheâs mine.â
Your heart kicked in your chest.
He finally looked at you then â eyes dark, unreadable â and you saw it all written there in the way his jaw twitched, the way his nostrils flared with each breath.
Possession.
Not the sweet, romantic kind.
The raw, territorial kind.
You arched a brow, playing with the rim of your glass again. âOh, now Iâm yours?â
Joel didnât blink. âYouâve always been mine.â
Your stomach twisted â heat flashing low. But you didnât give him the satisfaction. Not yet.
Troy stood awkwardly, glancing between the two of you like heâd accidentally stepped on a landmine.
âIâI didnât know, man. Didnât mean anything by it.â
Joel gave a tight nod, still watching you. âYeah. I know.â
Troy gave you a quick, embarrassed smile. âUh, thanks for the drink. Iâll, uhâyeah.â
And then he was gone, retreating toward the other side of the bar with a speed that wouldâve been funny if your body wasnât already thrumming with adrenaline.
Joel stayed where he was. Right behind you.
You turned back toward your drink, lifted it halfway to your lips. âYouâre kind of an asshole, you know.â
âI do know,â he said, voice low, leaning closer until his breath ghosted against your ear. âBut I donât share.â
Your skin prickled.
He let the silence sit for a second. Just long enough to let that line sink all the way into your bones.
Then his hand finally touched you â not rough, but deliberate. Spreading over your lower back, fingers warm and firm, pulling you just slightly toward him on the stool.
âGet up,â he said quietly.
You turned, eyes narrowed. âWhy?â
Joelâs gaze dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes.
âBecause if you stay on that stool any longer, Iâm gonna put you over my knee right here in front of everyone.â
Your breath caught â involuntary â and his lips twitched at the corners.
He saw that.
And he liked it.
âNow,â he said.
And like hell youâd admit how fast you stood.
The air outside was cooler now, wind sneaking between buildings as the two of you made your way through Jacksonâs dim, quiet streets. Your boots clicked angrily on the path. Joelâs were silent. You didnât look at him.
Not at first.
He was a step behind, as always â shadowing you. Not guiding. Not pulling.
Just there.
Like a warning.
You didnât speak until you were clear of the bar, out where no one else could hear â the hum of the Bison fading behind you, replaced by the crunch of gravel and the soft rustle of trees.
And even then, you didnât start soft.
ââSheâs with me,ââ you mocked, glancing over your shoulder. âThatâs the line you go with? Not even a âhey, can we talk for a secondâ? Just full-on caveman.â
Joel said nothing.
His eyes were on you, though â steady, unreadable, jaw tight like he was holding back something vicious. Not anger. Not quite.
Possession.
You kept walking, too fast, but he kept up like it cost him nothing.
âIs that what I am to you?â you snapped, voice sharp, âSome⌠thing you get to claim when you feel like it?â
Still nothing.
You stopped suddenly, spinning on your heel, forcing him to halt just inches from you. âSeriously, Joel. Say something. You donât talk when weâre in public. You donât talk when we fight. You barely talk when Iâm in your bed.â
He stared down at you, the lines in his face deepening in the moonlight. Still silent.
You shoved his chest. âWhat, now youâve got nothing to say? After you scared that poor guy off like a fucking dog?â
Joelâs jaw flexed. His breath came through his nose â slow, controlled. His hand lifted, catching your wrist in a loose grip before it could push him again.
âI didnât scare him,â he said finally. His voice was low. Measured. âI told him the truth.â
âOh, fuck off with that,â you hissed, stepping back, trying to break his grip â and failing. âYou donât get to ignore me for weeks in front of everyone and then pull that âmineâ shit like youâve earned it.â
Joel took a slow step toward you. You backed up â only to find your back pressing up against the wood of someoneâs fence. The edge of it bit into your spine.
His hand let go of your wrist.
But it didnât feel like freedom.
âYou done?â he asked quietly.
You stared at him. âNo. Not even close.â
He stared back. Silent. Waiting.
And it hit you â the restraint. The way he wasnât grabbing, wasnât yelling. That he wasnât cold, not really.
He was simmering.
A pot about to boil, and you were standing too close to the flame.
You scoffed, shaking your head, voice quieter now. âYou donât get to pick when I exist, Joel. Either Iâm yours or Iâm not. You donât get to claim me when itâs convenient.â
His eyes darkened, and his silence deepened.
And suddenly, the stillness wasnât passive.
It was heavy. Intentional.
He wasnât ignoring you.
He was letting you talk.
Letting you dig the hole. Letting you burn your anger down to ash. Letting you unravel â until there was nothing left but that thin, frayed thread of control keeping you upright.
And when you finally stepped away from the fence, chest rising hard, trying to breathe through it â he reached for you again.
Not rough.
But final.
His hand slid to the back of your neck â warm, firm, unmoving.
Not a pull.
A promise.
You shivered.
And he still hadnât raised his voice.
âWalk,â he said simply, voice deep and even. âBefore I lose whateverâs left of my fuckinâ patience.â
You stared at him, lips parted, heart pounding. Your mouth opened â but nothing came out.
So you turned.
And you walked.
And this time, he stayed close.
One step behind.
Just like a wolf.
The front door shut behind you with a heavy thunk, the lock clicking into place with Joelâs key.
You didnât move.
You stood there in the middle of his entryway, heart beating too loud in your chest, jacket still on, fingers curled into your palms. The quiet was deafening.
And thenâ
Boots behind you.
A slow approach.
You felt him before he touched you. The heat of him, the weight of his silence, the barely-contained energy rolling off him in waves. You held your ground, refusing to turn â even as he stepped up behind you, close enough that his chest brushed your back with every breath.
Then his hand slid around your waist.
Not gentle. Not rough.
Just certain.
He pulled you back against him â tight â until you could feel the shape of him, hard and deliberate through his jeans, pressing into the curve of your ass.
He leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear.
âYou wanna know why I didnât say it before?â he said, voice low, raw, hot enough to melt bone. âWhy I kept it quiet?â
You didnât speak. Couldnât.
His other hand came up, dragging your jacket slowly down your arms, letting it fall to the floor with a whisper of fabric.
âBecause I donât want to share you with this place,â he muttered. âNot the patrols. Not the bar. Not the fuckinâ streets.â
His fingers traced up under your shirt, brushing warm skin, climbing slow â claiming you with nothing but touch.
âI keep it quiet âcause when I think about someone else lookinâ at youâŚâ He let out a slow, dark breath. âIt makes me want to break things.â
Your breath hitched, and he smiled against your neck. Not sweet.
Predatory.
âTonight?â he murmured. âYou did it on purpose. Sat there touchinâ him, laughinâ like I donât own every sound that comes out of your mouth.â
His hand slipped up, fingers wrapping gently around your throat â not squeezing. Just there.
A reminder.
âYou wanted to make me jealous.â
You swallowed, barely.
Joel hummed low in his chest. âCongratulations, baby. You did.â
Then he finally turned you â slow, controlled â pressing your back to the door, pinning you there with his hips, his hand still at your neck, thumb stroking your pulse.
His eyes locked on yours, and his voice dropped to a gravel-dark promise.
âNow Iâm gonna show you exactly what it means to be mine.â
You didnât argue.
You just let him take.
Your back hit the door, breath shallow in your chest as Joel held you there â not just with the weight of his body, but with everything unspoken finally surfacing behind his eyes.
His hand was still at your throat, thumb tracing your pulse like he needed to feel it, to know you were still here. Still his.
He leaned in, slow, gaze flicking down to your mouth â and then he kissed you.
Not soft.
Not rushed.
Sure.
The kind of kiss that said no one else gets this. That made your knees weaken even as his hand slid to your jaw, holding you steady.
And then, between kisses â mouth brushing yours, breath hot, words like sin wrapped in gravel â he spoke.
âYou wanna know the truth?â
You nodded, dazed, lips parted.
He kissed you again. Slower this time. More careful. Like it hurt.
âI donât show you off because Iâm afraid theyâll look at you,â he muttered, voice rough. âAfraid theyâll look at you and wonder why the hell youâre with me.â
You blinked, the breath catching in your throat.
Joel didnât stop â couldnât. Not now.
âYouâre twenty-something. Young. Beautiful. Got that mouth on you that drives me fuckinâ insane.â His forehead pressed to yours. âAnd Iâmâfuck, baby, Iâm not young. Not shiny. Not safe. Not what youâre supposed to end up with.â
You opened your mouth, but he silenced you with another kiss. Harder. Needier.
âI watch you walk through this town, all lit up like youâre made of fire, and every part of me wants to tell the world youâre mine.â
His hand slid down to your waist, gripping tight.
âBut another partâŚâ His voice cracked low. âAnother part thinks one day youâll wake up and realize you shouldâve picked someone your age. Some kid with soft hands and a nice smile who donât come with all the damage I carry.â
You stared up at him, chest rising hard, throat tight.
âBut I canât let that happen,â he said, softer now â and somehow darker. âI noticed that tonight.â
He leaned in again, lips brushing the corner of your mouth.
âIâm too selfish, baby. I wonât let you go. Youâre mine. Always have been.â
Then, quieter â almost like it hurt to say.
âAnd that ainât gonna change. Not ever.â
You could feel it in the way he kissed you again â not to claim, but to keep. To beg. To promise. All at once.
There was nothing polished about it. No sweet speech. Just Joel. All cracked pride and brutal honesty and hands that had never learned to let go once theyâd held something real.
And you?
You kissed him back like you were never leaving.
Because you werenât.
You were breathing hard now â lips swollen, chest rising against his, the air between you charged and electric.
Joelâs confession still hung in the air, raw and exposed like something bleeding. His hands gripped your waist like they didnât know how to let go. Like he couldnât trust himself to.
You stared up at him, fire still in your eyes, throat tight with everything you wanted to say but couldnât soften.
So you didnât soften.
You tilted your head, lips ghosting over his jaw, your voice a rasp against the edge of him.
âIâm still fucking mad at you.â
Joelâs breath hitched â like maybe heâd expected something sweeter. Something forgivable.
But then you grabbed his shirt in both fists, yanked him back to your mouth.
âAnd Iâm still yours,â you growled against his lips.
You kissed him like a weapon â hard, teeth clashing, your body pressed against his with reckless force. Joel grunted into your mouth, one hand sliding down to grab your ass, pulling you into him until you could feel just how far gone he already was.
âYou think I need soft?â you breathed, voice ragged, grinding your hips up into his. âYou think I want sweet little love taps and quiet words?â
His hands were on your thighs now, lifting, carrying you across the room like nothing weighed anything â until your back hit the wall next to the coat hooks and the picture frame tilted crooked.
âI think you want to get fucked so hard you forget why you were mad,â he growled.
You gasped, laughing breathlessly â head falling back as he pressed kisses to your throat, open-mouthed and bruising.
âNot forget,â you panted, wrapping your legs tight around his waist. âJust⌠punish you for it later.â
Joelâs laugh was low, dangerous. âYou wanna punish me?â
âI will,â you hissed, nails dragging up the back of his neck. âAfter you fuckinâ earn it.â
That was all it took â the line snapping.
His mouth crashed into yours, rough, unrelenting. His hands were everywhere â under your shirt, under your bra, gripping your hips like he was trying to memorize them by touch. You tugged at his belt, cursing under your breath when it didnât come undone fast enough.
He dropped you down â hard enough to make it creak â and dropped to his knees in front of you, shoving your jeans down, kissing up your thighs, biting just to feel you jolt and curse and grab his hair.
âI want you to remember this,â he muttered, breath hot against your skin. âEvery time some other idiot tries to make you laugh â every time you open that smart mouth and test me â I want you to feel what being mine fucking means.â
And when you moaned his name, sharp and ragged, you knew he already had you marked deep.
And he wasnât even close to finished.
The denim barely hit your knees before his hands were on you â hot, rough, and demanding.
He grabbed your thighs, shoved them open without asking, like the answer had always been yes â like your body was his to position, to spread, to ruin.
"Goddamn," he growled, dropping his head between your legs, breathing you in like he was already drunk on it. "You get this wet for some kid talkinâ about patrol duty?"
You gasped, fingers gripping the edge of the bench.
âNot for him,â you snapped, breathless. âFor you, assholeââ
His hand came down, sharp slap to your inner thigh.
"Then act like it."
Before you could snarl something else, his fingers were on you â thick and calloused, slipping between your folds and dragging up through the mess heâd made of you just by looking.
âFuckinâ soaked,â he muttered, shaking his head, voice thick with something darker than lust. "This was mine, the whole time. And you let him sit there thinkinâ he had a shot at my pussy?â
You gasped as he pushed two fingers inside â deep, no warning, curling hard as he filled you with the kind of force that left your mouth hanging open.
"Joelâ"
âQuiet,â he snapped, thrusting again, slower now, but brutal in rhythm. âYou donât get to talk back right now. Not when youâve been actinâ up like this. Not when I own every inch of you, and youâre sittinâ out there touchinâ some guy like Iâm not fuckinâ enough.â
His thumb pressed hard to your clit, circling tight, dragging a ragged cry out of your throat. Your hips bucked, but his other hand slammed your thigh back against the wood of the bench, holding you still.
"Thatâs right," he hissed. "You wanna be a brat, you get used like one."
You tried to move â tried to roll your hips for more, but he held you down, fingers pistoning in and out of you, fucking you with the kind of ruthless focus that made your vision go blurry.
"You belong to me," he muttered. "Say it."
You whimpered, back arching, mouth struggling to form words.
âSay it.â
âIâIâm yours,â you gasped.
His fingers pushed deeper, hitting that spot that made your legs twitch.
âSay it like you mean it.â
âIâm yours, Joelâfuck, Iâm yours, Iâm yoursââ
"Thatâs fuckinâ right," he snarled, mouth hot against your throat now, biting a mark into your skin. "You let anyone else even look at you like that again, and Iâll fuck you right in front of 'em. Make sure they see who this pussy really belongs to."
You were so close now, thighs trembling, nails raking down his arms as your body clenched around his fingers like it didnât know how to let go.
"Come for me," he growled into your mouth. "Come on my fuckinâ fingers like the needy little mess you are."
And when it hit â it crashed.
You came with a cry that barely sounded human, grinding down against his hand like it was the only thing tethering you to the goddamn earth. He didnât stop â not right away â just kept working you through it until your voice cracked and your body begged for mercy.
He finally pulled his fingers free, soaked to the knuckles, and dragged them slow across your inner thigh â painting his name into your skin without saying a word.
Then he looked up at you â eyes dark, wild, and full of everything he hadnât said before tonight.
âYouâre not walkinâ tomorrow,â he said.
And you believed him.
You were still trembling when Joel hooked his arms under your thighs and lifted you off the bench like you weighed nothing â your jeans kicked off somewhere behind, shirt hiked up just enough for his rough palms to press against bare skin.
âJoelââ you breathed, but he didnât answer.
He didnât need to.
His mouth was hard on yours again as he carried you down the hall â bumping into the wall once, not caring, growling low in his throat when you moaned against his lips. His grip tightened around your thighs.
âI told you,â he rasped, pushing the bedroom door open with his shoulder. âYouâre not gettinâ away from me. Not tonight. Not ever.â
The room was dark, moonlight cutting across the bed. He dropped you there â not careless, but with the weight of someone who knew exactly how much you could take. You barely had time to blink before he was on you, tearing his shirt off over his head, belt unbuckled and jeans shoved down in seconds.
Then he was pulling you up, flipping you over onto your knees.
âHands on the headboard.â
Your body jolted â the command hit harder than it shouldâve. You hesitated just a second too long.
Joelâs hand came down on your ass, sharp and perfect.
âNow.â
You scrambled forward, gripping the wood at the top of the bed, your cheek against the cool pillow as you felt him move in behind you â heavy, warm, the head of his cock dragging between your thighs, teasing.
And then â he pulled you back.
One strong arm wrapped around your waist, dragging your spine up against his chest. His body was hot, solid behind you, the rough scratch of his chest hair against your bare back, his cock thick and hard, pressed right up against your soaked entrance but not pushing in yet.
His other hand found your neck again â not choking, just there. Just holding.
âYou feel that?â he growled into your ear, the head of him nudging against your folds, slick and slow.
You whimpered, nodding.
âThatâs mine.â
He thrust in with one brutal stroke.
You cried out, eyes squeezing shut, back arching hard against his chest as he filled you â all the way, no pause, no mercy.
He held you like that â impaled, helpless, his grip on your neck tightening just enough to make your head fall back against his shoulder.
âYouâre mine,â he said again, panting now, rolling his hips into you, deep and rough and relentless. âSay it.â
âIâmâfuckâIâm yours,â you gasped, clinging to the headboard even as your legs shook beneath you.
He slammed into you again, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.
âLouder.â
âIâm yours, Joel!â
âDamn right you are.â
He fucked you like he had something to prove â and he did. Every thrust was deep, punishing, his arm like steel around your waist, holding you up, keeping you from falling even as he fucked the fight right out of you.
His mouth was at your ear, teeth grazing your skin.
âYou think some dumb kid could make you come like this?â Thrust. âThink he could handle you?â Thrust. âThink heâd still want you after hearing the way you scream for me?â
You were sobbing now â overwhelmed, split open on him, every muscle shaking, his cock hitting that spot so deep and perfect it made your brain go white.
âTell me no one else gets you.â
âNo oneâfuckâno one gets me but you!â
Joel groaned against your neck, hips slamming into yours, his hand sliding down from your waist to rub fast, rough circles on your clit.
âThen come for me. Come again, baby, and let this whole fuckinâ town feel it.â
You shattered with a scream, your walls clenching around him like a vice â and that was it. Joel cursed, bit your shoulder.
He didnât let you go.
Not even then.
He stayed pressed against your back, buried to the hilt, his arm still tight around your middle, his hand still on your neck, pulsing against your skin like another heartbeat.
Breathing ragged. Body trembling.
You were his.
And now the whole fucking world knew it.
You didnât know how long you lay there together, still pulsing from the high, your body draped against his chest, slick and trembling. But Joel didnât say anything.
He just ran his hand slowly down your back, tracing the curve of your spine, the barest scratch of his nails making you shiver.
Thenâ
"Get on top of me."
His voice was low. Commanding. But softer now, more settled â like the edge was still there, just quieter under the skin.
You blinked, lifting your head. âWhat?â
Joel leaned back, letting his weight sink into the bed, arms folding behind his head. His chest rose slow and steady, eyes dark as he looked at you over his shoulder.
"You heard me. Turn around. I want you to ride me."
He let the pause stretch, let the heat fill it.
âWanna watch you fall apart on my cock.â
Your breath caught â but you moved. Slowly. Purposefully.
You turned, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs, facing away now. You could feel his eyes dragging over your back, your hips, the way you moved with that subtle soreness from everything heâd already done to you.
You reached down, guiding him back to full hardness with a few slow strokes â which didnât take much. Joel groaned behind you, head tipping back into the pillow as his hand came up to grip your waist.
âJust like that,â he muttered. âLook at you.â
You positioned yourself above him, the head of his cock sliding against your entrance, your thighs shaking slightly as you lowered yourself down.
âShit,â you gasped, head dropping forward as he stretched you open again, inch by inch, all of him thick and deep.
Joel hissed a breath through his teeth. âGoddamn, babyâfuckinâ tight like this.â
You steadied yourself, hands braced on his thighs as you started to move â hips rocking slow, deep, grinding back onto him.
Joel growled, low and wrecked. His hands found your ass, gripping the flesh hard enough to bruise, fingers digging in with every bounce.
âFuckinâ love watchinâ you like this,â he said through clenched teeth. âBack arched. Drippinâ down my cock. Look like you belong there.â
You moaned, biting your lip, speeding up just enough to make the sound of your bodies slapping together echo through the room.
Then his hand came down hard â smack.
A sharp slap to your ass, jolting your whole body forward.
You gasped, grinding back into him harder, your moan caught between pleasure and something filthier.
âMore,â you whispered, breathless.
Joel chuckled darkly. âYou got no shame, huh?â
And then he spanked you again, other hand gripping your hip tighter, guiding your rhythm as you rode him faster.
âThatâs it,â he groaned, voice rasping. âBounce on it, baby. Show me how much you need it.â
You were barely holding on, head thrown back, hands slipping down to brace against his knees as you fucked yourself on him, each thrust hitting that perfect spot, each slap of his hand pushing you closer to breaking.
âWhose pussy is this?â he growled.
âYours,â you gasped, choking on the word. âJoel, itâs yoursââ
âSay it louder.â
âItâs yours! Fuckâ Iâm yours, Iâmâfuckinâ yoursââ
And when you came, it hit like a wrecking wave â your body locking up, thighs shaking, cunt clenching around him so hard he growled, deep in his chest, and thrust up into you, meeting your movement with wild, desperate rhythm.
Joel came with a rough curse, hands tight on your hips, slamming you down one last time, holding you there as he spilled deep inside you, breathing hard.
You stayed there for a moment â straddling him, spent and shaking, dripping with sweat and his release â your back pressed to his chest now as he sat up slightly, wrapping his arms around your middle.
No words.
Just breath. Touch. The sound of his heartbeat against your spine.
Possession had never felt so good.
Your breathing was still ragged when his arms wrapped around you â strong, steady, grounding â and Joel leaned up just enough to press a kiss to your spine, right between your shoulder blades.
Neither of you spoke at first.
Your thighs were shaking. Your chest was tight. And Joel just held you there, your back to his chest, both of you sunk into the mattress like the world had narrowed to this one room â this one moment.
His lips brushed your skin again, slower this time.
Not lust.
Not claim.
Just Joel.
âI was a fucking idiot,â he muttered against your shoulder.
You didnât say anything â not right away. You just let your hand find his on your stomach, threading your fingers with his, still catching your breath.
He kissed your shoulder once more, his voice softer now. âDidnât mean to make you feel like I was hidinâ you.â
You turned your head slightly, cheek brushing against his beard, your voice still raspy. âYou kinda did.â
Joel winced. He didnât try to deny it.
âI know.â His hand tightened gently around yours. âTruth is⌠Iâve never had anything like this before. Anyone like you. I didnât know how toâhell, I was scared if I held on too tight, youâd see how much I donât deserve it.â
You shifted in his arms, your back curving to him like muscle memory. He was always solid, always warm â but now he felt tender, too.
Vulnerable in a way that made your heart twist.
âJoel,â you whispered, glancing up at him, âyou donât have to be perfect. You just have to show up.â
He looked down at you, brow furrowed, like he was still learning how to believe that.
âI donât talk easy,â he said. âYou know that.â
âYeah.â You gave a soft smile, reaching up to brush a thumb along the line of his jaw. âBut when you do⌠itâs worth it.â
Joel let out a low breath, like maybe that weight on his chest was finally easing up. He kissed your forehead â slow, deliberate, lingering.
âIâm sorry,â he murmured. âFor not claiminâ you sooner. For makinâ you feel like you werenât everything you are to me.â
You curled in closer, letting his arms wrap tighter, your legs tangled with his now, warm under the blankets.
âYouâre lucky you fuck like you mean it,â you teased, voice light again, lips grazing his throat.
He huffed a low laugh, fingers brushing through your hair, then down your back.
âDamn right I do.â
You both settled then â the tension melted out of your muscles, the fight long gone.
In the quiet, you felt his hand drift to your hip again â not to grip or guide, but just to hold. To feel you there. Real. Close. His.
And this time, when he whispered, âYouâre mine,â
âŚit wasnât a threat.
It was a vow.
You woke up to sunlight bleeding through the curtains and the soft drag of Joelâs fingers across your bare back.
He was already awake, propped up on one elbow beside you, hair tousled, eyes softer than youâd ever seen them in the morning light.
âHey,â he murmured, voice still scratchy from sleep and maybe just a little from everything heâd growled the night before.
You smiled, stretching slow, your sore muscles protesting just enough to make you wince.
Joel caught it, smirked. âTold you you wouldnât be walkinâ right.â
âSmug bastard,â you muttered, curling into him anyway, your face in the warm space between his chest and shoulder. âDonât get used to being right.â
His arms wrapped around you, his hand slipping into your hair. He didnât say anything right away â just kissed your forehead like it was instinct.
Then, quietly: âYou busy later?â
You blinked. âUh⌠no?â
âGood.â He leaned back just enough to look down at you. âI want you to meet Tommy.â
âI already know Tommy, Joel.â
He didnât respond.
You stared.
Joel watching you, steady, a little nervous behind the eyes â which meant this meant something.
âWait. Youâre introducing me?â
He nodded once. âFigured itâs time he knew the truth.â
âThe truth,â you echoed, raising a brow. âAnd whatâs that?â
Joelâs jaw ticked â and then his hand slid up your side, slow, until it rested just over your heart.
âThat youâre mine.â
You swallowed.
âThat I love you.â
The words were quiet. Unadorned. No theatrics. Just Joel, stripped bare, telling you something heâd carried too long in silence.
Your heart slammed hard against your ribs.
âI love you too,â you said, voice barely there. âTook you long enough.â
Joel chuckled, leaned down, kissed you slow â deep and warm and certain.
âYeah,â he murmured against your lips. âBut now everyoneâs gonna know it.â
Later, the sun high in the sky, he kept a hand on your waist as the two of you walked across town. Not just touching â guiding. Showing.
Tommy spotted you both from across the street and waved. When you got close, he grinned. âWell look who finally crawled outta his cave. Joel, whoâsâ?â
âThisâs my girl,â Joel cut in, hand tightening slightly at your hip. âBeen meaninâ to bring her by.â
Tommy raised a brow, surprised â maybe even impressed.
Your smile turned sly, but you said nothing, letting Joel say it.
âSheâs⌠important to me,â he added, clearing his throat. âMore than that. I love her.â
Tommy blinked. Then laughed, reaching out to shake your hand.
âWell, shit,â he said. âGuess miracles do happen.â
Joel grumbled something under his breath, pulling you in closer like he couldnât help it. Like it wasnât just possession anymore â it was pride.
You leaned into his side, kissed his jaw, and whispered where only he could hear:
âThink I like hearing you say that.â
Joel glanced down at you, eyes soft. âGet used to it, sweetheart. Iâm done keepinâ quiet.â
#gia writes request â đ Ě.#gia writes smut â đ Ě.#gia writes joel â đ Ě.#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal smut#joel miller#joel miller fanfic#joel miller smut#smut#the last of us#the last of us fanfic#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal x reader
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Soft Reins â Day One
Series Masterlist | Next Chapter
Pairing: Groundskeeper/Rancher! Joel Miller x City Girl! Reader
Summary: Her family made her want to leave, Joel made her want to stay.
Tags: Age Gap (50s/20s), No Outbreak, Familial Tension, Mentions of infidelity, Snobby and judgy family
Word count: 3.6k
a/n: HELLOOOO okay so this is my second fic heheh and iâm hoping i can stick with it and actually finish it because its definitely a huge learning curve for me lol. iâve had this idea brewing in my head for months and iâve gotten to the point where i just gotta write it. tysm for my beta readers ily all and also ty for reading this!
Summer 2025
You're behind the wheel, cruising down a winding road framed by towering pine treesâa striking contrast to the usual backdrop of glass and steel skyscrapers. Ahead of you, a line of sleek, high-end cars snakes along the road, unmistakably belonging to your wealthy, highbrow extended family.
Jackson Hole, Wyoming isnât the kind of place you'd expect to find people like themâitâs a little too middle-of-nowhere America. And yet, thatâs exactly what draws them in.
Nestled in the valley is a ranchâbut not your typical one. This is a luxury dude ranch, âSilver Spur Ranchâ where the wealthy come to sample the Western lifestyle. Well, sort of. The real West usually doesnât come with spa treatments and gourmet meals. Still, there are horses, rustic cabins, and sweeping mountain views which are pretty close enough for them.
âNoah would love this,â your mother sighed, gazing out at the sweeping valley.
Your neck stiffened at the mention of his name.
âCan you not bring him up, please, Mom?â you murmured, eyes locked on the winding road ahead.
âI canât help it, hun. He became the son I never had,â she replied, throwing up her hands in mock surrender.
âWell, heâs not. And weâre not together anymore,â you said, sharper now. âSo Iâd really appreciate it if you could just... let it go.â
She fell silentânot in compliance, but in calculation. You knew her too well to believe otherwise. She was building her next line, rehearsing it in her head like a lawyer preparing closing arguments.
âI just donât get it,â she finally said, her voice soft but edged. âYou were with him for what, five years?â A beat passed before she pushed forward again, âHave your father and I not set a good example for you? Even your grandparentsâfifty years, happy as ever! And you gave that good man up just becauseââ
âCheating is not a just because reason, Mom,â you snapped, gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles went white.
She waved her hand like she was swatting a fly. âWell, no, of course not. But Noah is a good man. He just made a... lapse in judgment.â
You laughed once, hollow and humorless. âA lapse in judgement? A lapse is forgetting an anniversary. Not sleeping with someone else. For months.â
Your mother looked away, lips pursed, like she couldnât quite argue but still didnât agree. The silence between you thickened, stretching across the cabin of the car and the valley beyond.
âIâm just saying, honey, a man like Noahâheâs hard to come by.â
You grimaced inwardly. Of course sheâd say that. You still couldnât quite wrap your head around your motherâs unwavering loyalty to him.
Sure, he was polished. He came from old moneyâmore than your family ever had. He knew how to dress, how to charm your mother with just the right words at just the right moments. He wasnât bad looking either. On paper, he was perfect.
But inside? He was hollow. And for the last stretch of your relationship, so were you.
The rot had been setting in for months, invisible at first, until it was all you could feel. Then came the final blow: you found out he had been cheating. Days before he proposed.
And stillâhe did it. With your entire family watching, he dropped to one knee, smiling like nothing was wrong. A last-ditch effort to lock you in before the truth could catch up to him.
But you said no.
And you walked away.
It hadnât gone over well. There were whispers, long stares, your father refusing to speak to you for weeks. Your mother never stopped calling it a âmistakeâ youâd made in the heat of emotion.
But it wasnât emotion. It was clarity. Maybe for the first time.
The trip was meant to celebrate your grandparentsâ anniversaryâfifty years together. A milestone that, given what you knew about how awful men could be, felt almost impossible to grasp.
The entire extended family would be there, and you could hardly wait to be cornered with questions about your recent breakup and failed engagement. For seven whole days. A real vacation.
To say the timing was less than ideal would be generous. You couldâve opted outâGod knows you wanted toâbut that wouldâve only fueled the whispers. And despite everything, under different circumstances, you would have wanted to be there. You loved your grandparents. They were the rare ones in your family who didnât judge, didnât press. Maybe it was because, unlike their children and grandchildren, they hadnât grown up with money. There was a softness to them that hadnât been bred out by status or social games.
They were the reason you came. Not the charade. Just them.
The ranch finally came into view, peeking through the tall trees like something out of a movie. It had a rustic charm, but you could tell it had been carefully renovatedâpolished just enough to suit the tastes of its upscale clientele.
Your car slowed as you passed through the front gate and followed the long gravel driveway toward the main cabin. The second your tires came to a stop, you were already reaching for the door handle, eager to escape the tension that had been simmering in the car with your mother.
You stepped out and made a beeline for the trunk, popping it open and reaching for your suitcase. But just as your hand closed around the handle, anotherâlargerâhand landed over it.
âI got this, sugar,â came a warm, slow drawl, thick with a Texas accent.
You froze.
He was closeâclose enough for you to catch the scent of sandalwood, sun, and flannel. You instinctively stepped back, your eyes scanning upward.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. The kind of man who looked like he actually belonged on a ranch. You caught a glimpse of his profile: strong nose, weathered skin, hair streaked with silver that matched the salt-and-pepper scruff along his jaw and mustache.
âLong drive?â his voice broke through your thoughts, low and easy.
âHuh? Ohâyeah. Itâs, uh... pretty far from, wellâeverywhere,â you said with an awkward chuckle.
He didnât laugh, but his eyes lingered on you for a beatâcurious, unreadable. Then, without a word, he reached down and hoisted your bags, one in each hand like they weighed nothing.
âWelcome to Silver Spur,â he said with a small, polite smile.
And just like that, he turned and walked off, disappearing with your luggage before you could even think of a reply.
The main lounge buzzed with the energy of your entire family gathered together. The interior was stunningâtall ceilings draped in dark wood, a grand stone fireplace, and expansive floor-to-ceiling windows that framed a breathtaking view of the land. You stood by your cousin Amy, the one you were closest to growing up. Youâd shared so many memories, but things had shifted a bit since she married and had a baby. You were still close, just not as much as before.
One of the staff passed around welcome drinksâicy cold lemonade. You accepted with a grateful smile.
âHow are you holding up?â Amy asked, her voice full of concern. You sighed. âSo far, so good. You?â
Amy leaned in closer, lowering her voice. âLily wouldnât stop fussing the entire way here, and Justin was no help,â she murmured, glancing over at her husband, who was bouncing their three-year-old daughter on his lap. âHe somehow always appears to be there when sheâs calm, though.â Amy chuckled softly, and you followed suit, shaking your head.
A sound of glass clinking drew everyone's attention to the man standing on the small stage by the piano. He looked strikingly similar to the guy whoâd taken your luggage earlierâmaybe a bit younger. Next to him stood a stunning woman with dark skin and a warm, radiant smile.
âHowdy, yâall! Welcome to Silver Spurs Ranch!â he called out, his voice smooth and welcoming. âIâm Tommy, and this is my wife, Maria,â he gestured to the woman beside him, who waved her hand in greeting. âWeâll be your ranch hosts during your stay.â
Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the man from earlier walking toward the stage and standing right next to it on the corner. You couldnât tear your eyes away once you realized he was there.
âYou like him too, huh?â Amy whispered, leaning closer.
âWhat are you talking about?â you whispered back, your voice a mix of surprise and mock offense.
Amy giggled, eyes twinkling. âWhat? Youâre free now!â She gestured to her family with a smirk. âI, on the other handâŚâ She trailed off, pointing to her husband and daughter.
âYouâre being ridiculous. We just got here,â you scolded playfully, rolling your eyes.
âHey, heâs hot, soâŚâ Amy teased.
You cut her off, whispering, âAmy, shut up.â
She laughed quietly. âAlright, alright!â she relented.
After a brief pause, as everyone focused on the ranch hosts listing activities for the stay, Amy leaned in again. âI didnât know Silver Spurs Ranch came with a silver fox cowboy,â she whispered.
You bit back a laugh. âI hate you,â you muttered under your breath.
âThat one over there is my brother, Joel,â Tommy said, pointing to the man standing a little off to the side. Joel. The name felt just right for him. He offered a small wave before slipping his hands back into his pockets, his gaze scanning the room.
âYouâll be seeing a lot of him,â Tommy continued, a proud smile on his face. âHe takes care of the land and will be leading some of your excursion activities.â
You couldnât help but watch Joel for a moment longer. There was something about himâsteady, grounded.
Amy leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. âI gotta admit, heâs got that âI work with my handsâ kind of charm.â
You raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. âYou mean heâs got the âI wake up at 5 a.m. to ride horses and shovel dirtâ look?â
Amy grinned. âExactly.â She looked back at Joel, her gaze lingering for a moment too long. âHeâs definitely got that whole âsilent, mysterious cowboyâ thing going on.â
You rolled your eyes, but couldnât deny that there was something magnetic about him. Not in a typical âmovie starâ way, but in a way that made you want to know more. Maybe it was the confidence that seemed to radiate from him without ever needing to say much.
At that moment, Joel turned his head and caught your eye. His gaze flickered toward you briefly, almost like he was assessing you. It wasnât a stare, just a quiet acknowledgment, but it still sent a little pulse of awareness through you.
Amy caught it too, her smirk widening. âUh-huh. I see that look. He noticed you.â
âWhat look?â you asked, feigning innocence. You turned back toward the stage as Tommy and Maria continued talking, but your mind kept wandering back to Joel.
âDonât act coy. He definitely noticed you,â Amy teased. âYouâre going to have fun here, I can tell.â
You glared playfully at her. âJust because I glanced at him doesnât mean Iâm about to go on a horseback ride into the sunset with him.â
Amy let out a short laugh. âNot yet, anyway.â
Maria's voice cut through the conversation, bringing everyone's attention back to the front. "Alright, everyone, feel free to explore the ranch, or just take in the view. We know it's a long journey to get here so your rooms is ready, and dinner will be served in an hour."
As the crowd began to move in different directions, you felt a strange mix of anticipation and curiosity swirling inside you. You were supposed to be here to relax, but for some reason, everythingâespecially Joelâseemed to be pulling you in.
Amy nudged you with her elbow again. "So... what's the plan? You gonna go for it or just pretend you're not interested?"
You sighed, trying to hide your grin. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure, sure," Amy teased, "keep telling yourself that."
Dinner was set like something out of a magazine. A long, weathered farm table stretched down the center of the dining hall, dressed in ivory linens, wildflowers, and flickering candles that made the roasted dishes gleam like still life paintings. Your grandparents sat proudly at the head, fingers intertwined, laughing like they hadnât seen fifty years go by. The rest of the family filled the table in loud, familiar clusters, the wine flowing too easily, the conversations layered over one another.
You were somewhere in the middle, boxed in by a distant cousin on one side and a sea of aunts and uncles on the other. You kept your head down, halfheartedly pushing food around your plate, bracing for the inevitable.
It didnât take long.
âSo⌠no Noah this year?â Aunt Debby asked, tilting her head with feigned casualness.
âNope,â you replied, stabbing a perfectly innocent carrot.
âI figured weâd see him again. Didnât you two usually take trips like this together?â someone else chimed in. A cousinâs wife, maybeâyou didnât bother to look.
âNot anymore,â you hummed, your hand curling into a fist beneath the table.
âThatâs a shame. I really thought weâd be getting a wedding invite this year,â Aunt Debby said, swirling her wine with theatrical sadness.
âWell, there wonât be one anytime soon.â
Uncle Rick joined in without looking up. âStill canât believe you let that one go. Good job, good family, good-looking.â
âNot good at staying faithful,â you muttered.
âWhat was that, sweetheart?â Aunt Debby asked, all syrup and fake concern.
You didnât think before the following words that came from your mouth, youâre fed up by all the judgement coated with faux sugar coated concerns, You looked up. âI said, he cheated. For months. Before he proposed.â
The table fell quiet. Someone clinked their fork against a plate, a few chairs shifted.
Aunt Margaret recovered first. âWell... relationships are complicated. Everyone makes mistakes. Your mother and I bothââ
âI know,â you cut in, turning your gaze to your mom. âYouâve made that very clear.â
The silence was heavier this time.
You folded your napkin, set it on your plate, and stood. The scrape of your chair on the wooden floor sounded louder than it should have.
âIâm gonna get some air,â you murmured.
âOh honey, donât be dramaticââ your mother sighed.
âIâm not. I just need air,â you said, sharper now, and without waiting for a response, walked out into the night.
The door swung shut behind you with a quiet thud.
You slipped off into the dark, wandering past the edge of the cabins until you found a quiet spot beside what looked like the horse stables. You needed to be somewhere out of sightâfar from the dining hall, far from your family. Because after all that, you needed a smoke. And if anyone in your family ever found out, itâd be a full-blown intervention before sunrise.
From your pocket, you pulled out a small tin, flipping it open with muscle memory and placing a cigarette between your lips. You were just about to flick your lighter whenâ
âYou know smokinâ ainât allowed on this property.â
You jumped so hard the cigarette nearly fell from your mouth. âJesusâfuck!â
You turned and saw him. Joel. Standing half in shadow, half lit by moonlight, looking more amused than stern.
âDidnât mean to startle you,â he said, chuckling.
You let out a breath, your hand over your heart. âYeah, well, you did.â
He nodded toward the cigarette. âYou still gonna light that?â
You hesitated. âCan I?â
Without answering, Joel reached out and gently took hold of your arm, guiding you farther back into the shadowsânear a thick row of bushes. Your heart stuttered a bit from the contact, the feel of his large calloused hand against your soft skin, and you were suddenly glad it was too dark for him to see the way your face flushed.
âCameras,â he murmured. âYouâre safe here. Go on.â
âThanks,â you exhaled, grateful, and finally lit the cigarette. You took a long drag, the smoke easing something tight in your chest.
The night wrapped around you, quiet and still, save for the soft hum of cicadas and the slow rhythm of your breath. Joel didnât move farâhe stayed just a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching the horizon like he had nowhere else to be.
âYou okay?â he asked, voice low, gentle. âSaw you stompinâ out here like you were fixinâ to do some damage.â
You laughed under your breath. âMightâve, if someone hadnât stopped me.â
He didnât say anything, just looked at you in that steady way that invited you to keep going.
You sighed, watching the smoke curl upward. âThey think I ruined my perfect life. That I threw it all away because I said no to a proposal.â
Joel tilted his head slightly, listening.
âHe cheated on me,â you murmured. âFor months. And then had the nerve to propose like nothing happened.â
Joel let out a low whistle. âSounds like a real catch.â
You barked a laugh. âYeah. All sunshine and rainbows, that one.â
Silence settled again, but it wasnât uncomfortable. There was a steadiness to himâlike he knew how to be still in a way most people didnât.
After a moment, he shifted. âListen, uh⌠it ainât really my business, butâsounds to me like you dodged a bullet.â
You nodded slowly. âYeah. I think so too.â
Joel looked at you, earnest beneath all the roughness. âYou did the right thing.â
You glanced over at him. âThanks⌠Joel, right?â you asked as if his name hasnât been echoing in your head eversince Tommy said them.
He smiled, soft and crooked. âYeah.â
âAnd Iâmââ you said your name, almost shyly.
He repeated it back to you, the sound of it low and unhurried as it rolled off his tongue.
You gaze up at the sky, the stars shining much clearer here than in the city. Itâs mesmerizingâyou canât remember the last time you saw more than two tiny dots scattered above.
Slowly, you sit down on the grass, and Joel lets out a soft chuckle. âYouâre gonna ruin that pretty dress,â he teases.
You smile up at him. âI donât really give a damn.â
He grins at that, then joins you, sitting down beside you.
âYou donât have to stay here, you know,â you murmur.
He shakes his head. âNah, Iâm actually obligated to keep an eye on troublesome guests.â
You turn to look at him. His serious face slowly breaks into a smirk, and you chuckle softly. âAsshole,â you murmur.
Taking another drag of your cigarette, you sigh. âMust be nice, living out here, huh?â
Joel nods, eyes still fixed on the stars. âGets real quiet. Makes it easier to think.â
You glance down, voice soft. âI could use a little of that.â
He looks over at you, expression unreadable for a moment. Then, quietly: âThen stay a while.â
You smiled to yourself and kept your eyes on the stars. The silence between you and Joel was comfortable, but there was something simmering beneath itâsomething you werenât sure you wanted to acknowledge just yet.
âThe stars are beautiful out here,â you murmured.
Joel let out a quiet chuckle. âBet you donât see many of those back in the city, huh?â
You shook your head with a faint smile. âKind of forgot how many there actually are.â
âTheyâve always been there,â you said softly, more to yourself than him. âJust hard to see when the skyâs all polluted.â
Joel hummed low in his throat. âThat sounds like a metaphor for a lotta things in life.â
You turned your head toward him, a light laugh escaping you. âYou always been this wise?â He grinned, subtle and a little self-deprecating, eyes still on the sky. âNah. Just old.â
That made you giggle, the sound easy and real, and something in Joelâs expression softened. Then, without a word, he pushes himself to his feet and holds out a hand.
âCome on,â he says gently. âLetâs get you back before they send a search party.â
You hesitate, just for a second, then take his hand. His grip is solid and warm, and when he helps you up, he doesnât let go right away.
You both stand there for a momentâcloser than before, still caught in that soft, uncertain pullâbefore he clears his throat and lets his hand fall away.
âThis way,â he murmurs, nodding toward the path.
You follow him into the quiet dark, heart beating a little louder than before.
Joel walked with you back toward the main cabin where the guest rooms were. You led him through the quiet hallways, the old wood creaking underfoot, until you stopped in front of your door.
âWell, uh⌠this is me,â you said, a little awkwardly, your hand hovering near the doorknob.
Joel nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. âGet some rest. Breakfastâs at seven,â he said, then added, almost hesitantly, âMe and Tommy are leading a horseback ride along the river tomorrow. If you feel like joining.â His eyes flicked from the floor up to yours, and for a moment, you swore he looked almost nervous.
You smiled. âIâd like that.â
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. âAlright then. See you tomorrow, city girl.â He started backing away, slow and casual, and you turned to open your door. âSee you tomorrow,â you murmured.
Just as he turned the corner, you called out softly, âJoel?â
He stopped and looked back, quick like heâd been waiting for it.
âThank you⌠for tonight,â you said, meaning it.
He nodded once, that same quiet smile still on his face. âAnytime, sugar.â
Then he disappeared down the hall, and you stood there for a moment longer, heart just a little too full.
a/n: thank you so much for reading guys <3 i know its a short one but iâm just laying out the vibes and tone of the series before we get to the good stuff on the upcoming chapters!! your feedback is greatly appreciated!! ily all
#pedro pascal#joel miller#joel miller fic#softer reins fic#rancher joel miller#yeehaw#fuck aunt debby#fuck noah#ily joel
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Hello and welcome! Whether youâre here because youâve been following me and this popped up on your dashboard, or because you were browsing a tag under this post, Iâm glad youâre here. Iâve really been pushing myself to write more lately, because I have all the ideas in the world and none of the motivation to do anything about it! So, here we are: My summer of series!
My plan is to post as many chapters of all of my series as possible this summer. At the time of drafting this event post, Iâm currently actively working on 7 series- which I know is quite a lot! But for me, writing one chapter of one and then moving onto the next for a chapter is much more manageable than writing the entire series all at once, even if I'm still completing quite a lot of writing. This is meant to get me out of my writing slump, and to get you some new content! I hope you enjoy my summer of series :)

The series you can expect to see started and/or continued during this event are:
Spring Fling - Jake âHangmanâ Seresin x reader: You should have known the âno refundsâ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: Bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.
Hot Summer Nights - Bradley âRoosterâ Bradshaw x reader: Bradleyâs hunting the Hard Deck for a hot and heavy summer fling. Youâre puttering around looking for the love of your life. Maybe youâre naive, maybe heâs callous, but whatever it is, you end up heartbroken, and Bradley sets out to fix his mistakes and piece you back together.
Spiralling - Jake âHangmanâ Seresin x reader: Transferring to a new squadron after the death of your pilot is hard, but you need a fresh start away from memories of Blaze. Only problem is, youâve been assigned to possibly the worst option imaginable, a cocky pilot whoâs adamant that he didnât ask for you in his backseat, that heâs only flying two-seater because they forced him to. It seems like you canât do anything right for Hangman, and he sends you spiraling so far that youâre not sure youâll ever recover.
Excuse Me, Barmaid - Hiccup Haddock x reader: Berk is a small island with a small populace. Everybody knows everybody, and everybody especially knows Hiccup, the son of the Chief. When youâre thrown into the mix, arriving alone on a ship from an island theyâve never heard of before, youâre the talk of the village. It, of course, doesnât help that youâre now roommates with the aforementioned son of the Chief. Stoickâs hospitality is welcome, but how will you survive living amongst the Chief of Berk and his inquisitive son, all while keeping your secrets close to your chest?
You and Me, as One - Hiccup Haddock x reader: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III isnât the burliest, hairiest, or the best with an axe in his tribe. But he is the viking who can tame any dragon with only a flash of his palm. Until now. When he stumbles upon an unfamiliar dragon off the far coast of Berk, she doesnât play nicely with his offering of friendship. Neither does the dragonâs rider, who has just as fierce a snarl. The pair present an enticing mystery to Hiccup, but neither the dragon nor the human show any interest in getting close. Can he make friends, or are there corners of the world his optimism canât brighten?

Some series that have been lost to time on my blog and may receive an update during this event are:
Lost and Found - Eddie Munson x reader: Just your luck, you get dress coded on your first day at Hawkins High. Youâre already ridiculed for being the senior transfer, and now on top of that, the only shirt that covers you up in the lost and found belongs to the school freak.
Slumber Party - Steve Harrington x reader x Eddie Munson: When Eddie and Steve find out that you're nursing crushes on both of them, they get you to crash at the Harrington House for a slumber party, changing your relationship forever.

Some series that I've never posted on this blog, but have been privately developing for a while now which may be published during this event include:
One Wall Apart - Remus Lupin x reader x Sirius Black: You hadn't ever imagined yourself having roommates twice your age, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Plus, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black are very accommodating.
Protective Detail - Aaron Hotchner x reader: Despite the dangerous nature of your father's job, you've never fallen into the crossfire- until now. While he rushes to stop the man stalking you, he places you in the protective detail of his long-time friend, Aaron Hotchner. You're almost positive that being hunted by a killer is not an appropriate time to develop feelings for someone, but you can't stop yourself from falling for the man acting as your bodyguard.
1-800-HOOKUP - Sirius Black x Reader: You're dared to make a call to the local sex hotline by your friends at a slumber party, but behind closed doors you call back. A lot. What are you meant to do when the voice you touch yourself to every night comes from one aisle over in the grocery store?

I have plenty more ideas, but these are the most fleshed out in my mind and in my drafts. These are the ones I'm planning on writing, but if a new one gets thrown into the mix, I will update this post and I will make a separate one letting everyone know! I know that I have not included a series for every fandom/character that I write for, in fact, there are some repeats!
These are just all the ideas that I think about the most, and I apologize if you're not interested in these fandoms. I plan on continuing to update blurbs every day/every few days, so if you're on the hunt for someone not listed here, have no fear! you can continue to request as usual and I will try to continue to write as usual even if I'm focusing primarily on my series.

This is a very ambitious plan, and though Iâve taken precautions to give myself the best chance at success, I ask for your patience and understanding. Iâm an adult with a full time job and other responsibilities, as well as other hobbies. I intend to keep writing on the forefront of my free time during this summer, because as Iâve said, I want to do it more often, but if I go a little while without updating, or update a series other than the one you're excited for, please remember that Iâm doing this for free because I want to, not because I have to. With that being said, letâs kick off our Summer of Series with the long-awaited next chapter of Spring Fling, which is 5K words in and on track to be finished within the next couple of days!

#ddejavvu's summer of series#jake 'hangman' seresin x reader#hangman x reader#bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader#rooster x reader#hiccup haddock x reader#hiccup x reader#sirius black x reader#remus lupin x reader#sirius black x reader x remus lupin#eddie munson x reader#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x reader x eddie munson#aaron hotchner x reader#dbf!aaron hotchner x reader#dbf!hotch
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deltarune chapter 4 spoilers
i'm gonna assume everyone got the tag muted now but eh here's you fair lil warning
oh also don't expect REALLY more deltarune fanart idk if i'll do any at all i just got inspired for this one grrgbrbrbr
BRO THOSE TWO CHAPTERS WERE FUCKING INSANE?????
LIKE HELOO?????/pos
idk about y'all but the chapter 4 ending was so fucking sad i cried deadass lol. Nobody can ever make me hate you Kris . nobody can ever convince me to do so .
i feel so bad for them, all the hints of lore dropped in those two new chapters destroyed me but OUGHHH THATS SOME GOOD WRITING TOBY COOKED FR
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Because I've been thinking and writing for this fic for over 2 years now, it certainly deserves a lil drawing to complement it! I even made a background??? Lot's of firsts for me! Go give my fic (or my drawing if ur just here for that) a little love!
Between the Lines of Authority (85912 words) by GabeTheUnknown Chapters: 19/? Fandom: WiedĹşmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Shani, Jaskier | Dandelion/Radowid V Srogi | Radovid V the Stern, Jaskier | Dandelion & Priscilla, Essi Daven & Jaskier | Dandelion Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Shani (The Witcher), Rience (The Witcher), Essi Daven, Sabrina Glevissig, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Triss Merigold, Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel (The Witcher), Priscilla (The Witcher), Radowid V Srogi | Radovid V the Stern Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Oxenfurt Academy (The Witcher), Age Difference, Professor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, College Student Jaskier | Dandelion, No beta we die like Henry Cavill's career, Teacher-Student Relationship, First Kiss, Angst, like inevitably there is going to be angst, First Time, Anal Sex Summary: Jaskier recently started living on campus at Oxenfurt University. Studying liberal arts is his first step in becoming an artist. He struggles, not with his work, grade-wise, but concentrating has never proved harder when he sees his history professor for the first time. Geralt soon finds out that this might be, in the few years he's been teaching at Oxenfurt, the smartest student he's ever taught. He's as annoyed as he is impressed. Their bond grows when they set up a plan together to improve the academy's assessments. Neither of them expect their lives to become so complicated in the span of only a few months.
[With the specific scene under the read more]
âMorning, Mr. Rivia,â Jaskier said in a joyful tone when he entered his lecture hall on Thursday. He was the first to arrive for class, which made Geralt arch a brow. That rarely ever happened.
He watched for a moment as Jaskier walked up to him and placed a paper cup with Geraltâs name on it on his lectern. It smelled of coffee, and vaguely of hazelnut. As amused as he was the first time when Jaskier brought him coffee, he smiled and gave him a nod in appreciation.
âAre you?â Jaskier asked, placing an elbow on Geraltâs lectern and his chin on his palm.
Struck by confusion, more than anything else, Geralt frowned, âsorry?â
âAvailable on Sunday?â Jaskier repeated what he asked over text.
Geralt kept his gaze on him for a moment. It wasnât a complicated question, per se, it was just a slightly complicated situationâwhich was an understatementâand since Geralt had already replied to it with silence two times, he found himself unable to find the words in that moment.
He was available on Sunday, he just hadnât decided if he wanted to spend it with his student, or on his own, on his couch, with a nice whisky. Besides, the last time Jaskier came over, they didnât get much work done.
Geralt eyed the entrance of his hall before flicking his eyes back to Jaskier, who was way too close to him for his comfort.
âPick a seat. Class is starting,â Geralt said low, lifting his chin in a nod.
Jaskier moved away, just before more students started trickling in. There was a tiny smile on his face before he turned to pick a seat.
Geralt swallowed, letting out a short sigh, before he greeted his students and mentally prepared for his lecture.
#geraskier#geralt x jaskier#jaskier#geralt#the witcher#geraskier fanfiction#geraskier fic rec#student/teacher#mind the tags i suppose :3#gabe's art#gabe writes#BTLOA masterpost
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The Florist
Florist! Bob Reynolds x Reader
One day, after a particularly long shift at work, you stumbled across a small flower shop to pick up a bouquet to set on your kitchen table. You had been wanting to do this for awhile now and since you had such a rough day at work, this would be the perfect time to do so.
Upon entering the shop, you were greeted with what seemed like thousands of beautiful flower arrangements. From peonies to roses and daisies to babyâs breath, you were in awe at the beauty that was in front of you. âHow can I help you?â Came a voice from behind the counter, that belonged to a man with gorgeous brown hair and soft eyes that made you instantly melt. âUhâŚhi!â You stammered, taken aback by the handsome man standing before you. âI just stopped by to pick up a small bouquet for my kitchen table. I was having a rough day today so I needed a little pick me up.â You said, adjusting your bag that had started to slip off your shoulder. âWell, missâŚâ âY/N! The nameâs Y/N!â You blurted out, almost too quickly. You were shaking your head internally as you did so. The man chuckled and extended his hand in greeting. âThe nameâs Bob. And this here is my little flower shop. Pleasure to meet you, y/n.â Bob said, with a warm smile before turning around to pull some flowers from throughout the small shop.
Bob plucked up some daisies, babyâs breath, some peonies, and other little sprigs of smaller flowers to accent the bouquet that he started on. You didnât even tell him what types of flowers you wanted, but the bouquet that he was making matched your expectations perfectly. It was as if he was a mind reader and he knew the inner workings of your heart before he ever met you. Maybe this was a chance meeting after all you thought quietly to yourself.
Bob then began wrapping up the bouquet in a piece of butcher paper adorned with his shopâs logo, a piece of beautiful ribbon, and a wooden tag that displayed his shopâs information on it. âTa-da! All done.â Bob beamed, as he presented you with the bouquet. It was exactly as you envisioned it to be and he did it all in the matter of seconds.
âThank you, but surely this costs way out of my budget. I apologize.â You say sheepishly, as you try to press the bouquet back into his hands. âNo, no. Itâs a gift. From me to you. You said you were having a bad day so I wanted to turn your day around by giving you a gift.â Bob said, his face beaming and as bright as a ray of sunshine on a hot summer day.
âI donât know what to sayâŚbut thank you. This has turned my entire day around and I am so grateful.â Your eyes were filling up with tears at the gesture. âPlease donât cry. Youâll make me cry.â Bob laughed softly as he made his way back behind the counter. He stopped to write something down on a small notepad before peeling off the top layer and handing it over to you.
âHereâs my number if you need any care instructions or any advice on taking care of your new flowers.â You took the piece of paper and placed it into your bag with care. You were definitely going to be reaching out to him if you needed anything. âThank you, thatâs very kind of you.â You clutched the bouquet in your arms and began to head over to the front door of the shop, all ready to go.
âThank you for your kindness, Bob. Iâll be back to say hi again soon.â Bob smiled a little too eagerly at your comment before waving goodbye to you as you exited the shop. Little did he know that later that evening you would ask him a question that would change his life forever.
Text Messages
???: âHey this is, y/n. I was the one who was at your shop earlier today.â
Bob: âHi, y/n. How are the flowers doing?â
Y/N: âTheyâre doing well! All thanks to your advice of course. đ â
Bob: âThatâs great to hear!â
a few moments pass
Y/N: âHow would you like to go and check out the local small bookstore together tomorrow? I hear they have some pretty cool books and other items as well. They even have a coffee shop if you like coffee.â
Bob: âI would love that, y/n. How about I meet you at my shop after I close at 5 and then we can walk over to the bookstore after that?â
Y/N: âThat sounds wonderful. Iâll see you at 5! Goodnight, Bob.â
Bob: âSee you at 5, y/n. Goodnight.â
That night Bobâs heart was racing a mile a minute and he couldnât wait to see you again tomorrow evening. This was going to be the start of something special. He just knew it.
#lilmarshie#marvel imagine#marvel x reader#thunderbolts imagine#marvel thunderbolts#thunderbolts x reader#bob reynolds fanfic#bob reynolds x you#bob reynolds x y/n#bob reynolds x reader#thunderbolts bob#bob x reader#bob thunderbolts#bob reynolds#marvel one shot#marvel fanfiction#marvel fic#marvel fanfic
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like, he didnât even stop 9/11âŚ
#SORRY FOR MARVEL POSTING IN 2025. AS IF ITS MY FAULT#i will just never get over the most egregious case of bad writing iâve ever seen iâm sorry. expecting golden eggs from rats or however the#phrase goes#i jsut wonder sometimes if weâll ever maybe get a comic book movie written by people who like comic books somewhat#maybe thatâs too much to ask for idk#fuck it#sambucky#captain america#sam wilson#bucky barnes#catws#the avengers#falcon#winter soldier#and youâre not even gonna TRY to retcon it? you have a timeline altering show RIGHT THERE#YOU HAVE THE COW TOOLS IN FRONT OF YOU#let me in the writers room. let me in. itâll be a bloodbath#art tag#fan art#digital art#comic#comics#fan comic
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You haven't posted in a few days. You good?đ¤
you haven't been around long enough to witness my dry spells of not posting/forgetting to post, have you
i don't make art quickly! got bugs in my brain that make finishing anything feel sisyphean
i'm always around on my main blog @newtbog, but it's really just reblogs and the occasional original post about whatever
#even when i do get some art done i wind up putting off posting because of the arduous task that is writing a few words and adding tags#99% of my recent art is just sketches/doodles and i get in my head about posting unfinished stuff#i shooould do it more though#and also i should post about my ocs more#love my ocs and they're all i've been drawing but i never remember to share anything about them on here at all ever#and then post wow i love my oc and expect people to nod along#anywayy#ask#not art
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local full time technician gets alot more than she bargained for, more at 8
some stuff for dragons in my flight rising lore! sirko runs a circus on the outskirts of hyrule, and pipimi unfortunately gets wrapped up in the places hijinks after being hired by them to be a full time technician.
more details under the cut!
like stated previously, sirko is the ringleader of a circus called "the sensational sunset circus", popular for its sunset aesthetic and plethora of attractions. pipimi was attracted to this job offer because she was looking for an excuse to get away and leave her old life behind. so, she applied, and the moment she arrived, she was adorned with compliments and attention. to her suprise, she was the only new hire theyve had in years. and the longer she stays, shes grows quite certain she knows exactly why.
(and yes, the tadc parallels are apparent .. oops đ my brain loves to unconsciously attach my hyperfixations to eachother)
all of the members of this circus are very different and have quite striking personalities. the current list of the living (excluding sirko and pipimi) is as follows :
mowbray - (he/him ; sibling and right hand man to sirko) a fairly lax individual most of the time. one of the few of them with a braincell. can usually tolerate most things but can very easily snap if you bother him enough. friends with pipimi solely because they both are somewhat smart enough to not go insane immediately.
holiday - (she/her ; makeup artist and costume designer) fairly laid back and super duper chill, and easily one of the sweeter members of the circus. she doesnt hesitate to bring others up in mood and try to help where she can.
she has a .. "special connection" with pipimi, letting her call her 'holly', and visiting her often. she says its just because of how often her clothes tear, but most of the other members speculate other .. interesting reasons.
jaxton - (he/him ; That asshole) probably the one guy who most likely wouldnt lay down his life for pipimi. he constantly bullies her, teasing her at every chance he gets.
when he isnt messing with her though, hes trying out new tricks to impress the locals and maybe scam some out of their money. hes tried countless times to help his fellow coworker iskam try and become better at her scam artistry, but iskam certainly isnt smart enough for his precious arts. what a shame.
iskam - (she/he/they ; "future seer" vendor) a particularly clueless individual, he enjoys trying his hardest to predict others futures, genuinely believing hes right when in reality, she just makes things up. the money is just a bonus to her endeavors. couldn't count to 100 if you asked.
on the plus side, they like the company of pipimi, mostly because she tries really hard not to hurt others feelings. pipimi knows iskam is wrong, but wont say it.
pakwan - (she/they ; resident dumpster fish) somehow more clueless than iskam, but still just as cheerful. she enjoys a melon snack more than anything in the world. well, not really. she enjoys pipimi's company more than anything else, and often accidentally splashes her with water with excitement when pip comes by.
she loves doing tricks, especially for pipimi. pipimi loves to listen to pakwan ramble about her day. in a sort of mutual peace of mind, kinda way.
mang - (he/it ; horrible little rat bastard thief) being small and cunning has its advantages, and mang uses them well. known to be the local thief of the circus, it takes every opportunity he can to sneak about and steal anything he can fit into his pockets. if you can get on his good side however, youll never lose another key again. because of this, it quite likes pipimi.
halimaw - (he/they ; the beast of the basement) dangerous and cunning. halimaw is sly with his words but bumbly and outrageous at the same time. large and un-anxious, he wont hesitate to bite your head off if you refuse to listen to him. gets what he wants, and when he doesnt, he takes by force. these are primarily reasons why he was locked down there. better safe than sorry.
saya - (she/her ; sister to holiday and ex-partner to halimaw) very reserved and almost acts as a mediator. she values her dance skills VERY seriously and considers dance the ultimate art, much to her sisters dismay. they dont fight about it however, and they are quite close.
anyway, thats it for now!
ill probably be talking about these 10 sometime in the future but for now have this !! i love thinking about them and they mean alot to me <3 circus freaks
#i am the most normalest person to ever be normal#this took awhile to work on/write so rbs are heavily appreciated#anyway i love them<3 expect more#flight rising#flight rising fanart#frfanart#original character#my ass a sucker for circus#fr fae#fr skydancer#fr obelisk#fr coatl#fr spiral#fr undertide#fr aberration#fr bogsneak#fr auraboa#many of them!#personal tags here ->#mythos au#sunset circus#ok thats it#more holiday centric stuff soon#maybe#dont quote me on that
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OH MY DESTINY, HOW FAR YOU HAVE SPRUNG NOW ; SATORU GOJO
synopsis; satoru gojo goes north.
word count; 5.3k
contents; satoru gojo, canon divergence, HEAVY jjk spoilers (for chapter 236!! but also kinda 237), fix-it fic, me coping w/ the manga for 5k words straight, canon-typical violence and death, implied stsg, probably non-canon compliant use of binding vows (but do i care? no), gojo satoru lives.
a/n; yeaaa this is literally just me coping <3 needed to write this for my mental health. heâs fine guys trust me

the experience is not altogether unfamiliar, on its own.
heâs felt it before. even now, he can still vividly recall it; a girl he failed to protect, a boy he failed to save. a man with a scar on his bottom lip.
that sickening numbness, as he lied in a pool of his own blood. sticking to his hair and tattered clothes, the colour red flooding his subconscious. that cold, cold sensation â a jarring shift, chilling and ruthless, going from everything to nothing. tiptoeing the line between life and death.Â
emptiness. sinking deeper into the abyss, that all-enveloping darkness. that awful feeling of pure helplessness.
(he could never forget it.)
back then, though, gojo is certain he didnât feel this way. all he could think about twelve years ago was survival â clinging to the weak flutter of his heart, a dying butterfly. clawing his way up to the skies. anything to escape that harrowing sensation, a kind of desperation all humans feel in the face of certain death, spurring him on. but now â
he almost welcomes it. nearly content in its approach. it should frighten him, but it doesnât.
through half-lidded eyes, vision blurred by sweat and blood and dust, gojo watches the sky.
it's beautiful, he thinks. as beautiful as ever. peaceful, unchanging, soothing in an eerie kind of way. that clear blue, fading a little at the corners as his muddled mind grows just a little darker, a little more fatigued. he can barely gather the strength to keep his eyelids open.Â
yet he keeps his gaze on that endless sky, as if itâs all heâs ever known.
with every passing second, the world grows just a little more blurry. pale dots spread around the corners of his vision, like grains of stardust in an ever-expanding cosmos, clouding his senses. thereâs a buzzing in his head that wonât go away. everything looks as if it's spinning, and he can barely tell left from right, north from south. everything is growing darker, so fast that itâs alarming, and gojo canât seem to even think clearly.
but he can still see that blue, blue sky. bluer than he ever remembers it being. even as snow begins to fall, descending upon shinjuku as if bidding him farewell. the sky takes on a gray hue, but that shade of blue is still all gojo can see, as he takes shallow breaths and half-heartedly attempts to remain conscious. willing himself not to give in just yet, choking on his own blood.Â
and it's an odd feeling, really. one he never thought he'd meet again, but here it is, it's back â and it's all-consuming. beckoning him into a place heâs never been before. the unknown.Â
it's not scary. gojo doesnât think he has it in him to feel fear, anymore. but it's a strange sensation, as death kisses its way up his neck, sending shivers down his spine; as the numbness spreads, devouring him whole.
itâs unknown. thoroughly and wholly. and that unknown is overwhelming, all-encompassing, itâs all he can see before him, it's â
ah.
gojo takes a deep breath. the air burns his lungs.
everything's ending, isn't it?
it would be so easy. to simply close his eyes, let them flutter shut as that all-encompassing sensation takes him down to earth. to allow himself to simply rest, for a moment. wouldnât that be nice?
it would be so easy.
gojo watches the sky. it's all he can do.Â
the numbness keeps spreading throughout every cell of his body. he can barely feel the blood trickling down his chin, or the harsh bite of the winter cold, his skin buzzing with ache. he can't feel his arms or his legs, and he knows exactly why. everything in the world is closing in on him and god, he just feels so fucking tired.
ah. ah. more darkness. more numbness.
everything and nothing, all at once. slipping away into oblivion. the snow keeps falling but he can't see anything, can't hear anything, can't feel anything, anything at all.
nothing. nothing. less than nothing.
â and then, suddenly, an airport.
"yo."
gojo blinks.
a boy. a boy with black hair, tied into a small bun. a dead boy. his best friend.
suguru stands before him, and he looks exactly the same as gojo remembers. young, bright, with those awkward bangs still hanging over his face. grinning boyishly, and greeting him with youthful cheer.Â
gojo feels young, too, he realizes â the weight on his shoulders a little less heavy, the familiar black of his sunglasses obscuring his vision. but he can still see the flicker of suguruâs cursed energy clear as day. as if it never left him.
feigning a mild displeasure, gojo makes a face. he hears himself speak, but his mind and six eyes continue to spin in circles, trying to comprehend the sight in front of him. trying to make it understandable, figure out whatâs going on.Â
but he doesnât succeed. because itâs impossible to understand. and, really, thatâs answer enough.Â
huh.
so this is what the afterlife is like?
he inhales through his nose, basking in the clear air, and it doesnât burn his lungs. his chest feels lighter than itâs been in years.
that seems a little too good to be true.Â
"youâre kidding me. this sucks.â
suguru makes a kind of face like heâs pouting, plopping down in the seat right next to gojoâs. the white haired boy stretches his limbs out and huffs, pretending the sight in front of him doesn't send a tremor running through his very soul.
suguru continues to speak and gojo continues to listen, all while observing the scenery in front of him.
the airport looks familiar. through the glass windows he can see a glimmer of the blue sky, and a plane waiting to take flight into the clouds. the air smells of summer and jet fuel and new beginnings. itâs pleasantly cool, a light breeze caressing his skin and coaxing a hum from the confines of his throat.Â
(he remembers this airport. remembers having his arms full of vending machine snacks, trailing after suguru as he dealt with all the annoying technicalities. amanai was there, too, watching a plane soar up into the sky with childlike wonder. a little anxious, as she boarded the plane to okinawa, and then back to tokyo.
her first and last flight.)
suguru is there, right next to him, and heâs speaking. breathing. like something out of a dream, the kind that always haunts gojo in his sleep.
he breathes in, and then out.Â
suguru is there. and not just him â nanami and haibara are, too. all young, all dead. all somehow breathing; he sees them inhale and he sees them exhale. he hears them speak and itâs like nothing ever changed.Â
they speak of regrets, of south and of north. nanami doesnât seem to regret a single thing, and gojo is glad. even yaga is there, he notices belatedly. even amanai, and her maid, and a certain man with a scar on his bottom lip. everyone all together again.
the airport buzzes with warmth. nostalgia, as suguruâs laughter rings in his ears. and gojo grins, in tandem, bright and childlike. wallowing in the tender atmosphere.Â
the sight in front of his eyes is perfect, he thinks. absolutely perfect. a glimmer of spring, one he never quite managed to forget. a vibrant flicker of blue, one he thought heâd lost forever.
his one and only blue spring of youth, right in front of his all-seeing eyes.
a little too good to be true.
with a sigh, gojo stretches idly, smiling a little to himself. his joints donât ache, his head isnât buzzing with fatigue, and his heart feels lighter than it's been in recent memory.Â
ânow iâm hoping this isnât a dream,â he hears himself mutter, allowing his eyes to flutter shut at last. he can still see suguruâs cursed energy, and everyone elseâs. he isnât alone. what a nice thought.Â
and itâs strange, gojo thinks. it really is. heâs dead. sukuna killed him. heâs dead, his remains are lying somewhere in the streets of shinjuku, and that should bother him. he should be punching the floor and screaming, cursing sukunaâs name with every fiber of his being â it should frighten him, the realization that everything has ended.
but it doesnât.Â
gojo isnât afraid. and he isnât upset, either. he bears no grudge against anyone, just like that day twelve years ago.
heâs with suguru, now, and his juniors. his old teacher. the people he cares for are with him, and the airport smells so nice. everyone is young, and happy, and none of them will ever have to kill or be killed again.Â
calling it anything less than heaven would be doing it a disservice.Â
gojo smiles, exhaling a relieved breath. one he hadnât realized heâd been holding til now, stuck in the back of his throat for the past decade. a tiny thought makes it to the forefront of his brain, like a spring breeze flitting in through an open window.
like this, he thinks, i could die with no regrets.
ââ except thatâs not true.â a voice proclaims. âis it?â
gojo opens his eyes.
suguru looks at him. everything goes silent. everyone else has already gone blurry, a little faded, as if they arenât whatâs really important. as if the entire world has narrowed down to just this; him, and suguru, in the corner of an airport too precious for words. that one decisive slice of heaven.Â
suguru opens his mouth, and speaks, and his voice has a finality to it that fills gojo with a mellow kind of dread.Â
they look into each otherâs eyes, and both know whatâs coming.
âthe students are outclassed.â suguru rests his chin on the heel of his palm. âyou said it yourself â sukuna wasnât giving it his all when he fought you. he still has more than a couple cards up his sleeve, doesnât he? like his incarnation.â
gojo listens to suguru speak, not saying a word.
âtheyâre no match for him,â he continues, unperturbed. âall of them are going to die. every single one.â
suguru leans back in his chair, still looking straight into gojoâs eyes. seeing through him, gaze filled with a certain sharpness. a little cruel, but thereâs a kindness there, too. as if heâs simply ripping the band-aid off, trying to make it as painless as possible.Â
he clicks his tongue.
âand you still havenât buried my body, either.â
a moment passes. then two.
gojo smiles to himself, rueful. a little saddened.Â
â.. damn,â he grins, weakly. leaning back in his chair, slumping against the soft leather. âcouldnât you have kept indulging me for just a bit longer?â
suguru smiles. a soft thing, in the flicker of the light. a little too good to be true. âsorry,â he chimes. âbut the plane is leaving soon.â
as if on cue, the pa system sounds.
flight to okinawa; departing in nineteen minutes.
âit hasnât left, yet,â suguru hums, and it sounds like an inevitability. ringing in gojoâs ears. âyou know what that means, donât you?â
he does. he does, but it still hurts. gojo looks into suguruâs eyes, and sees himself reflected in them â young, transparent. blue. fading, but not quite faded. not quite dead.
and maybe itâs to be expected. maybe he was just trying to delude himself into believing the alternative, into believing that an afterlife as sweet as this could really be waiting for him. maybe it was naive, a childish fantasy.Â
but still â
âhaah.â a heavy exhale, fatigued. gojo slumps even further into his seat, squeezing his eyes shut. running a hand through the soft strands of his hair. âoh, gimme a break. and here i thought i could finally relax for once.â
a chuckle flows from suguruâs lips, amused. âyou arenât the type to go down like that,â he murmurs. âcâmon, satoru. there are still things you need to do.â
âhow?â gojo scoffs. âiâm split in half. and iâm too exhausted to use my reverse cursed technique.â
âeh,â suguru shrugs. âyouâll manage.â
gojo shoots him a dubious look. âyouâre acting like itâs a papercut,â he huffs, crossing his arms. âmy guts are on the fuckinâ pavement.â
âoh, quit your complaining already," suguru rolls his eyes, and shoots him an accusatory glance. "i died with a hole through my chest. at least your heart is still intact.â
âi wanted to make it painless for you!â
âwell, it hurt like a bitch. so thanks for that.â
gojo pouts, fighting back a smile. he thinks suguru must be doing the same. and itâs juvenile, a little twisted â but then again, werenât they always?
suguru cocks his head. beckoning gojo into taking action. âyouâve still got some fight left in you,â he says, and thereâs a fondness to it. âyou always do.â
âget up, satoru.â
silence. unbroken, unperturbed. if he focuses enough, he thinks he can hear the distant buzzing of cicadas, the crinkling of soda cans. the whistling of the wind. placebos; memories ghosting his subconscious.Â
itâs quiet, for a while. gojo stares into space, blinking slowly. then he parts his lips.
âsuguru.â
the boy in question turns towards him. but gojo looks up, instead â eyes set on the roof, like heâs trying to see beyond it. into the comfort of the blue sky.Â
suguru hums, a cue for him to follow. and gojo closes his eyes.
âi think⌠i might be tired.â
silence. no one says a thing.
âi think iâd prefer to stay here,â he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. tapping his fingers on his knee. âin the past, like this.â
the scent of jet fuel and summer lies heavy in the air. gojo inhales it, greedy. as if savouring it. trying to make it a part of his being, filling his lungs with sweet nostalgia so it never goes away.
âwe could just stay here. together,â he muses, barely above a whisper. thereâs a kind of longing to the tilt of his voice, something soft. âcouldnât we? never moving forward, or back.â
the words taste salty, on his tongue. an ocean breeze. a whisper; âwe could just stay like this.â
suguruâs gaze trails from satoru, down to his lap. his bangs follow the slow movement, silky strands falling over his eye. the chuckle that drifts from his lips doesnât have much humour to it.Â
âhaha⌠youâve never been the type to stay in one place for too long, satoru.â
gojo clenches his fist.
a moment passes.
âyou want me to go back,â he hears himself say, somewhat bitter. âyou want me to go back, and then what? thereâs nothing i can do. iâm not the strongest, anymore.â
âyou are.â suguruâs voice is firm, decisive. âyou can still win. you know exactly what you need to do. thereâs only one way to get out of this.â
gojo sighs. one hand in his hair, tousling it. mildly frustrated. â⌠itâs risky.â
âyouâre bleeding out.â
âif i do this â i wonât ever be the same.â gojo turns to look at suguru. âi sure as hell wonât be the strongest, anymore.â
âand would that be such a bad thing?â
silence. the two boys look at each other â one dead, one half-alive, both connected to the other. for eternity. suguruâs eyes are full of understanding, as they look into the blue of satoruâs.Â
âthereâs always been a gap between you and everyone else. thatâs what you said, before. arenât you tired of it?â
a brief intake of breath. gojo closes his eyes.
thatâs right. that aching gap. the solitude that comes with absolute strength â a weight heâs borne all his life. doomed never to connect with others, never to be understood. doomed to always live in the sky, far away from the earth and the ocean.
the title of the strongest. a cross he alone had to bear.
(did he ever really want it? or was he just resigned to it, conditioned from the very beginning?)
the feeling of isolation thatâs been haunting him for decades seeps into his skin. the cruel knowledge that no one will ever truly know him; even worse, the knowledge that itâs all for the best. you can admire a flower, and help it bloom, but you canât ask it to understand you.
such a cruel curse to be born with.
suguruâs voice fills his mind, his senses. the flicker of his cursed energy is gentle, like an ocean wave rolling in right before the sun sets. âyou said it yourself, satoru.â gojo can hear the smile in his voice. âyou love everyone.â
love. it always comes down to that, doesn't it? the greatest curse of them all.
(but he could never bring himself to fully throw it away.)
âthere are still people waiting for you, out there,â suguru reminds him. and gojo knows that heâs right.
he still hasnât buried suguruâs body. that thing is still inside his head, doing god knows what. and his students â they must be fighting sukuna, right now. if heâs lucky, no oneâs dead yet. if heâs lucky. then thereâs shoko, of course. and ijichi, everyone else from the school.
not just that â the world itself is waiting on him. waiting for him to pass on, so it can crumble away. waiting for him to make it, so he can stitch it back together.Â
dying isnât a luxury satoru gojo can afford. he knows that, he does, but â
(dammit.)
âsuguru,â he starts, hesitant. voice more feeble than he ever remembers it sounding. almost childlike, in its uncertainty. âwhat⌠should i do, from here on out?â a beat. âwhere should i go?â
suguru raises a single eyebrow, and then tilts his head. âdo you really need me to tell you that?â he asks, a little teasing. gojoâs reply is instantaneous.
âi do.â
the airport falls silent, again.Â
âiâll listen to you,â he elaborates, tapping the edge of his chair, absentminded. eyes shining with a glimmer of something awfully tender. âso⌠it has to be you.â
suguru inhales, softly â fresh air wafting through his transparent lungs. breathing out in a meek chuckle, with a soft shake of his head. almost in disbelief. âwell, in that caseâŚâ
a smile. he meets gojoâs gaze. âthen i think you should go north.â
gojo looks into his eyes. a moment passes, slow, detached from space and time. a moment that matters more than anything. their eyes meet, and in suguruâs eyes, gojo sees a reflection of their youth.
what a shame.
âalrighty, then.â
placing his palms on his knees, the white haired man gets up from his seat. stretching his arms with a soft groan. a sigh flows from his lips, drifting out into the clear air.Â
âso much for finally getting a vacation,â he huffs, frowning as he casts a jealous glance at his best friend. âyou dead people have it easy, you know that?â
suguruâs still smiling, but heâs not getting up from his seat. the pa system sounds, again. a little louder this time.
flight to okinawa; departing in six minutes.
a deep breath. air flows into his lungs, and then back out; soaking up the summer air he knows heâll never quite get a taste of again. no summer will ever feel as warm as this one did.
suguru stays right where he is. young, dead. smiling. the same smile he wore when gojo killed him, framed by the setting sun. the same kind of sunset thatâs beginning to form outside the translucent windows of the airport, nostalgic and sweet, dyeing the clouds in a soft pinkish hue.
itâs breathtaking.Â
âwill i see you?â gojo asks, before he can stop himself. eyes still stuck to the setting sun. âwhen everything ends.â
âŚ
suguru chuckles, once more. rueful. gojo thinks it sounds just a bit meek, a little like heâs holding back tears. âmaybe,â he breathes, shrugging halfheartedly. not meeting his eyes. âwho knows?â
itâs not the answer gojo wants to hear. but heâll take what he can get.
and finally, suguru gets up. slowly, methodically. elegant, in the way he moves, the way he brushes non-existent dust off his baggy pants. smiling, hair swaying softly with the breeze. gojo finds his gaze, and that smile shifts into a lazy grin. one so distinctly suguru that it canât possibly be just a figment of his imagination.Â
âdonât find out too soon,â he quips, teasingly. âalright?â
a slap. gojo doesnât see it coming, and it knocks him forward â he stumbles slightly, lanky legs moving clumsily, sunglasses falling off at the impact. his back stings, a little.Â
over his shoulder, he looks back at suguru. the boy has a hand raised, and his grin is playful, brimming with warmth. except heâs no longer a boy â now heâs wearing traditional robes, hair much longer, face a little more hardened. but that grin is still the same as ever. gojo thinks he looks almost proud.
âgo get âem, satoru.â
gojo blinks.
the grin that breaks out across his lips, then, is wide. bright, brimming with youth, lighting up every corner of his face. almost overwhelmingly sweet. it envelops his very being, as he stands there, clad in his black compression shirt and baggy pants. hair a little less messy than it was in high school, face a little more hardened â but he hopes his grin, at least, looks the same as ever.
he turns his back on suguru, and puffs out his chest. trying to hide the sappy smile still lingering on his lips, the glassiness of his eyes. his voice comes out loud, cheery, echoing throughout the airport â but still somehow so tender.
âroger that!â
gojo looks ahead. the airport is blurred, a little hazy, but a bright light shines farther up ahead. a beacon for him to follow, one that blinds him if he looks at it for too long. blue, white, golden â the colours of the sky. beckoning him forward, to a familiar place.
he takes one step north.
âah, satoru. one more thing.â
the sound of suguruâs voice stops him in his tracks. âhm?â gojo turns on his heel, white hair tousled by the soft breeze. a little confused. âwhat is it now?â
suguru grins. the whole airport smells like spring.Â
ââ, â â.â
âŚ
one long, tender moment passes by. gojo doesnât even breathe, mouth falling open slightly, in a way that must look comical to the man in front of him.
the airport glimmers like a marble in the sun. transparent, blurred, but still somehow so real. suguruâs words echo in his mind.Â
then gojo laughs, the sound bubbling up from his throat like seafoam on a scorching summer day. hearty and deep, coaxed out from the very bottom of his gut â genuine. a little breathless. he canât wipe away the grin on his face, wouldnât do it even if he could. his blue eyes crinkle, as he looks at suguru, showing off his dimples and teeth.
âso corny,â he teases. suguru rolls his eyes.
âhey, donât blame me. this is your imagination.â
a huff slips from his lips. âyeah, yeahâŚâ gojo waves him off. then he meets his eyes, again, still grinning boyishly. âiâll hold you to that, okay?â
âgot it,â suguru chirps. âgood luck out there, satoru.â
âpssh. who do you think youâre talking to?â
the men exchange smiles, one final time. funny, how thatâs always how their story ends; with a heartfelt smile. even if itâs coated in blood, or nothing more than a figment of their imagination.
then gojo turns around, again, and takes a step forward. not looking back this time. trusting suguru to still be there, watching over him. like always.
the bright light at the end of the airport glimmers, tantalizing, mesmerizing. suguru is right â thereâs only one way to get out of this. only one way to make it back alive.
and itâs risky. very much so. itâs a gamble, the greatest one gojoâs ever made, even worse than that time twelve years ago with the reverse cursed technique.Â
itâs a gamble, all or nothing.
binding vows are dangerous, fickle things. built on equivalent exchange. give something and get something, of equal value. sacrifice and gain.Â
gojoâs thought about it, before. a morbid curiosity.
what could he possibly gain by offering the greatest treasure of the jujutsu world?Â
he lifts one hand up, to caress his face. lingering over the skin of his eyelids, now closed. but he can still see the cursed energy around him. burned into his retinas.Â
the six eyes. the blessing of sight.
a blessing. a blessing he never once asked for, one he was simply born with. born with all this power, doomed to live above the rest. all for a pair of eyes that never seem to see the things that really matter.
and, really, itâs a gamble.
gojo takes a deep breath, and then one large step forward.
(buddha left the royal life behind him at 29 years of age, he recalls. and then he sought out enlightenment.)
the light comes closer, and closer. lotus flowers bless his path. he takes seven steps forward, and his path blooms out before him; one flower blooming by his feet for every step he takes. seven steps north.
iâll give you everything, he speaks to the someone watching the world. a god, a natural order, himself â it doesnât really matter. iâll give you all six.Â
in exchange âÂ
the light is close, now. so close he can almost touch it. it burns his skin, but he doesnât falter. he doesnât look away, eyes seeing through the blindness and reaching out for something. something alive.
donât let me die, he bargains. give me enough of it to kill him.
i still have things i need to do.
one more step, out of the airport â
(and satoru gojo makes a sacrifice.)
a binding vow is made.

the six eyes dissipate, like vapour drifting off into the darkness of a never-ending cosmos.

when gojo opens his eyes, heâs met with a cold, gray sky.Â
the world shifts on its axis before him.
everything looks different. he canât see, but he can, itâs just not the same as before. itâs naked, and raw, and surface-level. not enough to sink his teeth into.
he can still see cursed energy, feel the flicker of it all around him, but itâs hazy. itâs not clear enough, not enough for him to get a good grasp on â like the world lost its saturation. like everything got tilted slightly to the left. an eerie feeling that something isnât as it should be.
and wow, okay. this is new.
but gojo parts his lips, weakly, and breathes in â and the air tastes the same as ever. cold, crispy. it fills his lungs and he exhales it through his nose. a human act. a breath of life.
iâm still alive.
itâs an odd feeling, like someone took a heavy weight off his shoulders. like someone stripped him of everything that makes him him. an strange sensation, heavy, entirely impossible to ignore. however â
the gain after the loss hits him almost immediately, embracing him with a burst of cursed energy so violently overwhelming that his sight becomes entirely irrelevant. it devours his very being.
everything becomes a blur.Â
â iâll give you everything.Â
so, in exchangeâŚ
give me enough cursed energy to go on a good rampage.
the cursed energy within him spikes, so sudden and violent that gojo fears his skin might break open. buzzing like flies inside his veins, a vibrant burst of life, every colour in the universe. all the power one can expect from willingly casting away the greatest jewel of the jujutsu world.
gojo moves his fingers. he can feel them, finally â all limbs intact. positive cursed energy flows from his brain, no longer exhausted beyond comprehension. enough, more than enough to give him access to every possibility within his soul.
belatedly, he realizes that his sight isnât the only thing thatâs been weakened. the control heâs grown so used to having over his cursed energy is dwindling, and fast; that firm grip seems to have left with the six eyes, replaced by a set of shaky hands. gojo has experience, and for now, itâs enough. but he still has to concentrate to contain the nearly overwhelming flicker of his cursed energy, stinging his skin as if it canât fully be contained by his body anymore. prickling his veins. it feels a little like trying to keep water from running through the gaps between your fingers.Â
and he feels naked, in a way, suddenly living without something that defines his very being. a little hollowed out. a little wrong, like someone reached a hand through his ribs and pulled out his heart.Â
but damn, does it feel good.
his cursed energy output is all-encompassing. his mind feels more clear than he ever remembers it being, and itâs like the world is at his fingertips. something similar to what he felt twelve years ago, but still so different.Â
it isnât ascension, not even close. quite the opposite. but that feeling of freedom is still so abundant. itâs all he can see before him; endless possibilities.Â
twelve years ago, satoru gojo faced a certain man, and rose to the skies. he will never, ever forget it. that flicker of eternal solitude, the burst of overwhelming euphoria. that sense of everything being just right.
twelve years of living in the sky, and now his feet meet the ground, at last.
everything feels different. everything looks different. things wonât be the same, ever again â but maybe, suguru was right. maybe thatâs not such an awful thing.
to be reborn. to be given a choice.
gojo opens his eyes, and finally takes in all the sights before him. everything happens in a blur, so fast he can barely catch up â his body acts before his mind, and suddenly heâs face to face with sukuna.
not megumi, but sukuna. fully incarnated.
and he looks displeased. almost frustrated.
âhow?âÂ
the look of pure shock on his face is more satisfying than gojo could ever put into words; the satisfaction of seeing a king fall to his knees.
somewhere in the background, he thinks he hears a cacophony of voices, awfully familiar in a way that has warmth blooming in his chest. the students, he assumes â voices of shock, and something he tentatively recognizes as relief. but he doesnât have the time to let his guard down, just yet.
(no matter how much heâd like to look back at them and give them a self-assured peace sign, bask in their smiling faces.)
instead, he answers sukuna. âa binding vow,â he grins, and he thinks he must look a little manic, gesturing towards his eyes with his thumb. âgave these puppies away. didnât expect that, didâya?â
sukuna looks at him, for a second.
then he laughs, loud and ugly, grotesque. taunting. he looks at gojo with something that almost resembles pity, something bordering on disappointment.
âpathetic,â he spits, all teeth. âwhat good is living if itâs not at the top?â
gojo simply smiles.
he recalls that one question. eleven years ago, somewhere close to the ruins of the very street heâs standing in now. the question that flipped his entire world upside down.
(are you the strongest because youâre satoru gojo? or are you satoru gojo because youâre the strongest?)
a grin breaks out across his lips. his cursed energy pulsates inside his veins, eager to be let loose, and he takes on a fighting stance. parting his lips to speak, unsure of whose question heâs answering.
âwell, weâre about to find out.â
the sky is gray, grayer than ever. even so, all he can see is that familiar shade of blue. as clear as itâs always been, even without the six eyes.Â
gojo smiles.Â
just keep watching, suguru.Â
this time, i definitely wonât lose.
#if gojo comes back at the cost of his six eyes i expect a personal letter from akutami#dont lose hope gojo nation has our man ever failed us before???#im in so deep in my delusions that i dont even see them as delusional anymore im like yea he'll be fineee#its just a lil scratch!!!!#title taken from king oedipus... btw..... pls appreciate my commitment to the symbolism#cuz yknow. gouging your own eyes out as a symbol of your weakness and blindness to your destiny <333 yea. im normal abt this concept#i just think gojo is soooo protagonist of an ancient greek tragedy coded.............#gojo satoru#gojo satoru fanfic#gojo satoru angst#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jjk spoilers#jujutsu kaisen spoilers#jujutsu kaisen 236#jjk 236#satosugu#jjk 237#jujutsu kaisen 237#that should b all the tags....#im not used to writing non-x reader stuff i feel so vulnerable and lost without that tag
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> looking for an fma 03 fic > ask author if their fic is 03 or mangahood > they don't understand > pull out an illustrated diagram explaining what is 03 and what is mangahood > they laugh and say "it's both, ma'am" > read the fic > it's mangahood
#fma#fma 03#saddest pain and suffering ever has been a) seeing that the amount of fics in the 03 tag is a fraction of those in the mangahood tag and#b) most of those fics being clearly set only in mangahood but the author tagged 03 because they assumed they were similar enough i guess#chirp#i know i -said- i was going to write fic for this show super soon but i wasn't expecting this soon.#bonus pain c) almost all the remaining fics solely in 03 are for a ship that i just can't get behind in any context. whyyyyyyyyy.#this might just be because i'm sorting by hits and kudos for now but my experience with the first ten pages or so has been Odd.
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Wanting, Wrapped in Red
a sweet & spicy JayVik fanfic for Day 4 of #BottomJayceWeek
⥠Fandom: Arcane (League of Legends) ⥠Word count: 24k ⥠Status: Completed {upd8: More Coming later!} ⥠Rating: Explicit (18+) ⥠Summary: Viktor doesn't care about his birthday. It's an already arbitrary day made furtherly trivial by the fact that it wasn't really his birthdayâthe orphanage he'd been dumped at never had a proper DOB to assign to him, so it was really just the anniversary of the day his creator decided they didn't want him anymore. He wasn't one for celebrations, anyway.
His partner Jayce, on the other hand, loves any excuse for conviviality. Viktor assumes that he'll be able to escape any forced ceremony since they've been forced into long-distance over the last year, but the package he arrives home to shipped from Jayce's addressâalongside the incessant text inquiries he'd gotten all day pestering him about when he'd be homeâprove him wrong on that front.
Viktor promptly discovers that his stance on birthdays might need reevaluation.
Comprehensive Taglist & alt Link Below âŹ
⥠Tags: Modern AU, Masturbation, Lingerie, Alternate Universe - College/University, Harvard University, except the author knows jack shit about harvard so it's just sorta mentioned in passing, Long-Distance Relationship, Phone Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Sex Toys, Birthday Presents, Birthday Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Edging, Shameless Smut, Wet & Messy, Czech Viktor (League of Legends), Cuban Jayce (League of Legends), Meet-Cute, Trans Jayce (League of Legends), Cis Viktor (League of Legends), Strip Tease, Viktor is a Menace (League of Legends), But in a sexy way, Light Dom/sub, Dom Viktor (League of Legends), Sub Jayce (League of Legends), no beta not proofread we die like Benzo, jayce defies all logic and laws of reality/science as one does, references to Viktor's less than ideal childhood (orphanhood), they meet as kids but don't remember until later for no reason other than i think it's cute
Available on Ao3.
Dividers by sweetmelodygraphics
#my writing#wanting wrapped in red#jayvik#jayvik fanfic#jayce x viktor#bottom jayce week#bottomjayceweek#bottomjayceweek 25#fanfic#ao3#ao3 link#ao3 fanfic#new fic#jayce talis#viktor#viktor arcane#arcane#arcane fanfic#arcane fanfiction#fanfiction#this is probably the worst thing i've ever made/posted but i don't even fucking care anymore ITS DONE ALRIGHT#it has more plot than i expected when i made the PWP tag so. don't come for me. i'm sorry.#it's very smutty ur freakin welcome
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hey man. if youre complaining about the actors in the borderlands movie being "too old" for the roles. i wanna remind you that in the trailer alone, for a bl1 based movie, hyperion is branded yellow and white instead of red and black, tina is the same age shes supposed to be in 2, krieg has escaped hyperion when jack isnt even supposed to be ruling yet, and fuckin. mouthpiece from bl3 was there. just off the top of my head. i could find more lore inconsistencies if i tried
frankly i think the only issue with the casting is how many of them are zionists and the fact that theyre trying to make roland a comedic character played by kevin hart when hes supposed to be the straight man. like. come on. roland is the only even slightly normal one out of the first games vault hunters (i really dont care that much at the end of the day, thats just my main gripe besides the zionism)
#borderlands#daring to main tag this#i just think its stupid to complain about the ages of the actors when. theyre already fucking the lore up severely anyway#besides. jamie lee curtis seems like she plays tannis REALLY well#id gladly take actors who are too old for their roles than too young#and imma be real. ill take lilith looking like anything other than a generic video game girl im sorry#also imma be real if you ever expected a borderlands movie to be good youre delusional#the games writing has always been pretty bad#mr anthony bitch and dameon clarke were what carried so much of the story people remember#and they arent helping in this movie at all#this isnt about anyone in specific btw ive just seem multiple people complaining about it#and i think its stupid
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we shall be free; we shall find peace chapter 7! it is 7.2k and i had to add a few additional warnings for suicidal ideation so mind the warnings. Clark Does Not Like Answering Questions: The Chapter.
#if i ever try to write a 7k chapter again someone bonk me (gently) on the head with a cardboard tube. it will happen again btw#An Women gets to say more than one sentence. happy belated international women's day#also swapped the timkon tag from a pairing tag to a minor tag#bc if you click into this fic expecting timkontent. well. there's not a lot at the moment#it'll get more narrative focus Later i Prommy#but the more. hardcore timkon ppl were probably annoyed by False Advertising in the meantime >.> sory#my writing#wsbf
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a current day nils and a 90s college student nils who's way too intense about his internship walk into a bar
#hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii nils hiiii đđ¤#let me get my important tags out of the way so i can write you a novella in the rest of them#ts4#ts4 cas#ts4 edit#the sims 4#nils#i've been exploring his character đââď¸#his full name is nils pelletier he's from canada originally he went to nyc for college and stayed there forever#he didn't grow up with much but he was really good at school so he got a scholarship and he was very very determined to become rich#he interned at frankie's dad's company and was offered a full time position after he graduated yayy you made it. i guess :| (evil company)#he's always been very stern very serious very quiet he's never had many if any friends. he was a deeply unhappy child#his parents weren't even bad they're nice and supportive and tried their best#he was married and has one son but he hasn't been married for a while. i don't know if it's divorce or death or what yet#it was the first girl he ever had a relationship with and he was also her first relationship#a very dull marriage but again not a bad one. she was nice and supportive and tried her best#it seemed like it was what they were supposed to do. get married and have a child bam done you did what was expected congrats#they barely ever even argued it was just. well loveless seems a harsh word. and 'well they were friends at least' seems untruthful#anyway he often has to be frankie's handler because frankie's dad is his boss and he does what he's told always#frankie's really difficult though
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