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swordgrace · 9 months ago

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❝ 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅’𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. ❞

KINKTOBER — WEEK ONE: BATH SEX.

⤿ pairings: cregan stark x jace’s sister!reader.

⤿ word count: 4.1K.

⤿ warnings: smut (mdni), loss of virginity, bath sex, fingering (fem!rec), biting, multiple positions (cowgirl, from behind), heavy kissing, scratching, sexual ending implied, heavy breeding kink, creampie, mutual orgasm, rough(er) sex, both cregan & reader are horny

⤿ note: first kinktober request under my belt! Loved writing this one and it was a nice return to Cregan (love him with my whole being)

Even a smoldering fire wilted in the midst of the Northern chill, a biting ice that consumed all traces of warmth, swallowing it whole.

Winds from beyond The Wall whistled down from desolate lands, bringing with it its bitterness and sting, seeking to envelop all within it.

Glacial are the wreaths of snow-furled gales that blanket Winterfell in their pale harshness — it even seeps into your bones, bones forged of fire and blood.

It was difficult to take comfort in such foreign surroundings, from the dusting of ice forming on window panes to the bristling chill that rakes across your spine. The North was not Dragonstone — it was not home.

Unconventional was the singular word that plagued your mind when it came to your sudden marriage to Cregan Stark, a union made in a frenzied haste to gain allies in a brewing war.

It was as if you were merely a pawn to be moved across a board by your kin — your Mother, in particular. She was the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, yet you couldn’t help but feel hopelessly abandoned here in the North, under the supposed guise of safety.

Jacaerys had departed shortly after your wedding in the Godswood, bidding his strenuous farewell before leaving you in the company of your stoic husband.

Your brother was not thrilled with the prospect, cautioning against it, but duty demanded it of you, and you dared not defy your mother. Admittedly, it could’ve been worse, this unusual match.

Cregan Stark was not a foul man — he was rough, like the uneven surface of leather or the cracks of a cliffside, a mountain so stalwart that you wondered if he ever smiled. A sliver of you pondered if his dour visage was because of you.

Stoicism seemed interwoven into his demeanor, tempestuous hues glistening with a stern wisdom that stretched far beyond his years. Cregan was only two namedays your senior, yet he behaved as if he were a grizzled veteran.

He did not consummate the night of your wedding, much to your bewilderment. You could only muster up a series of kisses and an untied gown before nervousness tore you asunder, anxiousness gnawing away at your belly.

Cregan did not press you any further, citing that he wished to give you a berth, a space to yourself as you processed your new environment. It was a sentiment that you vastly appreciated, yet you felt so completely alone.

The autumnal canopy of the Wolfswood had become your constant companion in the weeks that had passed since your union to Cregan. At dusk, you would converse with your Northern husband, who’s exterior seemed to melt slightly with each passing day.

Duty did not always permit the two of you to spend time together — oftentimes, it kept you separated, tethered to two differing realities.

After supper, you retired to your marital chambers, prepared to end your evening with a hot bath and a bit of light reading to preoccupy your time. Cregan did not appear, which was commonplace, strategizing alongside his advisors.

Chambermaids prepared your steaming bath, hot enough to singe those without dragon’s blood coursing through their veins. Wisps of heated vapor drifted toward the ceiling of the cozy washroom, a humid warmth permeating stone.

Deliberately, you untied each strand of lace, deftly unraveling yourself from your evening gown. Fingertips graced the thick fur that lined the trim as you draped it over a chair, flicking strands of your hair aside.

Footsteps resonated outside of the mahogany door, their shadow falling across you. You hadn’t expected Cregan to return so soon, prompting you to step into the water before sinking beneath, reclining against one edge.

Gentle sloshing of water caught his attention once he abandoned Ice and his cloak, retracing his steps to the door of the washroom. “My Lady.” He greeted you, lingering just outside in hopes to converse, even if it were fleeting.

A strange lump formed within your throat as you gingerly scrubbed at your arm with floral-laden soap, throat becoming thick. “Ah — my Lord,” You did not sound confident. “I wasn’t expecting your return so swiftly.”

Cregan found it increasingly difficult to act gallant around you, resolve hanging by a thread, honor crumbling away. Instinct and desire festered within his heart, lust where he knew it shouldn’t be — but he was a man who wanted his wife.

If this weren’t so rushed in an attempt to forge allegiances, he would have courted you properly, taken the time to learn your heart before devolving to carnality.

He learned some, but he knew that you were nervous, and he could not blame you for it. Tossed to the wolves, a lone dragon — Cregan did not want to frighten you any further.

“One can only play tactician for so long before it becomes an uphill battle,” Cregan uttered, chestnut brows furrowing together. “Are you well?” He inquired, tone one of a gentler resonance, laced with sympathy.

“Well enough,” Biting at your cheek, you considered your next words carefully, gaze boring a hole through the door. “Did you … Were you wanting to join me?” As much as it turned your stomach with butterflies, you did not want to continue being so shy.

In the sight of the Old Gods, he was your husband — Cregan had treated you with the greatest care and decency, and continuing to hide from him would only worsen things. You knew that it needn’t be so disconcerting.

Cregan’s jaw tensed, a sly heat blooming throughout his chest as he considered your stiff proposal. It sounded uncertain, and he did not dare act on uncertainty alone. Yet, the thought was tantalizing — he thought of you often.

Some part of him felt reduced to a boy, a coil of sudden nerves that he promptly abandoned, steeling himself for you. “I would only join you if you wanted it, my lady. Do not force yourself to be uncomfortable.” He rumbled.

The more you sat, alone in the herb-speckled waters, the more you yearned. There was nothing to fear from Cregan Stark, an honorable man whose patience was as unyielding as the mountains.

To grow was to rid yourself of girlish fright, and you did just that, steadying your erratic breathing as you sat up a little straighter. You reminded yourself that he was your husband, that he would not touch you unless you asked it of him.

“I want you to,” Your saccharine voice fluttered between the iron-etched wood, now a thin degree of separation between yourself and your husband. “Please, come in.”

Silently, Cregan prayed to the Gods to let him behave, to curb his animalistic appetite and to allow himself a gentler touch. Having already shed most of his leathers, he turned to knob, stepping inside to a homely nook of humid air and warmth.

Storm-colored hues fixed themselves to you, demure and sitting so soundly in the bathtub, yet you were the very image of perfection. His hand clenched in a desperate attempt to relieve some of his own tension.

You nearly shrank beneath the penetrating stare of your husband, whose coiled posture reminded you of a wolf preparing to strike. It made your heart hammer beneath your breast, hand gripping the edge of the tub just a little tighter.

His gaze screamed of affection, of desire, of ardor — Cregan was not as intimidating as you thought him to be, visage softening at the sight of you.

Tension clouded the washroom, thick enough to be sundered into two with a broadsword. Cregan wordlessly tugged his rugged tunic aside, exposing a thick wall of corded muscle, an impenetrable force that made your breath hitch.

To you, he seemed sculpted from a cliffside — rustic and hardened, the form of a warrior made, not chiseled, his own incarnation of godlike. Your stare shamelessly traversed the bulky plane of his musculature.

You were quick to glance away when he removed his trousers, causing you to shift beneath the water, skin glistening with a damp sheen. Again, you staved off your nerves as he lowered himself into the bath, taking up plenty of space.

In his solace, he drank you in again as if you were the finest stout, the very essence of beauty. Cregan felt the tension, the way it curled around the both of you, hesitation brewing in place of action.

It was you who shattered the silence, first with a tender smile, second with your words. “I must confess, I am glad that you are here,” A warm stirring began to unfurl across your chest. “I’ve been quite lonely.”

Cregan admonished himself for your feelings in silence, visage etched with a calm empathy. “Forgive me, then,” He murmured. “I did not know that my absence had become so cumbersome. I thought it best to let you adjust — alone.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” You assured, countenance as warm as the first sigh of springtime, melting away at his icy exterior. “You have been so understanding and kind, and I do not know how to thank you for it.”

“I would gladly make time for you, wife,” His utterance of the word wife made you shiver in delight. “I know now that this is something we will brave together, and not apart.” Cregan nodded, hoping that conversation would distract him.

He was unbearably hard, cock throbbing with such an incessant ache that he nearly abandoned the bath altogether. It was then that you reached for his hand, digits tracing along his forearm.

Cregan gripped the tub like a vice with his hand, so tense that his muscle threatened to tear apart. Your embrace was like silk, a shroud that he wished to wrap himself within. His gaze intensified, stuck to you with a fervor.

“I did not invite you inside just to converse,” Your whisper was hoarse, shrewd — you were finding your voice, and Cregan thoroughly enjoyed it. “I wish to try.”

“You cannot try from that distance.” Cregan’s tone was akin to the trembling of thunder from the skies, dripping with a thinly-veiled desire. There was affection present, yet lust seemed to win out as he coaxed you closer.

Once you waded into arm’s reach, your husband brusquely tugged you into his lap, causing you to gasp as he caressed your hip. His kiss was akin to a tide of fire, washing over you with an unyielding burn, heat crawling across your flesh.

You reciprocated without hesitation, palms finding their purchase atop his chest, nails digging into muscle when you felt his cock prod into your stomach. Gods, he was intimidating — you feared your physical state on the morrow.

It was unmistakable, his passion — the desire he’d built for you came crashing down, entangled with your budding desire.

A thick, calloused palm cupped your hip, kneading into the curves there, the other finding the soft flesh of your breast. He gingerly groped your chest, fingers gracing across your nipple, evoking an excitable whine from you.

“Gods, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve laid eyes upon,” Cregan’s husked tone was akin to a growl, reverberating against your mouth. “My wife.” He uttered, reveling in your flustered expression.

Lips clamored as if it would be their last dance, and he found himself kissing your jaw, your neck — wherever he could reach. It was a near-frenzy, acted upon with passion and a wolfish appetite, a desire that scorched his bones.

“Cregan,” A labored moan ripped through your throat, crackling with excitement as you tilted your head backward. He thoroughly reveled at the sound of you singing his name, a rumble reverberating throughout his chest. “Please, I need you.”

Slotted firmly within his lap, Cregan let the hand upon your hip drift elsewhere, dipping beneath the water as he sought the heat between your legs. His kisses were relentless, etched against your neck like a hot brand.

He needed you just as terribly, a want so powerful that it nearly obliterated him, scorching his heart with your own desire. His thick digits found your flower, thumb circling the pearl of your cunt.

A sharp gasp escaped you, lips agape as another wine emerged from your mouth. You hadn’t been touched like this before, not from a man so learned as Cregan, who studied your body with his hawkish gaze.

Your hips possessed a mind of their own, desperately chasing after any shred of friction from his hand, nails clamping into his broad shoulders. A soft chuckle shook his body, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine.

“Easy, princess,” Cregan murmured, teeth gently scraping over your jugular before he pressed a kiss there. “Do not tire yourself so quickly.” He cautioned, toying with your clit in slow, deliberate motions.

His cock prodded against your cunt, filling you with a sudden wave of anticipation. His stature seemed to confirm what you already knew, prompting you to swallow the lump within your throat.

Cregan would never tire of you, and he knew that this would not be enough to satiate his hunger for you, an appetite as ravenous as that of a starving wolf. He wanted to taste you, occupy the space between heart and ribcage, never part from you — duty be damned.

Pressing another string of greedy kisses against the column of your throat, Cregan continued to slowly circle your clit, savoring the twitches and reactions that flickered across your face. You made your pleasure known, vocalizing your delight to the heavens.

Part of you knew what to expect with the act of consummation — pain, and then pleasure, if you were fortunate enough. You trusted Cregan to handle you with care, rocking your hips atop him.

A low grunt elicited from him, one that clearly seemed pent-up. The sensation of your nethers pressing against his length drove him to madness, palm gripping hard at the small of your back. “I fear you may be the death of me.” He growled.

A shudder iced your spine, one tinged with anticipation as you sought his mouth, kissing him in your own flurry of bliss. He enjoyed your initiative, large hand tracing up and down along your back, goosebumps trailing in the wake of his caress.

“I — I want you inside of me,” Stammering over your words, your hands found the nape of his neck, clinging to his damp, chestnut tresses. “Will you be gentle?” You feared being split in half if his pace became hastened.

Cregan grit his teeth together, knowing that taking your maidenhead in such a rough way was not fair to you, nor was it kind. “Of course,” He assured, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “I wouldn’t dream of harming you.”

Restraint would likely test his resolve, but Cregan was up for the challenge, hand snaking away from between your thighs. Even within his grasp, you still seemed a touch uneasy, likely due to the bundle of nerves coiled within your stomach.

“On your own time, wife,” Cregan rumbled, content to caress along your supple frame, handling your curves as if you were molded from obsidian. You possessed the strength of a dragon — perhaps you didn’t realize it yet. “I am enjoying myself.”

With a nod, you exhaled, looking to him for instruction as he reached between the both of you, guiding his cock to your entrance. The thick head pressed along your cunt, causing you to shift again.

A kiss made its residence along your jaw. “I have you,” Cregan murmured, letting you sink down onto his length. Your countenance bristled with the sting of agony, and you nearly hurried it along until his hand seized your hip. “Easy.”

Seven Hells, he filled you completely, stretching you in a way that molded you to him. It was discomforting, a pain you seldom experienced, but Cregan was soothing.

It was the sweetest torment for Cregan, cock sluggishly feeding into you, inch by inch, your cunt tight around his length. A sonorous groan bubbled within his throat as he continued to guide you, ensuring that you were not suffering.

“Cregan!” A hiss escaped you, one intermingled with pleasure and pain, brow creased in concentration. It was nearly too much for you, but you persisted, enduring the newfound stretch and foreign sensations.

The tip of his length very nearly kissed your cervix, and that was his sign to cease. He let you sit, labored breathing bearing inklings of ecstasy, lips slack as you began to roll your hips.

He was strong enough to maneuver you along his cock as he saw fit, but he let you gather your bearings, find your own pace. Your soft, sweet lips sought his own, mouths clashing in a spirited kiss, one charged with a growing adoration.

Chest-to-chest, the intimacy grew tenfold, hearts beating in-tandem, making way for the wave of ardor that consumed you both. Water gently sloshed around the both of you, flesh damp, yet you had never been warmer.

Firm, steady hands kept their grasp upon the swell of your hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles into your silken flesh. Cregan appraised you with starving eyes, hues as gray as swirling clouds before a winter’s storm.

“Move me,” A wanton sigh floated from your lips, evoking a sense of primal desire that he knew to shackle down. Your husband obliged, setting the pace at a slower speed for your sake. “Gods, just like that.” You huffed.

Cregan fought against baser instincts, against tearing you asunder like that of a snarling beast. He guided you up and down upon his length, mouth seeking the dip between your neck and shoulder.

Teeth found their rooting there, gingerly scraping your flesh as he marked you, eliciting a throaty moan from your mouth. It was a sting that you did not expect to enjoy — but you wanted it again and again.

Tangled sighs and low, heavy breaths wove together, forming a heated cacophony that filled the washroom with your lewd activities.

He took your maidenhead with such tenderness, never once resorting to a harsher pace unless you were the one to initiate. “You are perfect.” Cregan uttered, letting you rock up and down along his length.

The feeling of his calloused hands sinking into your plush flesh was mesmerizing, leaving behind a wave of goosebumps that crawled across your flesh. He gripped you hard enough to leave bruises, peppering kisses against your neck.

Finding your rhythm, it became easier to impale yourself upon him, gasping when his cock sheathed itself deep within you. Your cunt clenched pathetically around him, nails raking crimson trails across his shoulders.

Molten heat churned within the pit of your stomach, arousal honey-thick between your thighs. The more you succumbed to desire, the more carnal his pace became, losing all inhibitions of restraint.

Soap-laden water steamed around the both of you, sloshing with the movement of two bodies, locked within the throes of passion. A soft cry escaped you as he brought you down again, invigorated by the spirited rolls of your hips.

It only became messier — two souls clawing for affection, for entanglement, for a release. As you grasped his biceps for support, you changed the rhythm, letting yourself drown within desire.

A breathy, snarled curse tore past his mouth, brows furrowing together in concentration as he maneuvered you toward the tub’s thick rim. His chest was hot, slick as he pressed himself to your back.

Smoothing a calloused palm along your thigh, his thrusts became a touch erratic, cock hitting into you like the jab of a spear. “Cregan!” You moaned, savoring the sensation of his mouth against your shoulder, crooked nose ghosting along your throat.

The newfound position was somewhat awkward given his stature, contorted in the smaller space of the tub, but he cared little for it. Passion drove him, the desire to breed, make you round and lovely with his children.

His hands did not leave you, caressing wherever he could, an anchor to keep you safe even in the midst of such crass acts. “Gods help me,” Cregan growled, hot breath fanning across your shoulder. “I need you.” He hissed.

It was unexpected, his confession that rattled you so, sending tremors along your spine. You did not expect him to feel that way for you, yet it only furthered your arousal.

Lewd entanglements of flesh resonated throughout the washroom, accompanied by a myriad of moans and animalistic growls. Cregan became more beast than man when placed under pleasure, not that you minded.

Even if he lacked the stamina to continue, carnality willed him to devour. Your husband kissed you, touched you wherever he could, thick digits snaking between your thighs as he sought the aching pearl of your cunt.

“Do not stop,” A breathy mewl erupted from your throat as you pleaded with Cregan to continue. Once deft digits began to toy with your clit, your knees buckled, hand grasping at his forearm. “Please, please do not stop!”

Between the feverish kisses he placed along the nape of your neck and the hand circling your clit, you felt the ecstasy mounting. The coil within your stomach began to unfurl, visage screwed up in a look of bliss.

Cregan’s grunts sent shivers throughout your body, warming your insides with their fervor. His cock continued to pound in and out at a steady pace, body snug against yours.

He dared not harm you, executing caution even still, indomitable musculature hunched in over you, enveloping you on every front. As his calloused fingers flicked across your pearl, you shuddered, thighs twitching in response.

You experienced a euphoria like never before, the sensation foreign yet overwhelming, setting every fiber of your being ablaze. Water splashed over the rim of the bathtub, falling onto the stone below.

Each snap of his hips sent you reeling, cock filling you to the brim, stretching you in ways that you never thought possible. You moaned, nails digging into his arm; Cregan’s pace did not deviate.

Tantalizing fantasies of putting a babe in you drove him mad, his hand drawing away from your cunt as he placed his palm over your stomach. Gods, you could feel everything — it made you buckle, release swift and white-hot.

Stars floated across your vision in the wake of your release, a choked sob of ecstasy rippling through your chest. Cregan’s name rolled from your tongue like an incantation that you had committed to memory.

It was then that your husband spilled himself inside of you, aided by the wet clenching of your cunt around him. Ropes of hot, virile seed painted your womb, and you felt him press his forehead against the back of your shoulder.

Tangled, labored breaths filled the space between you both, thin as ever. Cregan did not want to stop — the night was agonizingly young, and his cock stirred within you. “Are you well, wife?” He murmured, stroking along your hip.

“I am perfect,” He could taste your smile, a bright and palpable thing. You felt him move away, momentarily sinking back beneath the water. “I — I was not expecting it to feel so pleasurable.”

“There is plenty more beyond that,” Cregan assured, drawing you back into the wide expanse of his lap, cock nestled against the plane of your stomach. He cupped your jaw, the pad of his thumb tracing your cheek. “Do you require rest?”

A coy expression flickered across your countenance as you let your fingertips playfully ghost across the tip of his length. The sudden blaze within Cregan’s storm-cloud hues had made your heart leap into your throat, excitement replacing exhaustion.

A growl stirred within his chest at your wordless insinuation, and he did not seem to waste a moment of time, hooking an arm around your hips. “Clearly not.” He grunted.

“Do you object?” You murmured, dragging one finger over the plane of his visage, so youthful and unblemished, a contrast to his rugged demeanor. Provoking your husband was a bold choice, one that Cregan respected.

“I do not,” Cregan’s tone was little more than a grumbling of thunder, brows furrowing together as he steeled himself for what would become a lengthy evening. He adjusted your position, the head of his cock kissing your entrance once more. “You will wish for rest when we are finished.”

#house of the dragon #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #hotd x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon smut #kinktober

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earthtooz · 1 year ago

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cw: arranged marriage, fluff, neglect at the beginning, ratio falling hard, pining, ratio being jealous of aventurine, unedited bc i wrote this with my heart not my brain

my brain has been thinking about an arranged marriage fic with dr. ratio...

he isn't kind to you at first, less than happy to share a life with a mere acquaintance. he's heard about you before in passing, noting your achievements with a grain of salt because nothing about you particularly mattered to him, irrelevant against the mass of scrolls and books he needs to read.

you don't really disturb his normal routine too much. you move in to his estate with a fair share of your belongings, but none of them crowd his house too much. you have your own room, pristine guest room unearthed by your artistic touch.

aside from dinners, you don't get to see each other too much. he starts his mornings early, getting up at the crack of dawn to exercise and start his day with a hearty meal. you wake up later, partaking in a slow morning, and if you glanced out the window, you might be able to see your husband running laps around the expanse of his gardens.

you admire his dedication and routine, it's fascinating to live beside a genius. everyday, the chest table that sits in the living room changes, the black and white pieces never remaining where you last recalled. the size of his blackboard is impressive, and yet too small to fit all of the formulas his brain remembers, hands effortlessly dancing along the surface to scratch number after number.

a frequent order of his estate is chalk. a new pile is delivered every three days, and he goes through them without fail every time.

during dinner, he tries to spare some conversation with you. you don't tell him too much about your day, not wanting to bore him with your menial chores. he's only half-listening either way, so you'll feign understanding about his work when he explains what he's up to.

ratio is not an attentive husband, but he doesn't mistreat you, either. he allows you to spend his assets without too much care, doesn't police your everyday tasks, and also doesn't bat an eye at other men or women. his pursuit of intelligence is important, and your wellbeing would not come in between that.

your monotonous, distant routine changes one autumn dusk. you're perched in the front yard with an easel set up before you, the sky in front of you now a blend of pink-purple hues. he returns home earlier than you expected, carriage stopping at the front of his estate, and he witnesses you in your tranquil state.

the paint strokes on the canvas before you are skilled, and show years of dedication to the craft. you're so invested in the piece before you, that you don't even hear him approaching until he calls your name.

"the night turns colder with each minute. shouldn't you come inside before you fall ill?" the scholar greets, and you're snapped out of your creative reverie, looking over at him.

"oh, i had not realised. let me clean up here, first." you take your canvas off the easel, but to your surprise, your spouse kneels down to organise your oil paints back into their box.

"make haste, then," he urges.

during dinner, he can't help but be curious over your hobby, the stubborn splotches of paint clinging to your hands visible to him. that night, you engage in uninterrupted conversation, and discover that he's an artist himself- a sculptor. it calms him, and all the statues reside in a removed room, adjacent to his study.

despite your years of matrimony, you had never once dared enter his study, but the design is so fittingly him. it is organised (well, as organised a genius can be), with shelves and shelves filled with books, discarded scrolls lay around the room, but even then, his taste for greco-roman aesthetics are seen. roman dorics act like stands for little plants, and his many certificates are displayed, along with other achievements.

(his study is overwhelmingly filled with them. though you knew of the merit of the man you were arranged to be married to, you had never known just how expansive the list is. perhaps, that only made him more intimidating to you, standing beside a genius does not feel so light to say anymore.)

he shows you his sculptures, and though many of them are... self portraits... the likeness is disgustingly accurate. it was as if he had casted himself in plaster and displayed it proudly. you wonder how long he must have stared in the mirror to perfect their appearance.

but, there are also various other formidable statues. some of people you recognise. you compliment his skill and don't get to see the blush that spreads along his cheeks.

it seems that you've chipped a way into his heart, because between brushstrokes and chiselled marble, he falls in love with you.

ratio knows he didn't start off being the best husband, but he tries to now, and begins by being present. asks you to dine together where possible, listens when you're talking about your day, and the two of you can be seen venturing downtown together; an unbelievable sight for those who believed that ratio was romantically inept.

perhaps, an even more unbelievable sight, was the soft smile on his face that glanced at you very adoringly, and how you remained unaware of his affections.

and, maybe a jealous veritas ratio is just as unbelievable.

he is practically glaring daggers at the side of a certain blond's head. ratio has never been fond of the scheming businessman, aventurine, and is even less so of the fact that you seem so close to him, more than you are with your own husband. you're speaking with him like how one would with old friends, a peaceful visit to the markets turned sour by his presence.

when you finally, finally, finally, bid farewell to aventurine, who gave ratio a look that signified he was up to no good, your husband held your hand in his gloved one with an unforgiving grip. his mood is dampened for the remainder of the day, and is only made better when you enquire about his sudden glumness, visiting his office to see if he was alright.

you leave him with a kiss on the crown of his head, and a whisper of 'goodnight', before retreating to your chambers, and the only thought that circulates in his head for the rest of the night is you, and how he's going to sweep you off your feet.

#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ earf's ideas that i'll never write #earthtooz: honkai star rail #dr ratio x reader #veritas ratio x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #ratio x reader #dr ratio fluff #dr. ratio x reader

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enhaflixer · 4 months ago

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all i know is we said "hello" (and your eyes looking like coming home)

family friend!Jungwon x f!reader

Synopsis: Years of just friends start to unravel when Jungwon dates the wrong girl, and you realize you might’ve lost him for good—until one fight changes everything.

Word Count: ~3.7k

Warnings: Angst to fluff, Jealousy & misunderstandings, Toxic ex-girlfriend, Emotional confrontation, Kissing

Masterlist

AN: THIS ONE GOES OUT TO MAAAA GIRLLLLLL @naurwayyyyy YOU GO BSF HOPE U LIKE IT

Yang Jungwon met you for the first time at a neighborhood playground when you were both six years old. The air buzzed with excitement as children ran across the wood chips, their laughter ringing through the summer evening. The smell of grilled food drifted from nearby picnic tables, where parents gathered to chat and keep a watchful eye on their little ones. You had just finished building a sandcastle, proudly shaping the turrets, when a shadow loomed over you.

Can I help?” Jungwon’s voice was quiet but curious. His neatly combed hair and serious expression made him look oddly formal for a playground, but there was a warmth in his eyes that made you nod.

Together, you molded the castle, carefully adding moats and bridges. He handed you a twig to use as a flag, and when you placed it at the highest turret, he clapped as if you had just accomplished something grand. That was all it took. From that moment on, you were inseparable for the rest of the evening. You chased each other across the monkey bars, competed to see who could swing the highest, and shared his snacks—because, as Jungwon had explained, “friends share snacks.”

When the time came to leave, your parents had to pry you both apart. Your mother chuckled, shaking her head. “Looks like they’ve found their new best friend.” His mother nodded, a knowing smile on her lips. “I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

And they were right.

Your friendship with Jungwon only deepened as the years passed. Your childhood was filled with shared birthdays, school projects, and whispered secrets under blanket forts. Summers were spent playing hide-and-seek until dusk, while winters meant snowball fights and cups of hot chocolate at each other’s houses. There was never a moment of hesitation between you two—Jungwon was your person, and you were his.

At a school talent show in third grade, you had nervously gripped the microphone, ready to perform a duet with Jungwon. You had practiced for weeks, but the crowd made your stomach churn with nerves. Jungwon had noticed immediately, nudging you gently before whispering, “We’ve got this.” When you finally sang, his voice carried yours, steady and sure. By the time the song ended, the entire auditorium had erupted in applause.

Then there were the family picnics, where both families gathered in the park with packed lunches and coolers full of drinks. Your parents, ever the shameless matchmakers, would tease, “Look at our little soulmates.” You and Jungwon would exchange exasperated looks before groaning, “We’re just friends!” But despite the protests, there was an undeniable closeness between you that neither of you could—or wanted to—explain.

Even on rainy days, when plans were canceled, the two of you found joy in the simplest things. Instead of sulking over ruined outings, you built elaborate pillow forts in your living room, draping blankets over chairs and stringing fairy lights inside. Those rainy afternoons were filled with whispered conversations and laughter, the outside world forgotten as long as you were together.

High school brought new experiences and social circles, but your bond with Jungwon remained unwavering. At your first school dance, you had both stood awkwardly near the refreshments table, watching your peers with amusement. “This is weird,” you had muttered.

Jungwon had chuckled. “Very weird.”

But eventually, he had held out a hand, grinning. “Come on. Just one dance.”

With a reluctant sigh, you had taken it, and for the rest of the night, you danced—badly, terribly even—but together.

As high school progressed, you faced more changes. Exams, sports, extracurriculars—all the things that came with growing up. But at the end of the day, you and Jungwon always found your way back to each other, whether it was through late-night calls about homework stress or spontaneous ice cream runs after rough days.

Until Soojin happened.

University was supposed to be an exciting new chapter, a place where you and Jungwon would navigate the unknown together. But then Soojin Kim entered the picture, and everything started to change.

You first noticed her at a university mixer, where her effortless charm and striking beauty immediately caught Jungwon’s attention. You had watched, a strange feeling settling in your stomach, as she laughed at his jokes, leaning in just a little too close. Jungwon, captivated, barely noticed when you excused yourself early that night.

The first time Jungwon introduced you to Soojin over coffee, you knew something was off. Her saccharine smile never quite reached her eyes, and though her words were laced with politeness, every compliment felt like a carefully disguised jab.

“You and Jungwon must have been such adorable kids together,” she had said, stirring her latte. “It’s cute how you still follow him around.”

Something in your chest twisted, but Jungwon, oblivious, had only beamed. “Yeah, we’ve been inseparable since we were kids.”

Soojin had tilted her head, smiling. “That’s adorable. But I mean, college is all about moving forward, right?”

It wasn’t long before Jungwon started canceling plans more often. “Sorry, Soojin wants to go to this concert tonight,” he’d text last minute. Or, “I’ll make it up to you, promise.” But promises didn’t stop the empty seats at your usual café meet-ups or the growing ache in your chest.

Your birthday had always been special—an unspoken tradition where Jungwon would take you to your favorite café, just the two of you. It was something you both looked forward to every year, a brief moment of certainty in a life full of change. But this year, something was different.

You sat alone at your usual table, the one by the window where the sunlight would always hit just right. A small slice of cake sat untouched before you, the candle flickering unsteadily. You checked the time again, your phone screen lighting up to show that nearly two hours had passed. The initial disappointment had settled into something heavier, something that ached deep in your chest.

You had hoped—hoped that despite everything, despite Soojin and the increasing distance between you and Jungwon, today would be different. That maybe, for just this one day, he would remember.

But the empty seat across from you told a different story.

When the bell above the door chimed, you glanced up, your heart foolishly lifting for a split second. And there he was—Jungwon, breathless, his hair slightly disheveled, his jacket hastily thrown on. He scanned the café, his eyes finding you instantly, but instead of relief, all you felt was the sharp sting of resentment.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, rushing toward you. He slid into the seat across from you, his hands pressed together as if in prayer. “I lost track of time.”

You stared at him, your expression unreadable. The scent of Soojin’s perfume still clung to his clothes, sickly sweet and unmistakable.

“You lost track of time,” you repeated, your voice eerily calm. “Or you just didn’t care enough to be here?”

Jungwon flinched slightly, his brows pulling together. “That’s not fair. You know I wouldn’t miss this on purpose.”

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “Jungwon, do you even realize how many times you’ve said that lately?”

His mouth opened, but no words came. He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time, he seemed to notice the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your shoulders slumped as if carrying a weight you hadn’t meant to bear alone.

“I’ve been trying,” he finally said, voice softer now, like he was trying to mend something that had already cracked beyond repair. “I know I haven’t been around as much, but—”

“But you always have time for her,” you interrupted, your voice raw. “Jungwon, I’m not asking for every second of your day. I never have. But you used to be my best friend. You used to show up.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

Jungwon exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face. “I didn’t realize…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like this.”

You swallowed hard, pushing down the lump forming in your throat. “But you did.”

And that was the worst part. He had hurt you, not because he wanted to, but because you had stopped being a priority without him even realizing it. And now, sitting across from him, you weren’t sure if there was a way to fix it.

You pushed your untouched cake toward him and stood. “Happy birthday to me,” you muttered, turning before he could see the tears threatening to spill.

As you walked out of the café, the cold air hit your face like a slap, grounding you. For years, Jungwon had been your safe place, your constant. But now? Now, you weren’t so sure.

And maybe—just maybe—it was time to stop waiting for him to show up.

The days following your birthday were eerily silent. The usual pings of Jungwon’s messages that once filled your phone were now just ghostly notifications that you left unread. He called—once, twice, ten times—but you never picked up. Every attempt he made to reach you was met with quiet rejection, your heart too raw to even consider the possibility of listening to whatever excuse he had prepared.

The absence of his presence was both a relief and a new kind of pain. You had spent so many years orbiting around each other that now, without him, you felt unsteady. But what hurt more was the realization that maybe this was inevitable. Maybe, despite everything, people did grow apart. Maybe you had just been fooling yourself into thinking you and Jungwon were different.

Minji, your closest friend at university, noticed immediately.

“You look like hell,” she said one afternoon, plopping down next to you on the grass outside the library.

You exhaled, leaning back against the cool stone wall. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. You’re walking around like a zombie,” she pressed, concern lacing her voice. “You haven’t spoken to Jungwon since your birthday?”

You shook your head. “No. And I don’t plan to.”

Minji studied you for a long moment before sighing. “You know, you’re allowed to be mad. You’re allowed to feel hurt. But you’re also allowed to talk to him.”

You knew she was right. But the thought of facing Jungwon, of pretending things could somehow go back to normal, made your stomach twist.

“Maybe I’m just tired of always being the one who cares more.”

Minji didn’t argue. She just squeezed your hand in quiet support.

Jungwon didn’t stop trying.

Every day, he sent a new message. I know you don’t want to talk, but I just need you to know I’m sorry. Or Please, let me explain. Some nights, you stared at your phone longer than you should have, your fingers hovering over his contact before locking your screen and setting it aside.

But the walls you had built around yourself started to crack when you saw him outside the lecture hall one afternoon, standing in the cold, waiting.

For you.

The moment your eyes met, he looked like he had something to say, something desperate, something urgent. But instead of walking over, you turned in the opposite direction.

You didn’t know what hurt more—the way his shoulders slumped in defeat or the way you kept walking, pretending it didn’t matter.

The following days were filled with a silence heavier than any argument. You ignored Jungwon’s texts, his missed calls, his weak attempts to act as if things could simply go back to normal. Minji had been right—maybe it was time to stop waiting for him to show up.

But he wasn’t the only one trying to get your attention.

Soojin cornered you in the university library one afternoon, a saccharine smile stretched across her lips. “You really thought he’d choose you over me?” she mused. “It’s sad, really.”

You didn’t respond, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing how much her words affected you.

“Jungwon will come around,” she continued, twirling a strand of her hair. “But by the time he does, it won’t matter. You’ll already be out of the picture. You’re just some pathetic wannabe who I have to end up stepping on to get what I want.”

Her words settled over you like a dark cloud, but what neither of you realized was that someone else had overheard the conversation.

Sunghoon, one of Jungwon’s closest friends, had seen everything.

And he wasn’t going to let Soojin win.

Jungwon hadn’t slept properly in days. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face—not the happy, familiar version he had grown up with, but the hurt expression you wore at the café, the disappointment in your eyes when you walked away from him. It haunted him, clawing at the edges of his thoughts, leaving a hollow ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away.

Sunghoon’s message had been the final push.

You’ve been blind for too long. It’s time to open your eyes.

So Jungwon had listened.

He met up with Sunghoon later that evening, sitting across from him in their usual spot on campus, but this time, the easy camaraderie they normally shared was missing. Sunghoon was serious, his expression set in something Jungwon rarely saw—disappointment.

“You really don’t see it, do you?” Sunghoon asked, shaking his head. “How much she’s hurting?”

Jungwon swallowed hard, staring down at the table. “I didn’t mean for it to get this bad,” he admitted. “I just… I thought we were fine.”

“Fine?” Sunghoon scoffed. “Jungwon, she’s been holding herself together while you’ve been running around with Soojin, acting like she doesn’t exist.”

His stomach twisted. He wanted to deny it, to say that it wasn’t true, but as Sunghoon’s words sank in, so did the reality of the situation. He had neglected you. He had made you feel like you were nothing more than a leftover part of his life when, in truth, you had always been the most important part.

Sunghoon leaned forward. “I saw Soojin today.”

Jungwon frowned. “What?”

“In the library,” Sunghoon said. “She was talking to Y/N, telling her she was just some pathetic little girl waiting around for you. That she never had a chance.”

Jungwon felt something inside him snap. “She said what?”

“She tried to make her feel small,” Sunghoon continued, watching Jungwon closely. “And you know what Y/N did? She didn’t let her win. She stood up for herself. She walked away.” He paused. “From Soojin. And from you.”

Jungwon felt like he had been punched in the gut. He thought back to every time you had tried to reach out, every moment where you had smiled through your hurt and pretended you were fine when you weren’t.

And he had let you suffer alone.

“Damn it,” Jungwon muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I need to talk to her.”

Sunghoon nodded. “Yeah, you do. But this time, don’t just show up with excuses. Show up with the truth.”

Jungwon barely remembered the walk to your apartment. His heart pounded in his chest, his stomach in knots as he rehearsed what he was going to say. He had no right to ask for forgiveness, but he had to try. He had to make you understand just how much you meant to him.

When you opened the door, your expression shifted from surprise to guardedness.

“Jungwon,” you said, your voice tired. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you,” he said quickly, before you could shut the door in his face. “Please. Just give me a few minutes.”

You hesitated before sighing and stepping aside. “Fine. Say what you need to say.”

Jungwon stepped inside, his gaze searching yours. “I messed up,” he began, his voice raw. “I hurt you, and I didn’t even realize how badly until it was too late.”

You crossed your arms, looking away. “Jungwon—”

“No, please,” he interrupted. “Let me finish.” He took a deep breath. “I let Soojin get in my head. I let her convince me that you’d always be there, that it didn’t matter if I pushed you aside. But it did. It mattered more than anything.”

Your lips parted slightly, your fingers tightening around your sleeves. “Jungwon…”

He stepped closer, his eyes shining with something desperate, something real. “You are the most important person in my life. You always have been. And I was an idiot for not seeing that sooner.”

You blinked, your breath hitching. “Then why did you choose her?”

Jungwon shook his head. “I didn’t choose her, I broke up with her. I was just too scared to admit who I really wanted. And by the time I realized it, I thought I had already lost you.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and uncertain. Then, finally, you exhaled, your shoulders dropping. “You hurt me, Jungwon.”

“I know,” he whispered. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. But I need you to know that I—” He hesitated, then looked you straight in the eyes. “I love you.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeated, voice steadier this time. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time, but I was too stupid to realize it.”

You stared at him, emotions flickering across your face—shock, disbelief, something else. “Jungwon…”

He swallowed. “Please. If there’s even a part of you that still—”

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant. It was years of bottled-up emotions, of missed chances and unspoken words, colliding all at once. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as if to make up for every moment he had let slip through his fingers.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mingling. “You’re an idiot,” you whispered.

Jungwon let out a soft, breathless laugh. “I know.”

You smiled, the tension in your shoulders finally easing. “But I love you too.”

And for the first time in a long time, everything felt right again.

The Honeymoon

The ocean waves lapped softly against the shore, the golden light of the setting sun casting everything in a warm, dreamlike glow. You and Jungwon walked barefoot along the beach, fingers intertwined, the sand cool beneath your feet. The rhythmic crash of the waves was the only sound between you for a moment, peaceful and steady—like the quiet certainty that after everything, you had finally found your way back to each other.

Jungwon gave your hand a gentle squeeze before stopping, turning to face you. “I still can’t believe we’re here.”

You smiled, feeling the salt-tinged breeze against your skin. “Me neither.”

His eyes softened, filled with a warmth that sent a familiar flutter through your chest. “After everything, I never thought I’d get to have this with you,” he admitted, brushing a stray hair from your face. “That you’d still choose me.”

You reached up, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “You fought for me,” you whispered. “And you never stopped.”

He pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll never stop,” he promised. “Not now. Not ever.”

The kiss that followed was slow and deep, filled with every unspoken vow, every moment of longing that had led you to this very place. It was a kiss that tasted like forever.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, you knew without a doubt—this was just the beginning.

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nemo-writes · 2 months ago

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𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 I chapter four

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ chapter summary: jack’s feelings for you grew in the dusk. then, a whispered incident shatters the stillness, and he realizes too late that something’s already broken.

⤿ warning(s): none

⟡ story masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 1.8k

Jack first saw you exactly four years ago during shift‑change—him coming in for the ER night grind, you stalking out after twelve hours in Surgical with three lunch boxes stacked like ammo. Two interns are nipping at each other’s heels until you raise a single finger; the quarrel dies in mid‑air. He watches, amused, then watches again a few minutes later when those same interns turn up in the break room wolfing down a mouthful of poppy-seed muffins that smell like pure comfort.

“Who baked that?” he asks.

They point after you with crumbs on their cheeks and fingers: a hard‑headed nurse from Surgical.

He notices you in passing—but the meeting comes much later, high above the noise.

It is barely dawn, once again shift‑change o’clock. As usual, he takes the stairs to the roof for a hit of cold air before plunging into his ER night. You are already there, arms folded on the railing, watching the river steal the first light. He almost turns back, but you don’t glance over, and the quiet feels too good to waste. So he stands a dozen paces away, breathing steam into the sky. Neither of you speaks. Five minutes later the freight elevator clangs below and you disappear down the stairwell, a ghost in gray.

That becomes routine: his night beginning where your day ends, both of you claiming the same ten minutes of sky. At first it is silence—two strangers dividing the dawn. Then a nod. Then, on a morning whipped by sleet, you mutter, “Coffee? Again?” Jack snorts, raises his styrofoam cup, and admits it is sludge. You offer no sympathy, only a sideways grin that feels like permission.

Conversations creep in. You talk about nieces who mail you science‑fair photos, about Jack’s improbable knack for fixing malfunctioning IV pumps, about cilantro storage and the best pierogi on the South Side. He learns you feed residents and med students like stray cats. You learn his leg squeaks in the rain and he deals with it by over‑tightening the socket and cursing under his breath. That way, the roof becomes neutral ground, a borderland between the hospital’s fluorescent chaos and the city’s slow river.

Jack falls for you in increments—not all at once, not with fire, but in the way late sun warms cold bones.

The first time is maybe a dry joke you lob over your shoulder in passing. The second, the way your eyes soften when a helicopter banks in low, shadows flashing across your face as you pause mid-chat. And after that, it’s everything.

He hasn’t let himself feel something like this in a long time. Not since… and even that name, even the memory, doesn’t ache like it used to—but it has left behind a hollowed-out space where nothing has taken root since. There have been flings, sure. Company here and there, something easy and understood, but nothing that lasts beyond the night or the need. He hasn’t wanted anything to last.

Until you, that is.

And so, he begins hinting—carefully. A stupid pun scrawled in the margin of a half-finished sudoku you’ve been grumbling over all day. A couple of lumpia he manages to snag—somehow, without losing a limb—from Princess and Perlah’s fiercely guarded monthly stash. A quiet confession, offered one chilly morning, that sunrise feels less sharp with company. Each gesture small, deliberate, afraid that pressing too hard might crack the quiet, steady rhythm you both come to rely on.

Because the roof has become necessary.

And still, he can’t lie to himself: the feeling scares him. The possibility of caring again, of wanting something that can’t be controlled or triaged or explained—it unmoors him a little. But it also makes him feel alive in a way he hasn’t let himself feel in years. You make the hours between dusk and dawn feel less like a stretch of survival and more like something to look forward to.

And that… that is terrifying. But it is also good. Very good.

Then, four dusks in a row, you don’t show.

On the eve of the fifth night, he types a message he doesn’t plan to send: Haven’t seen you on the roof. Everything okay?

Ten minutes tick by before your reply arrives: I’m alright—just busy. See you tomorrow?

Something is off, and it isn’t the hour. He fills his thermos anyway and snags a terrible slice of cafeteria pound cake—knowing you’ll roast him for it if you ever find out—and promises himself that if dawn doesn’t bring answers, he’ll start asking better questions.

For now, he simply shoots back: Works for me. Sunrise tea?

And you, a simple but earnest confirmation: Sunrise tea.

Jack can be reckless, but war zones and widowhood have taught him this: when the strongest person in the room starts acting skittish and absent, you step closer and keep watch—especially if the room is a rooftop at sunrise, and the person is the nurse who once turns five minutes of shared silence into the best part of his day.

. . .

He arrives at the hospital, stepping through the double doors with his usual resolute gait, one hand hooked casually under the strap of his tactical backpack. His expression is calm, composed, shaded by that habitual, guarded optimism he wears for years.

But something is off.

It’s not loud. In fact, that’s what makes it strange. The usual din of residents bickering over charting, wheelchairs squealing across tile, interns nervously chugging coffee—muted. Not gone, just… held back, like the The Pitt is holding its breath.

Jack’s eyes scan the room, already sharpening beneath the calm. He catches sight of Dr. Ellis—one of his best senior residents—cutting across the ER with purposeful steps. Not rushed, not panicked. But something close to tight. Her face is unreadable, grim where it’s usually brisk.

“Jack,” she says as she reaches him. No Dr. Abbot, no pat on the arm, no idle quip. Just a quiet, urgent gesture for him to follow. “Come with me for a sec.”

His brow lifts, but he doesn’t ask questions. Not when she’s looking like that.

They weave past triage, through a set of doors into the cramped staff room. The door clicks shut behind them, and instantly the world narrows. The light feels a little too bright. The hum of the fridge too loud.

Jack leans against the counter, arms folded, expression even. “Alright,” he says, not unkindly. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Parker doesn’t answer right away. She shifts, visibly uncomfortable. No sarcasm. No smirk. Just that rare, uncertain edge Jack only sees when things are about hit the fan.

“Something’s wrong up at Surgical,” she says finally. “Trauma Surgery, specifically.”

Jack doesn’t move, but his gaze sharpens. The inside of him goes still. You work Surgical long enough that his mind jumps without permission.

“What do you mean?” he asks, his voice steady. “Is it about a patient? A case?”

Parker shakes her head. “No. It’s personal. It’s… her.”

She doesn’t say your name. She doesn’t have to. The second she says it—her—Jack knows. The knot that’s been building for days, through missed rooftop meetings and clipped, careful texts, cinches tight, pressing into his ribs like a vice.

Of course he’s heard the way people talk. The way the nurses elbow each other when he walks past. Even Parker, just now, had paused like she expected him to flinch at the mention of you.

But Jack doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t correct anyone, either. Let them talk.

It’s not that anything’s happened—not really. Not yet. But something’s there. Has been for a while now. He just doesn’t have the time or energy to pretend otherwise.

His jaw ticks, barely. He fights the instinct to reach for his phone, to scroll through that last short message—just tired—and see if it reads any differently now.

“She’s been dealing with something,” Parker continues, lower now. “Something bad. I don’t know the whole story. Not really. Nobody does, I think. But… word’s spreading fast.”

Jack doesn’t breathe, but he listens.

“She broke down in the middle of her shift. Not just a bad day. Panic—real panic. Security got called in. So did Gloria.”

The weight of it settles hard. He turns his eyes to a crack above the microwave. It’s been there for years, a small fracture in cheap cabinetry, but tonight it looks like a fault line.

“She alright?” he asks.

Parker gives a vague nod. “I think so. But here’s the thing—no one’s talking. I mean, not even the nurses.”

That gets his attention.

Parker goes on. “You know how they are. They could tell you what kind of gum a new hire chewed three floors down before HR finishes onboarding. But this? They’re locking it down. Close. Fierce. Like they’re closing ranks over her.”

Jack runs a hand down his face, slow. Subdued, yes—but not at peace.

“Do you know why?” Jack asks, voice low and even.

Parker hesitates, then shakes her head. “No. Not really. Just bits and pieces. Like I said, no one’s giving the full story. Not even the nurses, and you know how they are—usually you can’t get them to stop talking. But now? Radio silence.”

Jack watches her carefully. She’s being honest. He can tell.

“I can poke around,” Parker offers, almost reluctantly. “Ask some questions, feel out what’s being held back—if you want.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just exhales, slow through his nose, as if weighing what kind of damage that might do. His fingers drum once against the thermos in his hand. Then he shakes his head, once.

“No,” he says. “Leave it. Maybe it’s not for the best.”

That stops her cold. She studies him, really looks—and the silence between them sharpens.

Because Jack never says leave it. Not when someone’s in trouble. And the line of his jaw, the way his shoulders lock down… that’s not calm. That’s containment. Worry wrapped so tight it’s just short of boiling over.

She doesn’t press. Not now.

Jack straightens, but his expression doesn’t change. If anything, it stills into something harder. More focused.

His name hasn’t come up, and that almost bothers him more. If you’d talked to someone—anyone—why not him? And now that’s too late. The missed rooftop meetings, the clipped texts, the careful way you said “I’m just tired.” It all slides into place with a sickening click.

He tugs his backpack strap a little tighter over his shoulder, eyes distant but burning behind the quiet.

“Thanks for letting me know,” he mutters. “Let’s get to work.”

Parker only nods. She doesn’t add or ask another thing.

And when they walk out of the staff room, there’s no storm in his step, no rush in his pace. But the tension radiating off him—quiet, coiled, dangerous—is enough to make two med‑students step out of his way without a word.

Something’s wrong. Someone’s hurt you. And someone else is going to regret it.

divider credit

#fanfiction #fanfic #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt fanfic #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #dr. jack abbot #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x you #female reader #nurse reader #older reader #small age-gap

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lovesickchoi · 3 months ago

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100 WAYS TO LEAVE A LOVER ❥ KTH

⋆·˚ ༘ * prince taehyun of the kang kingdom wanders outside the palace every night to escape his life of royalty. what he doesn’t expect is to meet the love of his life beyond the palace’s borders, which only serves to further fuel his hatred of the throne.

pairing: prince!taehyun x villager!reader ✮⋆˙✐ 16.7k

genre: royal au, angst, smut, loosely inspired by jackson wang’s ‘100 ways’ music video, slight romeo and juliet adaption warnings: multiple mentions of death, suicide, execution, blood, weapon possession, pleasure top!taehyun, oral f!receiving, praise kink, unprotected sex, happy(ish) ending if you squint notes: this is not intended to romanticize suicide whatsoever. also, i recommend watching the music video before reading. the song is so good and the visuals are a great way to set the scene! click here to watch it. also want to mention @luvsicktyun for the amazing help with the color grandients!! ˚₊ · »-♡→ masterlist

Taehyun wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place. This he knew, but he could never bring himself to care enough. Walking amongst the common people was far too invigorating for him compared to the monotony of his every day. It generated a sort of excitement in him that he couldn’t necessarily experience inside the kingdom he was bound to rule someday. Typically, he was careful when sauntering the busy streets of the outer village. But as dusk fell, it was fairly empty save for a few merchants beginning to pack their goods up for the night. He no longer felt the need to conceal his identity, removing the hood of his cloak and letting it fall around his neck for the first time. His eyes fluttered closed for but a moment, letting the gentle breeze fan against his skin as he toyed with the necklace resting over his tunic. Just moments ago, he’d been strolling through the quaint village market, curiosity guiding his steps as he took in the colorful displays and loud haggling. It wasn’t until he noticed a commotion near one of the fishmongers’ stalls that his attention sharpened. You had been caught in a dispute with a gruff merchant who insisted you were trying to steal one of his prized catches. You argued back, voice steady but eyes flashing, making it clear you had paid him fairly. But the merchant wasn’t hearing any of it, his stubbornness only escalating the tension. Taehyun intervened before things could get worse, tossing a few coins at the merchant and taking the fish himself. The merchant grumbled but accepted the payment, leaving you to glower at the prince now standing smugly before you. He couldn’t deny his amusement at how your scowl only darkened realizing who he was. The fish merchant hurriedly bowed in acknowledgment of royalty, but you refused to so much as incline your head, defiant against what all subjects were expected to do. Even so, he placed the fish in your hands, which you accepted with minimal grace before shoving it into your bag. “I had it under control,” you grumble, keeping your eyes low. “You call that having things under control?” Taehyun teased. “But I’ll take that as a thank you.” “Thank you so much, Your Highness.” you flash an ignorant smile, the twinge of sarcasm in your voice not going unnoticed. Taehyun found your defiance incredibly endearing. “So, what’s royalty like you doing out here so late at night?” He's taken aback by your question. Taehyun was not accustomed to someone speaking to him so carelessly and casually. He was eager to continue the conversation with perhaps the most breathtaking person he’d seen in the kingdom yet. His shoulders shrug. “The palace gets boring. Sometimes you just need to get away.” You feign a gasp, hand against your chest in pretend shock. “Of course, your golden palace with hundreds of rooms filled with endless food and things to do must be so uneventful.” Your animosity toward royalty had Taehyun’s eyebrows furrowing. “Anyway, it was nice talking to you, Your Highness.” You spin on your heels, abruptly putting an end to the conversation. You've had enough of royalty for one day. About to head in the opposite direction, Taehyun hastily grabs your wrist to stop you. “Wait!” his voice was filled with urgency. Expectantly, you look up at him in annoyance. “You can’t tell anyone that I was here. I’m not allowed to leave the palace.” “I’ll think about it,” you half-joked, though there was no denying the curiosity he sparked. His grip around your hand loosened before dropping to his side, and you felt a pang of disappointment at the loss of contact. It was strange how speaking with the kingdom’s beloved prince felt as ordinary as chatting with any other commoner. “I’m serious." He refused to break eye contact. "Nobody can know.” There was an undeniable panic in his voice, and you decided to let your defense down for the moment, nodding in reassurance. “Thank you-” Taehyun stopped, not knowing what to call you. You finished the sentence for him, your name confidently rolling off your tongue.

He repeated your name softly, and you had to admit it sounded better coming from his lips. “I’ll have to find a way to repay you.” Taehyun offered you a kind smile which you returned genuinely this time.

“You could promise to buy me more fish.” you beamed at him childishly, tugging on the strap of your bag.

“I think that can be arranged.” a smirk splayed across his mouth, knowing you weren’t serious. “And call me Taehyun.”

“I think I prefer Your Highness.” With that, you spun on your heel and hurried down the dirt path, leaving Taehyun rooted where he stood. He watched contentedly as your figure faded into the darkness, pulling his hood back over his head. Staying out any longer would undoubtedly cause problems for him back home, but he could hardly care. After all, the only thing occupying his thoughts on the trek back to the palace was you—the strangely enigmatic, fearless girl from the village he desperately hoped to meet again.

Taehyun was not one to break his promises.

There he stood, leaning against the well in the quiet, shadowed emptiness of the village. It was a small town, so Taehyun prayed it wouldn’t be too difficult to find you again. He was right, of course, a quiet satisfaction lighting up his eyes as they followed your figure through the darkness. You, however, were oblivious to his presence. With your head constantly scanning the surroundings, your eyes sharp and focused, you moved with purpose toward the well, oblivious to who might be trailing behind. Taehyun, cloaked in his dark attire with his hood obscuring most of his face, called your name. It quickly proved to be a terrible idea on his part. Without thinking, your fist shot out, landing hard against Taehyun’s shoulder. He hadn’t expected you to be so strong—much stronger than you appeared. By the time you realized it was him, it was almost too late. Your punch nearly sent him tumbling into the well, but just in time, you grabbed his arm and yanked him back toward you. Once he was steady, you shoved him away in irritation. “Are you insane?” you shouted. “You’re asking if I’m insane? You almost sent me down a well!” Taehyun shouted back, rubbing his now sore shoulder. As much as you wanted to stay mad at him, you simply couldn’t. Not with those doe eyes staring back at you as he winced in pain. You knew you had a strong arm, and you felt especially guilty noticing the bag of fish he held tightly in his opposite hand. Rolling your eyes in obvious defeat, you sigh and take his wrist in your hand. “Come with me.” You give Taehyun no choice but to follow you, dragging him along the path that would eventually lead to your home. It was a quaint living space just large enough for four people. Much smaller than what Taehyun was used to, of course. You were self-conscious of how Taehyun's eyes scaled every inch of your cottage. The feeling of your place being scrutinized had a faint heat rising to your cheeks, but you didn't know that Taehyun wanted to savor the space in his mind. He’d never had the opportunity to see anything like it, considering all he’d ever known was the palace. This felt more like a home than his own chambers. "You can have a seat,” you glanced in his direction. “Sorry, I know it’s not exactly what you’re used to.” “Don’t be. I think it’s lovely.” Taehyun's smile made your heart skip a beat for the first time, and you knew he was being honest with you. He sat down, placing down the bag of fresh fish. He watched you retrieve some ice wrapped in an old rag from the kitchen, taking a seat next to him. “Take your cloak off," you demanded. Taehyun hesitated at your instruction before removing the cloak he used to hide his identity in the village. Goosebumps rose on his skin as you helped him remove one arm from his tunic sleeve. He thought your touch was gentle and steady. You carefully pushed the sleeve up over his shoulder, glancing down his now partially revealed bare chest—his necklace falling against his skin. Clearing your throat after staring just a beat too long, you gently pressed the ice against the green and blue bruise already blooming on his skin. Taehyun hissed at the sudden chill, his hand instinctively covering yours as you held the ice in place. “Sorry for punching you," you spoke up.

Taehyun chuckled at your cute apology. “Don't worry. I guess I did sneak up on you.”

It was quiet again for a moment while you moved the ice around on his shoulder, the proximity between you two becoming a distraction. Your eyes were trained on the task at hand, doing your best to ignore Taehyun’s burning stare. Unable to take the silence much longer, you shift your gaze to the fish on the table. “You didn’t have to actually buy me more food.”

His eyes remained on your face. “I wanted to. I can get as much food as you need. I am royalty after all,” he finishes with a sly remark, emphasis on the word royalty.

“Yeah, well you’re a royal pain in my ass.” you retort.

“Okay, just stop.” Taehyun took the ice from your hand and set it on the table before standing abruptly, forcing you to scoot back in your chair, the wood creaking under the sudden movement. “What is all this anger you have toward royalty? Can you just... explain it to me?”

You tensed at the question. His tone wasn’t defensive, but the subject alone was enough to leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

“My parents,” you replied, voice colder than the ice he’d just set down. “I have them to thank for my hatred of royalty.”

“Your parents?” Taehyun echoed, confusion creasing his brow. He wanted more than anything to understand you. “But they’re not even here. right now."

Emotions boiling over, you stepped forward, your face mere inches from Taehyun’s. “Maybe it’s because your precious royal family had them executed. Maybe that’s why."

Taehyun’s mouth opened, but no words followed. The weight of your admission hung heavy between you, the truth settling like stone. His gaze softened as he noticed the way your jaw clenched, desperately trying to hold yourself together. The way your lip trembled, bitten hard to stop any more words from breaking free, stirred something painful within him.

“I’m... I’m really sorry. I didn’t know,” he said quietly, his voice filled with sincerity and regret.

You were confused. Taehyun was royalty incarnate, but something about him allowed you to let your walls down. All at once, you let the tears spill over your eyes—completely vulnerable in front of the crowned prince of all people. You were supposed to hate him, despise him and everything he represented. But how could you when he wrapped his arms around you so tenderly, letting your body settle against his as you cried for the first time in months over your family?

He could feel the way you trembled against him, the shakes fueled by both sorrow and rage. Resting his chin gently on top of your head, he hesitated before voicing his question, his tone cautious. “Why were they executed?”

Your ear remained pressed to his chest, where his heartbeat quickened—whether from nerves or guilt, you couldn’t tell. But you sensed his hesitation, the uncertainty of whether he should pry further into the tragedy of your parents’ deaths.

“My brother was killed in battle fighting for this kingdom. A year ago today.” Your words were slow, carefully measured, as if the wrong tone might shatter your composure. “He was so young, forced to fight against his will. That’s when my parents realized just how little the palace truly cares about its people. If you’re not living within those palace walls, your life means nothing to them.”

Taehyun clung to every word, his chest tightening with guilt and sympathy. “What did your parents do then?” he asked gently.

“After my brother’s death, they couldn’t stay silent. They started speaking out, warning the village of the palace’s corruption—how they forced children from their homes to fight in wars, how they stole from the poor to maintain their own luxury. Word was spreading quickly, and people were starting to listen.” You swallowed hard, your voice straining against the emotions welling up. “But before they could gain any real momentum... the guards came. They broke into our home and killed my parents right in front of me.”

Taehyun opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, determined to finish your story before your courage wavered.

“And that—” you aggressively wiped away the last tear that stained your rosy cheeks, falling back into your chair with a thump. “—is why I hate royalty. And why I hate that stupid insignia you wear around your neck.”

That was the moment your entire facade clicked for Taehyun. The wall you put up every time he was around—it was a result of everything you had endured. You’d seen too much, and Taehyun’s face was a cruel reminder of all the heartache you’d been through.

Taehyun’s next words catch you off guard. Maybe it’s because you’d half-expected him to defend his kingdom, to uphold the image of his people. Instead, he sits across from you, his tone low and sincere.

“Your brother’s death wasn’t in vain, and your parents were incredibly admirable. They did what was right, and my people took that from this village. I know it might not mean much coming from me, but I’m truly sorry for what happened to you.”

For a moment, it hit you. Despite being a prince, Taehyun wasn’t much different from the common people you knew. He seemed more like someone who shared your struggles than someone who ruled over them. “Why are you so different from your snobby royal counterparts, Your Highness?” The sarcasm slipped out before you could stop it.

You had Taehyun grinning from ear to ear, his shoulder pain completely forgotten at this point. He liked this side of you—your resilience. “It’s not that hard to see through the kingdom’s lies, even from the inside.”

“Is that why you escape that place to come here every chance you get?” Taehyun’s smile falters. He forgot that his time here with you wasn’t his reality. It was reaching the darkest point of the night, and he would have to return to the palace soon before people started to notice his absence.

“It’s nice experiencing life outside of what I’ve grown accustomed to. Every day is the same, and it’s suffocating.” Taehyun heaved a long sigh, running a hand through his hair before fixing his sleeve and throwing his cloak back over his shoulders. “But that’s a story for another day.”

You stood with Taehyun as he flipped the hood back over his head, walking him toward the entrance of your home. “Are you implying that I’ll be seeing you again?”

Taehyun’s heart fluttered, and yours did too when he stopped, turning back to look at you. He longed for nothing more than to see you over and over. “Do you want to see me again?”

“Perhaps I do.”

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest with a smirk. “I thought you hated royalty.”

“I absolutely do,” you shot back. “But someone has to show you what life is like outside the palace. Who better than me, Your Highness?”

Taehyun gave you one last dazzling smile, his eyes lighting up before he excused himself, jogging back toward the bright lights of the palace, the glow casting a stark contrast to the dark village streets.

It was true that you’d be seeing Taehyun again, and not just once.

Every night at the same time, Taehyun appeared at your front door, and each time he came bearing food and other treats as a thank you for welcoming him into your home.

But it was never the generous gifts that brought you unexplainable joy—it was Taehyun’s company that gave purpose to your days. Every morning when you woke up, you found yourself counting down the hours until he would be knocking at your door.

You couldn’t remember how exactly you’d become so close to Taehyun, but now, you struggled to recall what life was like before meeting him. Months had passed with him woven into your daily routine, a newfound comfort you hadn’t realized you’d needed until now.

Tonight, like most nights, Taehyun had stayed longer than usual. You sat side by side on your bed, the quiet between you comfortable. Somewhere along the way, it became more than just visits—it became the highlight of your day.

Taehyun shifted slightly, his hand brushing against yours. The touch lingered for a moment before he broke the silence. “Where are we headed today?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with concern.

You looked over at him, the weight of your past sitting heavily on your chest. “I thought we could visit where my parents are buried.” You lowered your gaze, but Taehyun gently took your hand in his, his fingers idly tracing the lines of your palm. “It’s in the forest beyond the kingdom’s borders. They stopped letting anyone go there, so I haven’t visited their grave since they were—” Your words faltered, but Taehyun understood, his grip tightening just a little.

“It seems pretty risky. We could get caught,” Taehyun said with caution.

You looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. “I know, it’s stupid. We don’t actually have to go.”

“Hey,” Taehyun said softly, lifting your chin with a finger to meet his gaze. “I never said I didn’t want to go. I just said it would be risky, so we need to be extra careful. I’ll follow your lead.”

You bit your lip, fighting back a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Taehyun stood up, offering his hand to you. “We should go now.” He gently pulled you to your feet. You grabbed your coat, throwing it over your shoulders before stepping outside. Together, you walked toward the forest—the place you thought you’d never return to.

The road you followed weaved between different shacks within the village, the forest coming into your view after some walking. You could see the way the road abruptly ended, nothing but dirt and leaves scattering the open area, signaling that you had reached the town's borders. A chain-link fence stretched along the dirt road, disappearing into the distance. The metal gleamed, still fresh from its recent installation just a few months ago. It completely enclosed the forest, serving as a clear barrier to deter anyone considering defying the kingdom’s orders and venturing into the tree line.

The fence wasn’t very tall. Anybody could climb over it if they really wanted to, but that didn’t negate the fact that you were much shorter than Taehyun. This became clear as you approached the fence, now staring directly up at it.

You flinched feeling two hands come in contact with your waist, swatting them away and turning to look back at Taehyun with an amused look. “What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you a lift so you can grab the fence a little higher.” Taehyun was defensive but entertained by your reaction. “Is that okay?”

“Oh,” Nodding your head, you turn back to face the fence. “Good idea. Thanks.” You didn’t flinch the next time his hands met your waist, much more firm this time. In fact, your heart raced feeling his touch against you with his chest gently pressed against your back.

"Ready?" you hum softly in response, barely catching your breath as he used his strength to lift you onto the fence.

You quickly latched onto it with your hands and feet, shrieking when your foot slipped. Regaining your balance, you tried to steady yourself. "Shhh!" Taehyun whispered urgently, his eyes wide with concern, worried that your shout would alert anyone nearby.

“Don’t shush me,” you angrily whisper back. “I almost fell!”

“Then be more careful!” Taehyun began trekking up the fence close behind you. Swinging your leg up over the top of the fence, you jump down and land successfully on the other side. Taehyun was right next to you a few moments later. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped seeing the way your eyes glazed over, looking out into the dense forest. Taehyun wanted to pull you away from whatever reminiscent thoughts were crossing through your head, so he gently laced his fingers with yours and pulled you forward. “Lead the way.”

You glanced at Taehyun, whose eyes were already fixed on you. Having him by your side eased the burden of this trip. It gave you the strength to ascend deep into the woods, your legs automatically walking you in the direction of your parents' grave as if you’d been there yesterday.

Fear pulsed through your veins as you walked hand in hand with Taehyun. Though the pitch-black night made it nearly impossible for anyone to find you, you couldn’t shake the memory of what happened to your family. If caught crossing the village boundary, you knew it would only take one mistake to meet the same tragic end.

"We're here," you whispered, snapping out of your grim thoughts. Two stones stood to mark their graves, wilted leaves scattered across the mounds of dirt. The sight was bleak and neglected, a reflection of the kingdom’s indifference to the deaths of two so-called traitors. Taehyun let go of your hand, stepping back as you kneeled before the stones, ignoring the dirt now staining your clothes.

Taehyun propped himself up against a tree, watching you rid the area of the leaves, doing what you could to clean the forlorn graves. He smiles sadly as you sit back on your heels, looking defeated. Your mouth begins moving silently, most likely speaking to your parents, Taehyun assumed.

He deemed the scene too private for him to watch, instead scoping the area for fresh flowers to place down.

It goes on like this for some time before you raise your head up, urgently searching for Taehyun as you’d momentarily forgotten about him. “I’m here.” Taehyun reappears next to you, his voice reassuring. “Are you alright?”

You look with glassy eyes from the dirt back to Taehyun. “Honestly, I’m not sure. But I needed this.”

“I brought these.” Taehyun pulls a bunch of colorful flowers from his pocket as he kneels down close to you. They were beautiful—enough to have you wondering how long you must’ve been in your own world for Taehyun to gather such a perfect collection. “I thought these would help liven things up here.”

You couldn't summon the strength to take the flowers from Taehyun’s hand. Sensing your delay, he took it upon himself to scatter them around the stones. Your eyes followed his every movement, captivated by the delicacy of his actions. Every decision, every gesture he made was so selfless and reassuring—but it made no sense to you.

Taehyun continued speaking as he arranged the flowers, entirely absorbed by the task at hand. “I never told you this, but this necklace was my mother’s.” When he was satisfied with the arrangement, he gently pulled at the collar of his tunic, reaching inside to reveal the necklace. “My mother hated the palace, despised everything the insignia represented. Just like you.” His voice softened as he gazed at the jewelry, his eyes filled with sorrow. “She gave it to me, made me promise to never fall for the kingdom's lies—and to never follow in my father’s footsteps.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I’ve worn it every day since, even after she passed.”

The air noticeably shifted after Taehyun's confession. It made your head snap up from the ground, looking at the way his eyes reflected equal parts pain and joy at the memory. “Taehyun, I had no idea. I'm so sorry”

“It’s okay. She’s in a better place now. Just one more thing you and I have in common.” Taehyun chuckled to himself, looking up to meet your eyes briefly before looking back at the necklace.

“We can talk about something else if you’d like,” you suggested.

Taehyun hesitated, his mouth slightly parted like he wasn’t sure if he should say what’s on his mind. In any case, he persisted.

“Well, there’s an old myth they tell in the palace. My mother used to share stories about it all the time.” He spoke softer than usual, as though any louder and the moment would break. He seemed to be using the story to keep himself distracted, his words flowing more easily now.

“Mmhm,” you hummed, encouraging him to continue. Without thinking, you edged closer to him, your body unconsciously drawn to him as he spoke.

“An old legend says that two lovers were buried together in this very forest. When the boy died, the girl was devastated. They were madly in love, and she wept over his grave for weeks on end.” He tucked his necklace back into his shirt, his voice becoming more reflective. “The gods, moved by her endless sorrow, took pity on her. They brought him back to life in exchange for her suffering. The myth behind the legend says that only the tears of the deceased’s true love can bring them back, but just for a moment.” Taehyun paused, placing the last flower down and wiping his hands on his pants. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, now that I think about it. It probably doesn’t help you. But… it’s a beautifully tragic story.”

"How do you always seem to know the right thing to say?" You spoke quickly, unable to take your eyes off him.

Taehyun shrugged, looking away for a moment. "I was just rambling, really."

You cut him off again. "No, I mean it. All I want to do is hate you and your stupid royal blood, but I can’t. I look at you, talk to you, and everything just… feels right. And I don’t know why."

Taehyun raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting into a smirk. "So, you don’t hate me?"

You sighed, feeling a wave of frustration and confusion. His gaze was intense, and your heart beat faster than you'd like. "I hate that I don’t hate you."

In an instant, Taehyun's lips were attached to yours, his hands holding your face gently. It was as if all the emotions he’d been holding back after spending every day with you for the past several months had finally reached their breaking point.

He couldn’t ignore his connection to you any longer. Neither could you as you kissed him back without a second thought, wrapping your hands around his neck and pulling his body impossibly closer to yours.

Taehyun pulled away for a moment, resting his forehead against your own while you looked at each other with the same goofy smile. For the first time in a long time, you were happy. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth, breathing you in. “I’m in love with you.”

He anticipated your reply, holding his breath until you responded with an even more fervorous kiss. Strong hands held your waist against him, tilting his head as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

It was a while before you both reluctantly pulled away, Taehyun cutely nudging your nose with his while he held you tight. You finally say the words aloud. “I’m in love with you too, Your Highness.”

“Prince Taehyun. Your presence is requested by the King.” A palace guard peered into Taehyun’s chambers unannounced, prompting an irritated eye roll from the prince. He was dressed in his royal attire, hair neatly styled—such a far cry from the dark clothing and cloak he’d grown accustomed to wearing during his secret visits to you. The formalities of palace life felt increasingly suffocating compared to the freedom he found beyond the castle walls with you.

You.

You were the only thought playing through his mind day in and day out. This distraction had often gotten him into trouble during important meetings concerning the kingdom. His mind would drift away from political discussions, lost instead in the memory of your lips against his, the gentle touch of your hands grazing his neck, and the soothing melody of your voice recounting your day.

Taehyun thanked the servant, excused himself, and walked down the large hallway that led to the main hall where his father, the King, was perched on his throne. He looked at Taehyun rather expectantly, almost disappointed. It was a look that was hard to miss. Taehyun halted a few feet away, bowing respectfully at a ninety-degree angle. “Prince Taehyun,” his father's tone was unsettling. “I’ve been waiting to see you.”

“My apologies, father. I won’t keep you waiting again.” Taehyun stood up straight, looking into the King's eyes. “What did you call me for?”

“You've been acting strange for the past month.” The harshness in the King’s voice made Taehyun’s chest tighten. Conversations with his father were never easy, but this one made him fearful. “You’re distracted, lackadaisical. These are not the characteristics of a crowned prince.”

Taehyun’s heart lodged itself in his throat, but he forced his expression to remain stoic.

“You and I both know I won’t be around much longer. Soon, you will be in charge of this kingdom. But people are starting to notice how absent you’ve been. Tell me, Taehyun, do you even want to be King?”

“Yes, of course I do father.” Taehyun lied through his teeth—the promise he made to his mother ringing in his ears. The last thing Taehyun wanted was to rule over this god-forsaken place.

“Then start acting like it.” The King didn’t look so convinced, and Taehyun mentally cursed himself for it. “I’ve arranged for you to meet the princess of the neighboring Choi kingdom. You will need a queen to help you lead this palace. Someone who will align your focus. Someone to help you make the hard decisions.” You were the only one who could do that for him. It was you who made him see so clearly, Taehyun thought. “I’ve spoken with their King already and we will be planning your wedding to happen within the next week.”

Taehyun felt his whole world crumbling around him. It’d been nearly two weeks since he'd confessed his love for you, and already things were slipping through the cracks. “But father-”

“I don’t want to hear another word out of you.” The King’s tone was cold, final. “This is what’s necessary. And once you take the throne, your first act will be to strengthen the guard presence around the village. We can’t risk another… incident. The kingdom’s been far too lenient with traitors and their offspring.” His gaze darkened. “I won’t have another embarrassment like those fools who dared defy me—what were their names again? Ah, yes. The rebels with the cowardly daughter still skulking around the village.”

Taehyun had never hated someone so much in his entire life. The skin of his knuckles whitened from how tightly his fists clenched. He wanted nothing more than to make his father regret ever speaking of you and your family in such a vile way.

Never in his life had Taehyun practiced so much restraint. There was nothing he could do. If the King ever knew his son was sneaking out of the palace every night to see some commoner, especially the daughter of the kingdom’s infamous traitors, it wouldn’t end well for either of you.

He would have to begin plotting sooner rather than later. If he didn't, Taehyun would be married off to someone who wasn’t you, and the guards patrolling the town would prevent him from ever seeing you again. It was the worst possible scenario he could imagine.

Swallowing his pride, Taehyun spoke through gritted teeth, “I understand, father. May I be dismissed?” With an uninterested flick of his hand, the King waved his son off. Taehyun walked until he disappeared around the corner, breaking into a sprint down the hall once he was out of sight. He made a beeline for his room and slammed the door shut once he arrived. What was he supposed to tell you? All he wanted was to kick and scream like a child. Loud thuds echoed through the palace halls as Taehyun repeatedly slammed his head against his door—for once having no clue where to turn.

Shaky hands ran through his now messed-up hair, painfully imagining his life without you in it. The room appeared to shrink before Taehyun as tears stung the corners of his eyes, clouding his vision. He needed to act. Sitting in his room, dwelling on how sour everything was about to turn, wouldn’t benefit either of you. His eyes wildly darted around the room, desperately searching for his cloak. With shaking hands, he threw aside piles of garments, his frustration growing until his fingers finally found the familiar fabric. He yanked the cloak over his head, not bothering to straighten it before rushing to the window.

Throwing it open, he stared down at the castle’s backside—a familiar escape route he'd taken so many times before.

The night wasn't nearly as dark as Taehyun's usual escapades to visit you, but this was the least of his concerns. His only mission was seeing you. He had to warn you of his father's future plans before he lost you for good.

Taehyun managed to slip through the golden palace gates unnoticed, making his way to the charming village he’d grown so fond of. His pace slowed to a simple stride once he arrived safely.

Suddenly hyperaware of his surroundings, he observed the cottages and the quiet atmosphere—he frowned seeing all the people who were oblivious to the torment they would soon endure once the palace guards began patrolling the village.

He was in front of your home in zero time, the journey being second nature to him at this point. With a few special knocks, your cottage door swings open in seconds. A confused look washed over your face. Taehyun was never here this early. You were elated to see him, but that did little to drown your sudden concern.

Taehyun collapses into your arms nearly the second he lays his eyes on you. His weight completely crumpled against your body, holding you so tight as if you'd vanish the moment he let go. You finally question him. “Your Highness?”

With slow hands, you snake your arms up to wrap them comfortably around his neck, hoping to ease his indiscreetly racing heart against your chest. Taehyun pulls away to kiss you, lips lingering there for longer than usual. “I just need to be close to you right now. Please,” he mumbles against your lips, squeezing you tighter. The gesture made you smile up at him, flattered knowing he was so eager to see you.

You’re the first to pull away from Taehyun, nodding your head toward your home as an invitation. He follows close behind, draping his cloak over the kitchen table before his arms find their way around your waist from behind. You giggle at his clinginess, making your way to your bedroom with him still attached to you.

You guided Taehyun to the edge of the creaky bed, its wooden frame groaning softly beneath your combined weight as you settled down. The lumpy mattress shifted unevenly, straw rustling beneath the worn blankets.

His arms remained wrapped around you, pulling you close despite the bed’s quiet protests. He traced lazy patterns on your hip with his thumb and you let your eyes flutter closed, at peace.

The silence that sometimes found its way between you and Taehyun was usually a comfortable stillness, one that you always welcomed. Today, it was both deafening and hard to ignore.

“Is something wrong?” You asked, but with no response. This time, you picked your head up to gently rest your chin on his chest. Looking up at him, you find that he’s already been staring down at you with a small pout. His expression made you extremely upset, so you leaned up to kiss the pout away from his lips. “Please tell me what’s going on because—”

“Let’s run away together.” There it was. Taehyun’s master plan that he’d been conjuring up ever since the conversation with his father ended. It was the best he could think of—the only feasible option.

A nervous laugh erupts in your throat, unsure whether you should take him seriously or not. “What?”

Taehyun repeats himself much more assured this time, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Let’s run away together. You and me. Tomorrow.”

He didn't have to twist your arm. Running away with the love of your life and escaping this shitty kingdom sounded more than ideal, despite the obvious dangers. You smile with an adventurous look gracing your features, swinging one leg over his waist to sit up in his lap. “Let’s do it.”

“Are you serious?” Taehyun prayed it wouldn't take you much convincing, but god, did he feel lucky. Hearing your words of agreement left him feeling lighter. He slightly shifted in the bed and rested his back against the wooden headboard, admiring every inch of you while picturing running away hand in hand.

Tender fingers toyed with Taehyun’s, lifting his knuckles gently to your lips as you spoke. “Where shall we go?”

“Into the forest,” he answered, voice absent of hesitation. “We’ll keep running and won’t stop until we reach the clearing. Where we can be free from the chains of this god-awful place. There has to be another village. Somewhere far from here. Somewhere we can finally breathe.”

This was everything you wanted and more. It was hard to picture you and Taehyun spending the rest of your days as they had been the last few months—waiting out the daylight so you could see each other for a few hours at night. There was no future here, that was clear. "Will you meet me by the fence tomorrow night?” you ask him.

“I promise. I’ll be there at dusk.” Taehyun’s hands rest on your thighs, his touch gentle as his fingers continue to trace tiny circles against your skin. He’s searching for the right words. “I wanted to give you something.” Your head tilts in question, curiosity sparking in your eyes. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

“What is it?” you ask with a playful glint in your eyes. “More treats you smuggled out of the palace?”

He cracks a smile, remembering your first encounter with one another. “No. Um, it’s actually this." You held your breath when Taehyun lifted one hand from your thigh to touch his mother’s necklace that’s been hanging around his neck since the day you met him.

Your mouth runs dry at his words. Taehyun was really willing to give up his mother’s necklace, the person he admired the most, for you? You grab his wrist to stop him. “There's no way I can accept this.”

“My mother gave me this to make me promise I’d never devote myself to the kingdom.” His voice trembled as his unsteady hands reached behind his neck to unclasp the chain. Your eyes stayed locked on his, tears threatening to spill over at any moment. “Now, I’m giving it to you to fulfill that promise and prove that my devotion is to you. It symbolizes the day I finally leave the throne behind, for good.”

Taehyun leaned forward with the necklace in his hand, his eyes glimmering in concentration. He looked so pretty, his face inches from yours as he gently brushed your hair to one side. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you felt his hands reach behind your neck to reclasp the necklace. You’ve never been more in love than in this moment. One of his hands dropped down to your waist while the other rolled the necklace’s insignia between his fingers, carefully letting it fall to your chest. With both arms now hugging your waist securely, he bent down to press an affectionate kiss to your neck right over the chain of the necklace. Lips ghosted up your neck and across your jaw with more doting kisses, finally landing on your lips, the place you yearned for him the most.

Your hands cradled Taehyun’s face, pulling him closer as if the distance between you was too vast to bear. The darkness in his eyes mirrored your own, a desperate longing that words could never capture. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice soft as a single tear slipped free, tracing the curve of your cheek. His thumb swept it away, eyes frantically searching your face like he was memorizing every detail. And then, as if his restraint had finally shattered, Taehyun’s lips crashed against yours with a fervor that spoke of yearning, devotion, and a promise he could never put into words. His ministrations against you were equally slow and frenzied. With gentle gripping of skin and soft breaths between kisses, neither of you was able to get enough of the other.

The worn fabric of your dress gathered around your thighs in Taehyun’s grip. His touch burned through the thin cloth, and you nearly shuddered as his fingers slipped beneath it.

Taehyun was dressed only in his finely stitched tunic and trousers, his cloak long forgotten in the kitchen in his urgency to be near you.

He looked so beautifully out of place in your modest cottage—an artifact of sorts. The rich fabric clung to his shoulders, showing off the strong arms that held you. Its elegance is at jarring odds with the simplicity of your surroundings. He looked like he belonged to another world. One he was all too willing to leave behind.

“You look ridiculous in that,” you teased, your fingers toying with the delicate embroidery along his collar. “Too formal. Too… royal.”

His lips quirked into a smile, chuckling with you. “It’s not exactly practical for where we're going, is it?” His fingers slid along the now exposed skin of your hips, hiking your dress up around your waist. The pressure of his touch makes your breath hitch. “Compared to you, I’m overdressed.”

“Then take it off me.” The words slipped from your mouth before you could think twice, bold and shameless.

Taehyun’s expression shifted, his eyes darkening with something beyond amusement. “Anything you want, princess,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, the nickname rolling off his tongue. Princess—the word repeated in your head. His hands moved with careful intent, gathering the woven material of your dress and lifting it slowly and deliberately over your head, his gaze locked onto yours.

Taehyun let out a suppressed groan seeing your exposed body in nothing but your linen chemise. Unable to help himself, his fingers skimmed over the nearly see-through piece of clothing. His fingers barely brushed against your bare skin, dancing over the soft arch of your shoulder before trailing down your arm. The touch was gentle, burning your skin into the memory of his fingertips.

His breath caught as his hand ventured over your chest, fingertips following the delicate curves of your breasts, and eventually to your hardened nipples showing through the thin fabric. His hands moved to grip your sides, just beneath your arms, while his thumbs began tracing circles around them.

Goosebumps rose on your skin at the feeling when a soft, breathy moan you've been holding on to left your lips. Subconsciously, you arched your back into his sinful touch, hips buckling down into Taehyun’s lap. Taehyun was impossibly hard beneath you—all because of you. Your mind, your body, every secret and habit he’d memorized. The thought of you consumed him, stirring a primal need to claim every inch of you. He wanted to exist where no one else could, woven into your very essence.

Carefully, your hands reached for the hem of his tunic. Taehyun was eager to oblige, letting you lift it over his head and discard it onto the floor. Your hands explore his soft skin, running across his chest and stomach, which instinctively tensed at your touch.

Taehyun’s mind continued to spiral with thoughts of you. He needed more. He wanted so much of you that he’d never have enough. With this thought, his rough hands gripped your hips, dragging you against him in slow, deliberate grinds.

A low hiss left his lips at the increased pressure. Your hands rested on his shoulders, focused on the way his bottom lip was drawn between his teeth in focus. Testing the limits, Taehyun's hands gingerly tugged at the linen chemise still hugging your body—an annoying inconvenience to him. With a nod of permission, you took it upon yourself to pull the final layer of fabric from your body.

"You're breathtaking," he whispered in awe. "I don't think I'll ever get enough of looking at you."

Taehyun meant every word. Having you laid bare before him felt like a privilege—one he would never take for granted.

A quiet blush crept across your cheeks at the compliment. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been so vulnerable with a man. Nobody had ever made you feel the way Taehyun did. So cherished, so desired, so utterly beautiful in his eyes.

You craved the warmth of his lips against yours once more. Pressing your chest to his, you captured his mouth in a fervent kiss, desperate and insatiable. Your lips moved together in perfect harmony, a dance instinctual and familiar, as if you had been made for this, for him, and nothing else.

Taehyun's tongue pushed past his lips, venturing its way past your own turning the kiss feverish. Flesh against flesh, you allowed him to explore the cavern of your mouth. The sensation spread warmth across your body, quickening the needy roll of your hips against his. A throaty moan was elicited from Taehyun from the sudden change in pace. The soft sounds of his pleasure fueled your confidence, urging you to explore further. You wanted him to feel as cherished and beautiful as he made you feel. Gradually, your kisses trailed down his sharp jawline, each press slower and more heated than the last, like a growing fire.

Your lips moved down his neck, across his collarbone, before returning to his ear, where his breath caught in a delicate whine. Smiling against his skin, you lingered there and savored the moment, your lips teasing the sensitive spot you had found. In a daring move to enhance his pleasure, you trail a sneaky hand down into Taehyun's pants, palming him underneath the material. This time, your name loudly left his mouth in a needy cry, hips bucking up into your hand to match your movements. He was on cloud nine at this point, your hand rubbing his throbbing cock as your tongue traced just beneath his ear. It was short-lived as Taehyun's hand sharply gripped your wrist, stopping your motions. If he let you persist, he'd be cumming just like this. "What's wrong?" you whine, missing the desperate sounds he made. Out of breath, Taehyun wrapped both arms around your body, flipping you onto the bed and hovering above you, caging you in completely. The energy in the room shifted with a single movement. God, how you desired him.

Taehyun’s eyes searched your face, captivated by the sight of you beneath him—angelic, flushed with desire, your chest heaving with each breath, lips slightly parted, and your eyes wide, completely at his mercy. The way you looked at him, as if he were the only thing that mattered in the world, the way you lay there trusting him with everything. You knew him—the real him. And with that knowledge, you made him feel more than he ever thought possible.

He wanted to return that feeling to you tenfold. To make you feel special, seen, adored, and cared for in a way no one else ever had. This was more than just a moment—it was a promise, a perfect send-off before you both escaped together to spend the rest of your lives in a world built just for the two of you. He wanted to show you how a true princess like you deserved to be treated. "Nothing is wrong, my love," he finally responds, his eyes fixed on you as though you were the only thing that mattered. A smile tugs at your lips, and it makes his heart skip a beat. "I don't want you doing anything tonight. I just want you to lay there... to feel good. Let me tend to you like a princess." His voice wavers, and you can hear the desperation creeping in as he buries his head in your neck, grinding against you for some much-needed friction. "Please," he whines, his voice soft and pleading. "Let me take care of you."

You've never wanted anyone more in your entire life than you did at this very moment. You wanted to be devoured by him. "Yes," your voice comes out in a breathless whisper. "Please... you can do anything you want with me. I'm all yours." You're all his. Those words alone made Taehyun spring into action. With a shallow kiss to your lips, he moved down your body, each inch of his journey intensifying the desire coursing through him.

He refused to neglect a single inch of your body. Your neck, jawline, collarbones, shoulders, breasts, stomach—each press of lips followed by a proclamation of his infatuation with you. He was like a lovesick puppy, panting and unable to detach himself from you even for a moment.

Hands gripping the flesh of your thighs, Taehyun parted your legs making room for his face. A gentle swipe of his finger against your soaked folds was enough to have your back arching in pleasure. You were so unbelievably wet from this simple touch. Taehyun was mesmerized by how drenched your cunt was before him. He could hardly believe you were real, that he had the privilege of touching you. The thought alone made him twitch in his pants with anticipation. Settling against the mattress, he positioned himself comfortably, his arms wrapping around your thighs to pin your hips firmly to the bed.

He started with a careful lick of his tongue against your clit, careful and purposeful. Taehyun’s gaze never left your body, his focus honing in on every subtle shift and reaction beneath his touch.

He craved nothing more than to be perfect for you, instinctively aligning his movements with the signals you gave him, ensuring everything he did was exactly what you needed.

The more you writhed beneath him, the harder his tongue worked against you. It swiped across your folds, lapping up every little bit of your sweet arousal. You were addictive to Taehyun, and he couldn’t help but think this might be his favorite thing in the world.

His grip on your legs was unyielding, keeping you pressed to his mouth as he moved with desperation, your body trembling under the waves of pleasure he created. "Taehyun," you moaned his name inappropriately, your hand threading through the tufts of his hair, guiding him exactly where you wanted him. "Just like that… you feel so good," you whined in need. You had never felt like this before.

Taehyun groaned lowly against your folds, the praise making his head spin. He was doing everything right—everything you needed. Slowly, he moved his head back and forth, the firm pressure of his tongue relentless. No matter how much you tugged at his hair or tried to move your hips, he refused to relent. You could feel the edge approaching, and Taehyun could sense it too as he held you firmly against his face. "Yes, please don't stop," you pleaded, practically drooling with how close you were to release. A few more subtle movements of his tongue against you and you were seeing stars. Taehyun never lets up his actions, allowing you to ride out your high and bask in every ounce of the pleasure that coursed through you.

His chest swelled with pride feeling you shaking on his tongue, pretty sounds never ceasing to leave your equally pretty lips. He watched you with a quiet amazement.

The lewd sight before him had Taehyun discretely grinding himself down onto your bed for some form of relief. He thought he could do this to you forever. Taehyun needed to see you release beneath him again as if his very life depended on it. He would do anything to hear those sweet sounds and watch your face twist in pleasure once more. One time was not enough. Taehyun wouldn't care if your next orgasm was around his cock or not. If you asked him to stay between your legs all night, he'd do it without protest. Taking his pointer and index fingers, Taehyun spread your folds apart, rubbing your clit with his middle finger. A sharp shriek escaped you, head thrown back against your pillow at the overstimulation. He relished in the way your hole leaked with arousal, clenching around nothing. Eyes fixated on your cunt, Taehyun continued to grind his hips against the bed. A low moan left his own lips at the thought of how much pleasure he was giving you. The only thing stopping him was your firm hand caressing his cheek, pausing his movements. Mesmerized, he looks up to see what you need, his lips glossy and slick with arousal. "Yes, princess?" he's quick to ask, eager to serve you. "I need more of you," you pant, the longing in your voice undeniable. He knew exactly what you wanted. Taehyun stood up from the bed, slipping two fingers past his lips to clean the arousal from them before reaching down to remove his final layers of clothing.

You sit up eagerly on your elbows, eyes fixed on Taehyun as he removes his undergarments. The sight before you is mouth-watering—such a beautiful prince, once capable of commanding a kingdom, now standing before you, stripped of his title.

And yet, instead of holding any power, he kneels back on the bed, completely at your mercy. Your stomach flutters, overwhelmed by how willingly he offers himself, prioritizing your pleasure above all else.

Your body is once again enveloped by Taehyun’s much larger frame. As if the thought of being separated from you for even a second is unbearable, his lips find your neck almost instantly.

There’s nothing rushed or frantic in his movements. Every action he has taken since he placed that necklace around your neck has been slow, intentional, and with one thing in mind: your satisfaction. His lips and nose traced the cool chain resting on your neck, his kisses gradually migrating to your jaw. Amidst the soft presses of his lips, his hand glided up your thigh with slow movements, each touch sending a shiver through you as he positioned himself between your legs. "You sure this is okay, love?" Taehyun wanted to ensure your absolute comfort. He's sat back on his knees now, straddling you as he runs his tip along your wet folds. Fuck. How could you possibly say no when the man you loved so deeply sat before you, looking like that? You were practically drawing him into you.

"Please, take care of me, my prince. Make me yours."

Taehyun’s breath hitched at your desperation. You sat up for a moment, running a greedy hand down his body, making it harder for him to hold back. With a soft growl, he gently pushed you back onto the bed, unable to resist any longer.

He hovers above you once more, finally pressing his length into your entrance. Loving hands gripped your waist tentatively as if you were made of porcelain. He had promised to be gentle, to give you everything you needed. After a few shallow thrusts, allowing you to adjust to his size, he finally bottomed out inside you, the connection between your bodies complete. Taehyun hissed the moment he filled you, throwing his head back in pure delight. You weren't just his princess—you were a goddess, sent to save him, to claim him. He lay flat on top of your body, skin to skin, as his arms wrapped around you in a loving embrace. Taehyun made tender love to you in a way he never had before. Every careful roll of his hips sent your eyes fluttering closed, your hands digging into his muscular back that flexed with every movement. You couldn’t speak, but your body whispered everything it needed. You held onto him like a lifeline, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper into you.

Taehyun breathed heavily as your lewd moans filled the air, far louder than when he had gone down on you. The way your whines and cries grew with each thrust of his hips, the way his name escaped your lips—it sent a jolt through him, sparking every nerve. The feeling of your nails dragging across his skin only made him crave more. When you tried to meet his hips, he pressed you further into the bed, unable to resist the urge to give you everything you wanted. Seeing you like this—so undone, so lost in pleasure—was all Taehyun needed. He never imagined that your pleasure could drive him so wild, that watching you in this state would make him lose himself completely.

He dropped his head against your neck, fucking deeper into you with each painfully slow thrust. His movements were hard and unrelenting, as he ground against you with a raw, desperate need. "Fuck, you sound so beautiful," he murmured against your skin, his voice unsteady. Your moan, loud and breathless, slipped into his ear, making his spine tingle. "Feels good, princess?" Tears begin to prickle at the corners of your eyes when his hips curl just right, hitting your g-spot over and over again. You gripped his hair, tugging him up from your neck, forcing his eyes to meet yours. A wicked smile curved your lips as you watched his breath hitch. "You make me feel so good, Tae. You're doing so well," you purred, your voice dripping with praise. "Shit," Taehyun's eyes widened at your praise, his movements becoming more urgent. You had no idea how much your approval affected him. "I love you so much, I can't control myself." The mix of emotion and pure pleasure became overwhelming. Taehyun lowered his forehead to rest against yours, his breath ragged as his hand reached up to intertwine his fingers with yours, holding your hand firmly next to your head. Your gaze never wavered, locked in an intense connection as Taehyun continued his movements, each thrust purposeful and deep. His lips parted with a low groan before he captured your mouth in a kiss, holding it there as he quickened his pace, desperate to bring you to the edge once more. You called his name in a soft symphony of breathy moans, each one fueling Taehyun's movements, pushing him further into a frenzy. "I want to have you like this forever," he whispered, his words shaky as with his own release drawing near. "I'll never let anything happen to you. I'll always take care of you—just like this." Taehyun’s promises tumbled from his lips, soft and needy, growing more desperate the closer he got. Your body arched against his, your fingers tightening around his hand, knuckles turning white as you clung to him. "I'm gonna cum Tae," you barely choked your words out. Especially as Taehyun reached his hand between you both, rubbing hard circles over your clit to get you there. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice soft as you whined against him. "Let go, princess. I'm right here." One final thrust and you were there, gripping Taehyun's body hard while you screamed his name. The sound leaving your lips combined with your walls clenching around his cock had him cumming almost instantly, as if you' given him permission. It was everything he craved—to see you whole, utterly consumed by him. It took Taehyun a few moments to regain his senses. Even as he softened, he was reluctant to pull out of the warmth that felt so perfect around him. When he finally did, a sinful groan slipped from his mouth, his chin tucked to his chest as he watched the way his release mixed with yours, coating his length as he slid out of you. When Taehyun finally looked up at you, a smile spread across his face. You were already looking up at him, cheeks glowing with a soft blush, hair adorably matted to your forehead, glistening with sweat. He reached out, gently tucking a few stray strands away before cradling the side of your neck, his thumb tracing circles along your cheek.

You looked like an angel before him—his angel. The one he was lucky enough to steal away, to disappear with forever.

Your own heart was beating fast out of your chest. The beautiful boy above you made everything you'd ever been through worth it. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough. Taehyun settled himself next to you on the bed, not once allowing his touch to leave you. He pulled you along with him, securing one hand around your waist while the other found your hair, playing with it as he hummed a tune.

You let out a content sigh as Taehyun tucked you against him. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and tender.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion and filled with something even deeper—devotion.

You nodded, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “More than okay.” Your fingers drew tiny shapes on his chest. “I think… this might be the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Taehyun’s arms tightened around you, his heart thudding beneath your touch. “Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m never letting you feel anything less than this again.”

You smiled, closing your eyes as he continued humming softly, a melody meant only for you. You stayed in each other’s arms like this for the rest of the night. Tomorrow would finally mark the first day of your new life together. But for now, you had this. You had him.

It was nearly impossible for you to sit still the next day. You had woken up much earlier than usual as your body anticipated your escape. Anxious fingers tapped at your leg while thoughts ran rampant whenever you attempted to sit down and relax. Pacing your cottage seemed to be the only way of passing the time.

Taehyun’s actions mirrored your own back at the palace. It was barely seven in the morning and he’d already gathered what little items he deemed important enough to bring on your journey. Quite honestly, the only thing he needed was you. Everything else was meaningless and would only serve as a bleak reminder of the kingdom.

He pushed his way through the heavy double doors that lead outside to the palace garden. Contrary to the rest of the palace, it was a rather beautiful place that Taehyun always wished he could take you, had your circumstances permitted it. Various colors and flora decorated the green, spreading as far as the eye could see. It was the one place inside the palace walls that put his mind at ease. Taehyun felt it was the last place remaining untouched and uncorrupted by the kingdom.

More importantly, it was the last place he'd been with his mother. Just looking at the flowers and greenery sprouted an unexplainable strength within him. Taehyun made a mental note to tell you all about the garden when he saw you tonight.

“Prince Taehyun?” a voice of one of the garden keepers sounded from behind, interrupting Taehyun's inner monologue. He turned on his heel, looking at the stunned guard who quickly bowed as Taehyun faced him. The keeper looked familiar—Hueningkai, if he recalled correctly. A newer guard who’d grown up within the kingdom, around Taehyun’s age. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

With a tilted head, Taehyun looked puzzled at the keeper’s words. “What do you mean?”

The keeper's eyes went wide in realization of the admission he had let slip from his mouth, stumbling over his words in a failed attempt to backtrack. “O-oh nothing, my prince. I didn't—I just mean you’re awake earlier than usual.”

A red flag automatically went off in Taehyun’s head. He took several sudden strides forward, and the keeper backed away as he did so. There was something off. Taehyun felt it in his gut. “Don’t lie to me. Who gave you orders? What’s happening today?”

“I’m not... I'm not supposed to say.” Hueningkai kept his eyes low out of respect.

The immense fear in Hueningkai's eyes made Taehyun’s own gaze soften with guilt. It was the same fear he imagined in the eyes of villagers whenever they felt threatened by the throne.

Taehyun hated himself for wielding his title in such a way. It made him feel like his father, using status and power to instill terror in people.

Taking a swift step back, Taehyun eased the tone of his voice. “I won’t tell anyone you told me, Kai.”

Hueningkai’s eyes flicked up at the sound of his name, darting around nervously. Taehyun could see him weighing the risk of divulging anything to the crowned prince. With a tight swallow, Hueningkai quickly babbled, “A few criminals are being captured and taken to the palace dungeons this morning. They're set to be brought out in front of the palace for the public to witness."

Taehyun didn’t understand. “Why wouldn’t you be allowed to tell me this?”

“The King made it very clear that you know nothing about the execution. That your presence would only agitate things.” "Execution?"A wave of confusion washed over Taehyun. His father had always made a point to inform him of every ordeal that occurred inside and outside of the palace. He was never kept in the dark as the crowned prince, not when he was expected to understand the duties of a King. Why would his father decide today of all days to shut Taehyun out?

It wouldn't matter in the end—he would be gone with you by his side in less than a day. Still, part of Taehyun felt unsettled by the conversation.

"Thank you." He didn't wait for the keeper's response, his body already moving sharply toward the palace. The urgency to see you grew stronger with every step.

You, on the other hand, had been quietly rehashing the getaway plan in your mind while Taehyun busied himself at the palace. Perched on the edge of your bed, you ran your hand over the crease in the sheets where Taehyun’s body lay with yours just the night before.

Your coat hung over the wooden kitchen chair, pockets stuffed with what little items you actually need for your journey with Taehyun; a few pieces of memorabilia from your family, some money, and snacks to keep you satiated.

Uncertain of what else to do to pass the time, you decided to fill a canteen with water for both yourself and Taehyun, knowing that a long journey was ahead.

Walking the short gravel path to the well, you couldn’t help but laugh, remembering your second encounter with Taehyun when you nearly saw him tumble down the well. You two had come so far, and now, you were preparing to run away forever with him. Bending over carefully, you held the metal canteen under the spout, pushing the pump down and watching the cold water flow out. The sun's rays glinted against the shiny canteen perfectly, nearly blinding you. But the longer you stared at the canteen, you couldn’t help but notice a dark figure growing larger in its reflection. After a moment, you could easily figure out that it was a large man approaching you at full speed. You’d recognize that insignia anywhere etched on the front of his garments. It was a palace guard—and he was running straight at you.

With your back still turned, you quickly step back, planting one foot on the ground while swinging your body around. Your arm extends as the metal canteen comes in contact with the palace guard’s face just in time. The impact stung your hand, but it was nothing compared to the way the guard flew back at the blunt force, landing hard on his back. Your strike bought you enough time to sprint in the opposite direction, but as you turned, you saw another palace guard approaching from that same direction. With no other choice, you were forced to retreat down the path toward the forest.

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, the sound of blood rushing in your ears as you ran. Every step was fueled by fear, by the knowledge that everything was at risk. It couldn’t be a coincidence that guards had appeared in the village today of all days. They’d already taken your parents and brother—what more could they possibly want from you? For a brief moment, a dark thought twisted in your mind: Did Taehyun betray you? Had he told them? But no… He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Your trust in him steadied your breath, the doubt slipping away as quickly as it had come.

Luckily, you were quick on your feet. The familiar chain-link fence that marked the boundary to the forest soon came into view. You were so close. Just a little farther and you’d make it. All you had to do was scale the fence and keep running, not stopping until you were out of sight. Taehyun would realize something was wrong soon enough, right?. He’d come for you that night, and your plan would unfold just as you’d imagined.

You made the mistake of glancing over your shoulder, only to realize both guards were now hot on your heels. The distance was closing at an alarming rate. With the fence now directly in front of you, you mentally cursed yourself realizing that Taehyun wasn’t here to help lift you this time. Regardless, you didn’t stop your momentum as you jumped as high as you could and grabbed onto the fence, smiling in victory once you’d settled yourself onto it.

Your mini-celebration came to an abrupt end as large hands gripped your ankle roughly, ripping you down from the fence and forcing you to fall straight to the ground. You landed hard on your stomach, knocking the wind out of you as you struggled to breathe any air. The first guard grabbed you by your hair, pulling you up to your feet with no remorse. You reached up with all your strength, trying to grab the guard's hands and break his firm hold on your hair. Kicking and struggling with every ounce of power you had, you fought to escape, but it was no use. The other guard swiftly pulled your hands behind your back, tying them together with a rope that cut painfully into your wrists.

“Let me go!” you struggled against the confinements.

“Be quiet," one of them grumbled to you. “We have direct orders from the King to apprehend you.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you couldn't hide the disgust in your voice. You squeezed your eyes shut at the pain overwhelming your body from both exhaustion and being handled so brutally. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“We're just following orders.” "That's your problem," you spat, looking up at the palace guards with pure disdain. "You follow the kingdom’s orders blindly, without question. You’re nothing but dogs with no sense of humanity." They must've deemed your fighting words not worth responding to, silence ensuing. You were out of options at this point. Exhaustion completely washes over your body, and you’ve lost the strength to struggle in your restraints. The most courage you could muster was to glare up at the guard who watched you closely. His eyes were keenly focused on the insignia around your neck. Reaching out to examine the charm connected to the end of the chain, you barely had a second to react before he ripped it off of you, shoving it deep into his pocket. He smirked. “I don’t believe this belongs to you.”

“Give that back!” You further protest against the wrist restraints until the other guard knocks you onto your knees, shutting you up. You fell with a thud, out of breath and completely defeated.

An image of Taehyun’s face played in your mind, etched in a way that made your heart ache. You could see the way his eyes always studied you, full of quiet curiosity, trying to understand every little part of you. You imagined the gentle pressure of his lips, brushing against your temple, soft and reverent, before trailing down to capture your own lips. A smile tugged at your own, the warmth of his touch still lingering in your chest.

That was all you could hold onto before something hard and unforgiving came in contact with your head, forcing your vision to fall completely black.

A sudden panic washed over your entire body. Slowly regaining consciousness, your eyes darted back and forth underneath your eyelids before shooting wide open with a loud gasp.

Everything felt fuzzy. Even through the haze, you could tell that you were no longer in the village. Your surroundings felt foreign, distant, like they belonged to someone else’s world. You blinked several times, the world around you shifting slowly into focus, only to be stabbed by the harsh contrast of sunlight and the palace’s blinding yellow lights, glaring down at you like judgment.

The palace.

Your stomach churned. Those pathetic guards had dragged you, unconscious and helpless, all the way here. You were sitting at the bottom of the grand palace stairs, your body aching as the weight of your situation sank in.

Your chest burned with fury. Anger surged through your veins like wildfire, making your hands clench involuntarily. The sight of the dozen or so guards, poised like statues, made your blood boil. The air was thick with the murmurs of the palace citizens, gathered in some sick mockery of a crowd. They all stood idly by, watching as if this were the best entertainment they'd seen in weeks. It was the King, sitting like some kind of wretched deity at the top of the stairs, who held your eyes the longest. His eyes, filled with contempt, watched down on you and the others, indifferent to the suffering around him. You could feel his gaze like a weight pressing down on you, and all you could feel was the heat of your anger.

When you noticed the line of people waiting behind you as a guard shoved you toward a man with a sharp sword, one thing became clear.

This was an execution.

Taehyun needed to see you as soon as possible. There's no way he could wait for nightfall at this point. Kai’s words had left him teetering on the edge. He knew that he had to leave the palace immediately.

The doors leaving the garden burst open under Taehyun’s force, his urgency propelling him forward as he hurried through the palace corridors toward his chambers.

He snatched his cloak, swinging it over his shoulders along with the few belongings he had prepared. There was no time to sneak around the grand halls, no time for caution. He didn’t care if someone saw him.

But first, Taehyun wanted to see his father one last time before he left for good. There were a few final words he needed to exchange with him—a final nail in the coffin. He would make sure the King regretted every cruel decision he ever made—how he mistreated his late wife and his only son, the only people who had ever been close to him. And when Taehyun was finished, he would disappear with you, leaving nothing but ashes of the kingdom’s sins behind. The King would never see him again.

With a sharp turn around a corner in the direction of the King’s throne, Taehyun abruptly collided with the large body of a palace guard who seemed to be in just as much of a rush as he was. The guard was quick to express his remorse. “Prince Taehyun, my apologies.”

“It's fine,” Taehyun’s words were sharp and to the point, having little time for banter of any sort. “Where is my father?”

“I believe the King is somewhere just outside of the palace.”

“For today's execution?” Taehyun retorted. The guard's eyes widened just in the slightest at Taehyun's knowledge of the executions occurring today. But he was quick to regain his composure, nodding in confirmation with his head hanging low to avoid Taehyun’s eyes.

“Thank you. You may carry on.” The guard bowed lowly at Taehyun’s dismissal. On any other day, Taehyun would’ve paid little mind to the palace guards he came in contact with and continued his mission through the palace, but the faint sound of metal clinking against the marble floor made Taehyun stop cold in his tracks.

A glint of silver caught his attention, and his heartbeat quickened when he saw a necklace lying at his feet.

Slowly, he bent down and let the chain fall into his palm, the familiar insignia cool against his skin. His fingers traced the insignia between his fingers the same way he'd done the night before when he fastened it around your neck.

Taehyun lost all sense of rationality watching the guilt creep its way into the guard’s eyes. They darted frantically between the prince's face and the necklace now in his hands. Taehyun spoke through gritted teeth, “Where did you get this?”

“Your High-”

“Where the fuck is she?” he snarled, shoving the guard against the stone wall with a force that rattled the air. His forearm pressed violently against the guard’s throat, fury blazing in his eyes.

The guard’s silence spoke louder than words ever could.

Taehyun’s chest heaved, his breath quivering as he fought against the truth clawing at his mind. A strangled sob nearly escaped him. He already knew the answer.

Yet he still repeated himself, voice cracking and barely more than a whisper. “Where is she?”

The guard did nothing but turn his head away in shame, eyes looking in the direction of the palace entrance where the execution was being carried out just on the other side. With a final, furious shove against the wall, Taehyun released the guard and took off, sprinting down the corridor with reckless abandon. His boots pounded against the floor as he charged toward the entrance, his breath ragged and his vision blurred. Reaching the grand doors, he threw them open with all his strength, their heavy frames crashing against the walls with a deafening roar. He was met by the glaring afternoon sun that shone, a complete contrast to the scene playing out directly in front of him as his father and the people of the palace turned to see who’d just burst through the doors.

Taehyun’s eyes frantically searched the crowd, his chest heaving as he scanned the sea of faces. When his gaze finally locked onto yours, a helplessness crashed over him like a tidal wave, something more agonizing than anything he'd ever known.

You knelt at the feet of the executioner, hands bound cruelly behind your back. Your trembling body swayed, but your eyes remained steady as you looked up, glassy and sorrowful, meeting his bewildered stare.

“Taehyun!” you screamed, your voice cracking under the weight of terror and longing. It was the last sound to leave your pale lips, the final plea of a soul torn apart.

As if your call had been a signal, the executioner drove the blade of his sword through your torso from behind. Pain rippled through you, sharp and unforgiving, and yet your eyes never left his. Even as darkness claimed you, you held his gaze.

“No!” Taehyun screamed at the top of his lungs, dropping to his knees as he watched the life slowly leave your body. You fell to the ground, your lifeless form marred by the blade that protruded from you by the hands of the executioner.

Taehyun couldn’t hear anything except the high-pitched ringing in his ears. It was as if the world had collapsed in on itself, leaving only that unforgiving, suffocating noise. His body shook so violently that his hands fell to the ground beneath him, palms scraping against the harsh stone.

The entire world had shattered before him. His gaze remained locked on your body, crumpled and still, blood pooling from the wound in your chest like spilled ink staining the ground. The warmth and life that once radiated from you were gone, stolen by the cruelty of this place.

He couldn’t protect you. He didn’t keep his promise to run away. His chest tightened with the force of his sobs, grief tearing through him with a brutality that left him gasping for air. And the realization twisted itself into his soul—he’d lost you. Forever.

It was his father’s voice repeatedly calling his name that brought him back down to Earth. “Prince Taehyun,” the King called over and over, breaking through his trance. He hadn’t realized he was crying either. Uncontrollable tears soiled his cheeks, his face flushing as he watched the guards drag your unmoving body away. “Taehyun, stand up! Kings do not cry over their subjects.” he walked over to grip his son by the elbow and yanked Taehyun to his feet. “Whether we loved them or not.”

Taehyun's chest tightened at his father’s revelation. Without thinking, his hands shot forward, shoving his father with both hands, nearly sending him down the treacherous palace steps. His rage was uncontainable.

“You knew about her—about us—this entire time, didn’t you?” he spat, his voice tainted with betrayal.

The King took a moment to compose himself, surprised by his son's emotion. Tahyun had never been one to act out, let alone in front of the entire kingdom. The guards carefully worked their way toward the altercation, to which the King simply waved off, wanting to hear him out. “Taehyun, you should be smarter than that. I have eyes all over the palace.”

Taehyun’s stomach twisted—the fishmonger.

The only one who had seen his face the day he met you. The same man who had argued with you over payment, unwilling to believe you had paid fairly. He must have held a grudge against you—against both of you. Or maybe he had simply traded village secrets to the crown for his own gain.

Taehyun felt sick. He should have known. His father had always had informants lurking in the village.

“So your solution was to take away the one thing that made me happy?” Taehyun yelled.

His father’s expression remained unchanged, his face a mask of indifference as if Taehyun’s words meant nothing. Cold and callous, he continued, “She would have been nothing more than a distraction from your duties as King.” Without a second glance, Taehyun’s father turned on his heel, striding back into the palace. But before he crossed the threshold, he paused mid-step, glancing over his shoulder with a sneer. His eyes locked onto Taehyun’s, swollen and brimming with unshed tears.

“I always knew you were just as foolish as your mother.”

The next thing Taehyun knew, he was on top of his father, unleashing all of the pent-up hatred of him and the throne. It took three guards to finally pull Taehyun off of the King, carrying him all the way to his chambers despite his thrashing and protesting.

The guards dropped Taehyun onto the floor of his room with a thud. His movements came to a complete halt as he quit his demonstrations, completely drained of any willpower he might have had left. The doors slammed shut behind him as he drew his knees up into his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

He remained in that position for the rest of the day, sobs bubbling from his chest every now and then. His cries only became louder as dusk fell, knowing he was no longer meeting you at the fence to escape into the forest that night.

Taehyun rarely left his room in the weeks following your execution. He only came out every once in a blue moon to attend to any princely duties his father forced upon him. Each task was promptly followed by a quick return to his bed.

He had become the unfortunate subject of gossip throughout the entire kingdom. The King, next to mortified, was consumed with shame over how the palace viewed his son—the future King.

To them, Taehyun was nothing more than a disgrace, the prince who couldn’t even hold himself together while witnessing his first execution. In the King's eyes, he had brought shame to the Kang Kingdom and tarnished the family name.

It didn’t help that Taehyun was supposed to be married off soon, with today marking the first time he was set to meet his soon-to-be bride. Despite all he’d endured, he was expected to run the palace alongside a Queen, in hopes of moving past it all. Yet, Taehyun felt like he had never had a choice in the matter.

Standing before the mirror after donning his royal garments for the meeting, Taehyun’s reflection greeted him with nothing but a blank expression, swollen eyes, and a dead gaze. He couldn’t help but notice how incredibly lonely he looked. His eyes, once full of hope, were now empty, drained by the pain his father and the kingdom had inflicted on him since his childhood. His gaze fell to the insignia hanging around his neck, the weight of it reminding him how it wasn’t where it belonged: it should have been with you.

Taehyun found himself in a fit of laughter. Anyone listening in on him would’ve thought he was crazy. It was comical to him. You were the one who was dead, yet Taehyun felt like he was barely alive.

His laughter was cut short by someone tentatively entering his room. “Prince Taehyun, is everything alright?” Caught off guard, he sharply turned to face whoever had caught him in such a vulnerable state. Aggressive eyes turned soft, recognizing the keeper from the garden, Hueningkai, who helped him the day of your execution.

Taehyun stood up straight, his feigned prince persona taking over. “Yes, I’m alright. Thank you.” The keeper didn't look so convinced, and Taehyun could tell he had something more to say. “What is it, Kai?”

“Prince Taehyun,” he began once more, looking towards the floor. “Permission to speak truthfully?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t think you should become King.” Taehyun’s eyes narrowed at the words. He wasn’t joking when he said he wanted to be truthful. “I mean, you deserve better than this god-awful place,” the man continued, his voice tinged with genuine concern. “You shouldn’t have to put up with any of this. I knew your mother, and I know you. Both of you are better than this entire kingdom.”

Taehyun’s father had conditioned him early on to never show emotion in front of his subjects, but that was quite impossible now. He looked over at Kai as his eyes filled with salty tears. “You say that like I have a choice to be here.”

“But you do, my prince.” Kai risked taking a step closer to Taehyun, lowering his voice to but a whisper. “You should get out of here. I won’t tell anyone where you’ve gone. The princess of the Choi Kingdom will not be here for another hour. It's not a lot of time, but it should be just enough to leave without anyone noticing.”

“I don’t think I can—”

“Please, listen.” The keeper’s voice was urgent, and Taehyun couldn’t ignore the urgency in it. “They buried her in the woods with her parents.”

Taehyun’s heart dropped at the mention of you, someone he had been haunted by for weeks.

“I know you know where that is,” Hueningkai continued, his tone softer now. “Go see her. But after that… you have to leave. Get as far away from here as you can. You owe it to yourself.”

Taehyun opened his mouth to respond, but the gardener was already gone, slipping out of sight and disappearing down the hall before anyone could notice. Taehyun knew he had a narrow window of opportunity, and he couldn’t waste it. The mention of your name had lit a fire within him, the last push he needed. Without hesitation, he grabbed his cloak and, in a heartbeat, slipped outside the palace gates. This time, for good.

He reached the village in what felt like the blink of an eye. It was easy to lose track of time when his mind was racing, consumed with images of you. As he passed the old well and then your cottage, time seemed to slow even more—if that was possible. Painful memories surged through him, skewing his senses so intensely that he almost didn’t notice the guard standing motionless at the village border. When Taehyun finally saw him, he jumped, ducking behind a nearby shrub just in time to avoid being spotted.

Had the King really deployed guards into the village so soon? Taehyun distinctly remembered his father saying he would delegate this responsibility to him when the time came. Perfect timing, he thought, rolling his eyes. The King no longer trusted Taehyun with the power of the throne, and now, Taehyun was starting to believe that trust had vanished long before you ever did.

It was now or never, Taehyun finally decided. So, with a few confident strides, there he stood directly in front of the palace guard who sat with his back comfortably against the fence. An unfathomable rage lit inside of Taehyun when he recognized the guard as the same one who possessed your necklace the day you were executed. “Prince Tae-” the guard couldn’t get two words out as Taehyun curled his fist and sent it flying across the guard’s face, crushing his jaw and sending him bouncing against the fence. Taehyun didn’t waste another second, scaling the fence and easily reaching the top as he swung his leg over to the other side. His opposite foot was suddenly caught by the guard, who weakly held his bloodied face with his other hand. Summoning every ounce of energy and strength left in him, Taehyun kicked out, his foot slamming into the guard’s face and knocking him unconscious in an instant.

Taehyun jumped down from the fence, stumbling slightly as he hit the ground. Then, without hesitation, he ran. Ran until the chain-link fence was no longer visible behind him. This was it. He was no longer a prince, but a runaway, desperately searching through the forest for the place where his love had been buried. When the forest finally opened up, revealing a freshly filled grave with a small gravestone etched with your name, he knew he'd arrived.

The sight was beautiful yet tragic at the same time. The last time he was here with you, he hadn’t processed how the trees surrounding the graves blossomed with pretty pink flowers, casting a small shadow over the open area. The fallen petals decorated the dirt in a haunting yet mesmerizing way that drew him in towards your grave. He sank to his knees, his palms pressing into the dirt in front of the gravestone, his head hanging low against his chest. Before much passed, Taehyun broke down in a sob. His cries were deeper than the day you were taken from him, more anguished than when he learned of his mother’s death. He wept for himself, for the unbearable pain he had endured in his short life. He wept for the villagers, trapped in a cycle of fear under the kingdom’s oppressive rule.

Each tear spilled from his eyes, sliding down his cheek and falling toward the side of his nose, marking his sorrow.

It went on like this for several minutes, until one exceptionally large tear slipped from his eye, dripping down to his chin before falling onto the fresh dirt in front of your gravestone. For a moment, nothing happened. The world remained quiet except for the sound of his unsteady breaths. But then, a deep yet faint rumble stirred beneath him. At first, it was subtle, like a whisper beneath the earth. Taehyun barely registered it, too lost in his grief. Then, the tremors grew stronger. The ground beneath him trembled with an unnatural force. Loose soil scattered across the grave as a brilliant light erupted, swallowing the gravestone in its glow.

His head snapped up, confusion flickering across his tear-streaked face. The brightness was blinding, forcing him to lift an arm to shield his eyes as his heart hammered against his ribs. The vibration intensified, turning into a violent quake that had him stumbling back. The ground beneath him shook violently, and Taehyun stumbled to his feet. The persistent quaking sent him crashing into a nearby tree, his hands gripping its rough bark for balance as the tremors continued to rattle through the forest.

It was then that Taehyun remembered, all at once, the myth he had shared with you in this very spot—the legend that said only the tears of a deceased lover could bring them back for just a moment. His heart raced as the quaking earth beneath him seemed to affirm the ancient words. The gods had heard his sorrow, and they were giving him this one fleeting moment to be with you again. His life depended on it.

Still, he squinted ahead, unwilling to miss a single moment of what was about to unfold. The breeze swept through his hair as he slowly lowered his arm to his side. A small figure began to rise from the grave, drawing his curiosity in a way that tormented him. As the blinding light gradually dimmed and the brush cleared, his voice caught in his throat.

There you were, ascending from your grave in a way so angelic it stole the very air from his lungs. Taehyun approached with caution, his heart pounding in his chest, terrified that he was hallucinating. His eyes searched you, desperate to confirm the impossible.

You scanned the forest wildly, disoriented but taking in every detail around you. When your eyes finally locked on Taehyun, time seemed to freeze. He barely dared to breathe as he whispered your name, stepping into the cloud of smoke that surrounded you, “Is this really you?”

“T-Taehyun?” Your voice sounded dry and strangled when you choked out his name. But hearing you say anything at all made Taehyun smile. He stopped sharp short in his tracks, seeing a sharp blade protruding from the smoke, almost having walked directly into it. The closer he got to you, his heart sank as he recognized the sword protruding through your body, the same blade that had been driven through you during your execution. Despite the sight, he stepped carefully to one side of the sword, his hands trembling as he wrapped his arms around your waist above the blade. He pulled you gently against him, desperate for the touch he had longed for, feeling a rush of warmth as he held you once more.

“I'm so sorry,” Taehyun mumbled over and over into your hair.

“For what? You didn’t do this to me, Taehyun. This isn’t your fault.” You soothed him as best as you could, running your fingers gently through his hair that you missed so much.

You were an apparition, a momentary gift from the gods birthed by the tears he shed, yet he could somehow hear you and feel your touch. You seemed so alive, except for the sword that remained wedged in the center of your body, absent of any blood.

Taehyun leaned in to kiss you, tasting you against his lips after what had seemed like forever. You tasted the salty tears that stained his face, making your own eyes swell up at the heartbreak you must’ve put him through.

You refused to pull away from each other, savoring the moment as your lips moved slowly together. He eventually glanced down at the sword and then back up to your eyes, which were still closed, lost in the memory of his kiss.

“Does it hurt?”

You looked down at the sword sticking out of your stomach and chuckled softly. “I can’t feel a thing.”

Taehyun felt a wave of relief wash over him, and he couldn’t help but kiss you again, his lips lingering on yours. As he pulled away, he bit down gently on your lower lip, a playful smile tugging at his features. He pressed his forehead against yours, a gesture he always cherished.

“I felt that, though,” you said, your voice light with laughter, and soon he joined you, the sound of your shared joy filling the air.

The laughter quickly faded, replaced by an ominous silence that hung between you, the sky dimming overhead. Neither of you wanted to say what was truly on your mind.

Taehyun was the first to speak, his voice hesitant as he tiptoed around the truth. “I can’t believe the legend was actually true.”

You swallowed hard, the words heavy in your chest. “I know,” you responded quietly, unwilling to delay the inevitable. “But that means we don’t have much time left together. I’ll have to leave soon.”

There are a hundred ways to leave a lover.

Taehyun had spent sleepless nights tormenting himself over each one, his mind cycling through every possibility. Abandonment, betrayal, indifference—all the ways people tear each other apart. But death… death was the most permanent of them all. Maybe that was why his father had used it so mercilessly against your family. It was a clean break, an irreversible punishment meant to sever ties forever.

But for Taehyun, it only solidified his resolve. He wouldn’t let the same fate tear the two of you apart. If death was how his father wanted to end things, then Taehyun would meet him on his own twisted terms.

If losing you was inevitable, then maybe surrendering himself to that same fate was the only way to feel whole again.

The thought had consumed him for weeks, festering like an open wound. Maybe everything he’d endured—every conflict, every lie, every stolen moment with you—had brought him to this very decision. With that unwavering determination, Taehyun took a step back from you, aligning the tip of the blade with his stomach as his hands reached behind you to grasp the sword’s hilt

“What the hell are you doing!?” Your hands flew on top of Taehyun’s in a panic, stopping him before he could make any crass decisions.

Hueningkai’s words echoed in Taehyun’s mind—about seeing you and then continuing with his journey—but Taehyun couldn’t bring himself to move forward. Not now, when he felt farther from the kingdom yet closer to you than he ever had before. Leaving you wasn’t an option.

“Don't,” he murmured, his hand gently caressing your face as tears slipped down both your cheeks. “It’s okay, my princess. We can spend an eternity together this way.”

Taehyun’s hands found the hilt of the sword again, his palms sweating as he met your gaze one last time. With a final, shared smile between you both, he shoved the sword back through your torso, piercing his own as it passed through you both.

Your bodies collided, flush against one another now, the blade connecting you in a final, agonizing bond.

You reached out, catching Taehyun against you as his blood seeped from his wound, staining both your clothes. Your arms wrapped around him, holding him steady as his hands pulled you closer, resting his head against your chest with the last of his strength.

You could feel the life draining from him, his weight growing heavier against you with each passing second.

"I love you forever," Taehyun managed, blood trickling out the corner of his mouth when he opened it to speak.

“I love you forever, Your Highness,” you replied sadly, feeling his heartbeat slowing against you. "I'll see you soon."

Eventually, your ghost vanished, leaving Taehyun lying alone atop your grave, motionless. Yet he still smiled, knowing he would see you on the other side. The kingdom was finally a thing of his past, and you would be his future.

tags: @dawngyu @fatbixchwithanopinion @hyunj00 @chubichubs @taebatu ㅤ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

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heartfullofleeches · 3 months ago

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Yan "Cheater" Husband blurb

Suggestive Themes. "Infidelity", Masochism, Crossdressing

Your husband is a boring man.

Simple, courteous, predicable.

Wakes up bright and early everyday for works, returning to the haven that is your love nest by dusk- If he has enough time in the morning, he'll prepare breakfast for the two of you. Variety is key to fulfilled existence, but he didn't see things that way. If you didn't remind him to broaden his horizons, he'd eat the same handful of fruit and sip his black tea each morning until the day he died.

After work hours, he spends every waking hour by your side, silently relishing in the domestic bliss. As he lays down to rest, your love is his blanket. When your out on the town, hourly updates are mandatory. When he's gone, you're left with schedules of where he should be at any given time.

The bubble of independencacy from one another had bursted years before you were wed. Hardly a day you goes by without you seeing each other -Which strengthens the question of how he came into contact with his new.. friend.

She's beautiful.

You'll give her that.

You like to think that she is. You know it. The photos she sends too blurry to make out - almost like she knows she's doing something she shouldn't. For his part, your husband has never responded to the obvious hints sprinkled through their conversation. You doubt he'd get the memo if she flat out begged him to bend her over his desk - but there were still signs.

Lipstick stains on the collar of his shirt. His briefcase hidding in plain sight. That saccharine, floral scent so strong you can almost taste it- He would've gotten away with it longer if he hadn't used something you yourself purchased for him last spring.

Their final text was the nail in the coffin for her... rather his identity.

"You don't deserve someone like them."

Even while playing the part of a flirty workmate seeking attention of a man who'd never give her the time of day, your husband still had to push forth the narrative that you are, and always will be out of his league. Come to think of it, most of their conversation wound up back to mentions of you. It was always about you.

"You didn't think I'd recognize my own phone number, Hector?'

It hasn't been yours in years, but you used it long enough to forget it so easily. Why should an upgrade put an old device to waste. Especially one holding so many memories. So generous of you to unknowingly gift him that old phone to use as his work number.

"Forgive me, Y/n. I don't know what was going through my head when.."

"When you were flirting with yourself? Dolling yourself up and never letting me see that side of you in the flesh? What did you expect was going to come from this, Hector? What were you hoping for?"

Jealousy-

Your hands around his throat as you reminded him, that woman - everyone, who he belonged to. Blood from his broken skin used as the paint to decorate his lips as you break him apart and mold him at your whim. He needed your rage, but he did not want to be the direct cause of it. If you hated him for real his heart could not take the rejection, but if he can have a taste of your resentment in the form of every bite you adorn his skin with-

Your faithful, loyal husband. Your toy to play with and take apart.

Is it there a world where he can be both?"

"Work has been pretty slow these past weeks. I hate to bother you, so having someone else to talk to about you helped. I suppose it got out of hand."

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere #yandere oc #yandere insert #yandere blurb #male yandere #yandere drabble #sub yandere #masochist yandere #yandere cheater

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realestatephotoeditingsblog · 6 months ago

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#day to dusk conversion #day to dusk photo editing #real estate photo editing #outsource #USA

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illbegottenfaith · 4 months ago

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you must have just read it in my eyes (a Be More inspired fic)

Over the years, Theo realises just how much you mean to him, bit by bit (theo nott x reader)

a/n - my first Valentine's Day fic yay!!!! I have more planned (hopefullyy I'll get them all out? we'll see lol) hehe enjoy :))

tropes/warnings - literally no warnings lmao, one tiny suggestive line, fluff

word count - 1.9k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson @ebriton @thaliashifts

The first time Theo thinks you must be something more, it catches him completely off guard.

It’s on a cool September evening, just as dusk is settling on the horizon. He's at Hogsmeade, walking back to Hogwarts with his friends scattered along the path, laughing and tripping over themselves. A cold gust of wind runs through them while he adjusts his gloves (Merlin knows the cold is ruthless on his joints) when this girl, one he’s said perhaps a grand total of two words to, turns and tugs at the sleeve of his coat.

He’s too stunned to resist. For the first, but definitely not the last, time, he lets you drag him around as you wish.

You were always around—a presence that never demanded attention but was impossible to ignore. You had mutual friends, exchanged the occasional dry remark, but never anything beyond that.

But that changed on this brisk autumn evening. Without looking back, you reached behind and wordlessly pulled Theo along so he wouldn’t lag behind, all while your conversation with Ivy continued unbroken and unfettered.

It was such a small thing. Thoughtless, instinctive. You hadn’t even glanced at him.

But Theo had looked at you, and for some reason, he couldn’t look away.

After that, you became more than just a vaguely familiar face in Theo’s life. Bit by bit, you began to take shape in his mind as he learnt more about you. You had a younger sister. You didn’t care for wet weather. You twisted your ankles on an alarmingly regular basis. Like him, you took Arithmancy, but, unlike him, you actually enjoyed it. It was an ordinary evening in the common room when you set a cup of tea down in front of him, unannounced, unacknowledged. As aggressively nonchalant as he tried to appear, you couldn’t help but notice him pulling out his hair for the better part of the last hour over whatever assignment he was working on.

Theo looked up from his Arithmancy quiz, gaze flicking from the cup to your face. But you were too busy looking at his parchment, brow furrowed as you silently mouthed the words along while reading them.

After a few seconds of silence, you extended an arm, tapping on one of the questions.

“Not quite right.”

Theo reread the question and, sure enough, he was a little off. By the time he looked up again to thank you, you were already settling into the chair across from him, casually stirring your own drink. He watched you curiously.

“Like telling people they’re wrong, do you?”

“When it’s you? Sure.”

He didn’t react to it immediately. If anything, he was amazed at how your voice could soften the blow of the snidest of remarks. Instead, he studied you, cool and unreadable as ever.

You sighed, adjusting your position as you poured your attention back into your crossword. “You’re staring,” you noted, not looking up, when he showed no signs of looking away any time soon.

“Am I?” His voice was even, measured. He took a slow sip, testing the tea. The smirk slid right off of his face. Two sugars, no milk. It was perfect.

He could have asked how you knew. Could have pointed out that he’d never mentioned it, that you must have noticed all on your own. But he didn’t.

Because he had been watching you, too.

Theo had heard it all before. A name spoken in a certain tone. A pause just long enough to say what they wouldn’t dare to outright. A muttered, “once a Nott, always a Nott,” just loud enough to reach his ears.

There was nothing new in the way they spoke about him—nothing particularly creative, nothing worth the effort of a response. He had learned long ago that silence was the easiest way to make those kinf of people uncomfortable.

But before he could decide whether this was another moment best left ignored, your voice cut through the conversation.

“And yet,” you said, tone light, almost unnervingly idle, “you've spent the better part of the evening trying to impress him. Almost like you care what a Nott thinks of you.”

The silence that followed was immediate, the shift in the air unmistakable. The words were clean. Precise. Lethal in a way that left no room for retaliation.

Someone shuffled their feet. Another cleared their throat awkwardly. Theo didn’t turn, didn’t look at you, but he could feel the weight of the moment settle between them, thick and suffocating. He could see the scathing look of derision he knew he'd find in your eyes, the one you saved for people like them.

You didn’t linger - you never saw the need to stretch out a moment that had already served its purpose. You had already moved on, making some offhand remark to a friend as if the exchange hadn’t quieted the common room.

Theo exhaled through his nose, amusement curling at the edges of his otherwise impassive expression. Merlin knows he didn't know how to put it into words. But for some reason, he didn't have to. Not when it came to you.

Later, when you were walking back to the common room, he let his knuckles brush yours as you turned the corner.

You didn’t acknowledge it. You didn’t have to.

Theo was not a sentimental man. But when he looked at you, he found himself memorizing things he had no business noticing. The way you tilted your head when you were listening. The ink smudges beneath your fingernails. The way you had mastered the art of dozing at breakfast when you thought no one was paying attention to you.

He found himself slowing down just to see you huff and drag him along more often. Only now, he had figured out the next best thing to do was to then immediately pick up the pace and lengthen his stride, all while you hurled breathless obscenities at him as you struggled to keep up, still attached to his sleeve.

Little things, small enough to be forgettable. But never to him.

Perhaps that was why, on this particular evening, he found himself more attuned to the details than ever - the rustle of your coat as you walked beside him, the fleeting half-smile that played at your lips as you took in the sights around you.

The sky had deepened into a cool, wintery dusk, the last traces of daylight sinking beneath the horizon. The air smelt crisply of pine. Hogsmeade, bathed in the golden glow of streetlamps and shop windows, buzzed with its usual evening crowd. Students loitered outside Honeydukes and couples drifted toward Madam Puddifoot’s. There was a honeyed air of anticipation, something quiet yet tangible, threaded through the brisk February breeze.

You and Theo had spent the afternoon in their usual way—wandering from shop to shop, falling into conversation that meandered just as aimlessly. You had tugged on his sleeve, as always, urging him along when he lingered too long in the bookshop or took his time finishing his butterbeer. He had walked a little too fast, just to hear you sigh in amused exasperation before catching up.

As you made your way back to the castle, Theo lagging abysmally behind, you turned. But this time, something was different. Looking at Theo, hair mussed by the wind, eyes glittering as they caught the light of the dim, flickering street lamps, you were struck by the sudden realisation that not once had Theo tried to stop you. In between the teasing and heartrending cups of tea, something had shifted without either of you knowing.

It was a subtle change. Almost unnoticeable.

You hesitated before reaching for his sleeve.

Just for a moment. Just long enough for him to catch the flicker of uncertainty before you masked it.

Theo felt the difference immediately. You had always done this absentmindedly, effortlessly. But now - now there was a pause. A consideration.

The cobblestone streets stretched ahead, illuminated by warm pools of lantern light. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, at the soft wool of your scarf tucked high against your jaw, at the way your breath curled in the cold air. You weren't looking at him, but he could see the faintest crease in your brow, like you had noticed the change, too.

He didn’t say anything.

But for the first time, when you tugged on his sleeve, he resisted—just for a second. Just enough to let you notice.

You glanced up to meet his gaze and you looked like you wanted to berate him for making you feel things he had no right to make you feel.

You didn’t pull away.

The restaurant is warm, its golden light spilling onto the pavement through fogged-up windows. Inside, glasses clink softly, laughter hums beneath the gentle murmur of conversation, and candlelight flickers against polished wood. It’s a quiet sort of place, intimate without being stifling, refined yet comfortably worn.

Theo lingers outside.

His hands are tucked into the pockets of his coat, shoulders squared against the chilly evening air, but he doesn’t make a move to step inside. Not yet. Instead, he watches.

Through the window, he finds you easily. You’re seated by the far wall, absentmindedly running your finger along the rim of your glass. The candle at your table casts a soft glow across your features, and you look—content. Not impatient, not waiting. Just at ease in your own company.

It doesn’t surprise him. It never has. You were always like that, more than happy in your own company. It’s something he's admired from the start. It's something he loves now.

And still, even with that quiet self-assurance, as though you cannot help yourself, you glance toward the door, briefly. You look for him.

Theo exhales, a slow, measured thing, before finally pushing the door open.

The shift is immediate. The warmth of the restaurant wraps around him, the scent of spiced wine and something faintly floral hanging in the air. His footsteps are steady as he makes his way to you, and as though you've felt his presence, there’s already a knowing smile playing at your lips as he reaches the table.

“You’re late,” you murmur, smiling despite yourself.

Theo slides into his seat, his gaze never leaving yours. “I can't help it. It's cold out.”

You huff a small laugh, picking up your glass. He watches as you take a slow sip of your drink, utterly at ease beneath the weight of his attention.

“I can think of a few ways to keep you warm,” you remark idly as you set your glass down.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Oh?”

There’s a glint in your eyes, but you don’t elaborate, only tilting your head in that absent way he’s long since memorised. It’s teasing, but it’s also something else - something unspoken, something that lingers between you, quiet and unassuming.

His fingers brush against the inside of his coat pocket. The small box is still there, tucked away safely. The weight of it is steady, familiar.

There it lingers at his lips, unbidden and unsaid.

Darling, please. Let it be more.

#okay today is the day I get my taglist down trust 😭😭#theo nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fluff

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muwapsturniolo · 10 months ago

Text

♱ 𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐆𝐨𝐝, 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤 ♱

Pt.01 Pt.02

IN WHICH…A virgin meets the new priest of her church, Father Matt, and her world of all things holy begins to crumble.

WARNINGS… NSFW AHEAD! Religious figures, god is mentioned, Demons, religious abuse, mentions of exorcisms, paranormal activity, making out, fingering, blow jobs, pillow humping, breath play, cum eating, rough sex, virginity mentioned, voyeurism, masturbation, blood, orgasms, death, innocent/nieve!reader, asshole!matt. IF I MISSED ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!!

APOLOGIZING NOW TO ANYONE WHO IS SUPER RELIGIOUS! THIS IS NOT MEANT TO DISRESPECT ANYONE, I JUST GOT THE IDEA FROM OTHER SMUTS I'VE READ, THE SONG BY PATD!, AND THE MOVIE MOTHER!

This is a long one, like I'm talking 5k sum words. I hope y'all enjoy.

The dark.

It was something many people, both children and adults alike feared

Nyctophobia.

They hated not being able to see their surroundings correctly, to see the color in their life. They hated being alone in what seemed to be an endless descent into a void.

Y/n was the same..

She hated the dark, always has.

However it wasn't the dark that necessarily scared her, it was the fact she knew she wasn't alone in the dark.

When she was younger, she had imaginary friends, they were her only friends. During the day they were nice to her, playing tag with her outside, and holding fun conversations about rainbows and unicorns, but as it got closer to dusk,

They began to change.

Their faces would sink in, and they'd start making clicking noises and whispering. They would creep around her home and tell her to do bad things. She'd beg them to stop, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she did so.

They wouldn't listen, instead they'd get violent.

When nighttime fell, they would grab her feet in bed, attempting to drag her off the safety of her mattress. They would scratch at the walls, screaming as their talons left marks along the pink wallpaper.

She'd curl into a ball, tears rolling down her face as she prayed for god to stop them, but god didn't listen. Her prayers only seemed to enrage her imaginary friends, their screams getting louder as their actions became more violent.

But the only time they'd stop was at 3 AM.

Their screams would suddenly stop, their violent actions coming to an end.

And it was always because of Matt.

He was a ghastly pale boy, his skin being a stark contrast to her warm soft brown skin. He had a round face and sandy brown hair, his blue eyes were piercing.

And he always had a smile on his face.

He'd crawl into bed with the young girl, wrapping his small arms around her and whispering in her ear.

"It's ok Y/n, you'll understand eventually."

She was confused by his words, not understanding what he was talking about. But she never had time to dwell upon it, her eyes falling shut as sleep overtook her.

She was always able to fall asleep quickly when Matt was there,

He was comforting...He was her savior.

But that was yanked away when her parents held her first communion, crowning the girl a child of god and letting her consume the blood and body of Christ.

Her imaginary friends no longer appeared, Matt was gone.

Oddly, she missed it, the nights in which she used to fear and learned to love were taken away in the blink of an eye and she hated it. She would tell her parents how she missed Matt, how she missed the conversations they held at night.

To say her parents were frightened would be an understatement. They accused her of being promiscuous when she didn't even know what promiscuous meant.

They accused her of being friends with the devil.

Instead of just understanding she was a child with an active imagination,

They locked her in the hallway closet.

They wouldn't let her out for a week, ignoring her screams and pleas to be let out.

She was scared, hurt, confused...She didn't understand why she was being punished this way.

So when she was dragged inside her home, soaking wet from the storm outside, and her mother opened the closet,

She lost it.

She screamed as loud as she could, kicking, screaming, and fighting for them not to lock her in that closet again.

"Please! I'm sorry, it won't happen again!" She pleads helplessly to her father. Her glossy eyes stared into her fathers deep and stern ones, hoping he would have a change of heart.

He didn't.

Her body fell backward as he shoved her into the small space, her head hitting a shelf. Ignoring the pain in the back of her head, she scrambled forward, attempting to stop them from closing the door...But it was no use.

The door slammed shut, trapping her in the dark.

Her fists banged against the door, her screams raw and ear-piercing as she begged them to be let out.

but they don't listen.

Her screams eventually come to a stop, turning into soft and raspy whimpers, still pleading for forgiveness under her breath.

They ignored her, giving each other a look before heading to their bedroom to hopefully get some sleep.

A few hours had gone by, and Y/n managed to curl into a ball on the floor, her fingers dancing in the sliver of light casting from the hallway underneath the door.

Her eyes were dead, her throat sore from all the screaming and shouting she was doing earlier.

Suddenly, she feels a presence.

She tense, her fingers stopping all movement.

She thought that it was one of her parents coming to let her out of the closet, but that thought was thrown out when she heard a clicking noise.

The same clicking noise from her childhood.

She scrambles to sit up, her back touching the door as the hairs on her neck stand up.

Her eyes dart around in the darkness, her pupils straining, trying to find what she was looking for.

But she couldn’t see, it was dark.

Her breathing is harsh, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tries to figure out if her mind is playing tricks on her. She comes to the conclusion that she was in fact hallucinating, and tries to calm down, but that changes in a split second.

The clicking noise happens a centimeter away from her ear.

She lets out an ear-piercing scream, throwing herself further away from whatever was trapped in the closet with her.

It happens so quickly, the clicking noises and screaming multiplying.

She's instantly brought back to all the times she would lay in bed at a young age, screaming for her imaginary friends to stop torturing her.

"Stop it! Please stop! Let me out!" She sobs.

She curled into a ball, her hands over her ears as her eyes clenched shut.

She looked like a child, a scared child.

The screaming and clicking goes on forever, day and night, not that she could tell the time.

All sense of time had been thrown out the window.

She doesn't know how long she was in the closet, the door never opening until eventually,

It did.

The screams stop immediately, the quietness seeming so loud.

Y/n opens her eyes, blinking profusely as she adjusts to the light she hasn’t seen in days.

Once they do finally adjust, she sees a hand outstretched toward her. She follows the limb upward and her eyes land on Matt.

Her savior.

He has a warm and welcoming look on his face, contradictory to the shadows standing behind him.

“It’s ok Angel-” He voices softly as he sees her frightened eyes and splotchy cheeks.

“Take my hand,” He urges.

Hesitantly, the girl takes his hand, no longer wanting to be in the closet. As she rises to her feet her legs begin to shake, weak from being trapped in the closet with nothing to eat or drink besides a single water bottle and a loaf of bread.

Matt wraps an arm around her waist, a neutral expression on his face as he supports her shaking frame.

“Look at you, so weak and scared. They had you in there for six days.” He coos.

Suddenly her parents appear, making her flinch back in fright. She was scared they were going to put her in the closet again, trapping her with the demons.

“Did you do what I asked?” Matt questions with a straight voice. Both adults nod, their eyes casted on traumatized Y/n.

“Yes, Father…They are in your car.”

Matt hums in thanks and looks down at Y/n, “let’s go Angel.”

Her parents watch as she’s pulled out of the home, mumbling a prayer to themselves that their daughter be saved, and whatever demon inside her banished so she can live a full life.

Matt opens the passenger side door, helping her get situated in the car before walking over to the driver's side.

His eyes land on her parents standing by the door.

As they hold eye contact, they can’t help but feel a chill run down their spine. They watch as an eerie smirk makes its way onto the Father’s face.

Matt watches as her parents are yanked backward, the front door slamming shut.

He chuckles and settles into the car, starting the engine and pulling off down the street.

Y/n sits quietly in the car, her eyes dull and face grim.

Matt side-eyes her but says nothing, continuing the drive to their destination. Midway through the drive, he reaches into the backseat and places a brown paper bag in her lap.

“Eat. You need the energy.”

Y/n stares down at the paper bag full of food, her stomach grumbling at the sight. However, she doesn’t dive in.

“F-for what?”

Her voice is raspy, her throat dry from all the screaming and crying she has done. She lifts her head and looks at Matt who’s already looking at her with a devious smile.

“Your exorcism.”

Her heart dropped along with her head, more tears falling from her eyes. She had completely forgotten that she was supposed to have an exorcism…She didn’t need one. There was no use in trying to beg him to listen, she figured his and everyone else’s mind was made up. Her hands shake as she begins to eat the food, the sandwich tasting rotten as she tries to wrap her head around what her life has come to.

Eventually, they pull into the lot of a rundown motel. The dim and half-lit sign read “ Cameron Motel”.

Weeds were growing all over the parking lot that had a few dirty cars parked. The building itself was baby pink with baby blue trimming that had graffiti all over it. Some of the windows were boarded up and others were broken.

She was so busy staring at the beat up building, she didn’t realize Matt had gotten out the car. She jumps when her door opens, her head turning and looking up at a stoic Matt.

“Get out of the car Angel.”

Her breath hitches but she does as told, hugging herself as she stands in front of him. He grabs her arm, and quickly drags her towards the entrance.

Despite the eerie and dark aura of the motel, she can’t help but find an appeal to it. She knew that if the building was taken care of, it would look beautiful.

Yet, she still finds herself crossing, her index and middle finger drawing a cross that catches her head and chest, to both her shoulders.

As they enter the dingy building, her nostrils immediately begin to burn with the smell of asbestos and formaldehyde.

She coughs a little as she takes in her surroundings. Just like the outside, the inside was decaying right before her eyes.

She’s taken out of her examination by a girl in her bra and underwear running past her, the girl laughing and squealing as a boy chases her in his boxers. She jumps in shock and presses herself closer to Matt, her cheeks warm from seeing the girl so exposed.

Matt ignores her obvious signs of being flustered and keeps walking.

As they walk down the dimly lit hallway, she hears all sorts of things behind closed doors.

Screaming, crying, moaning, and tv static.

The occupants of the motel seemed to have a very different outlook on life.

But who was she to judge? She was the one here for an exorcism, not them.

They approach a door at the end of the hallway, the room number reading 333. Matt pushes the door open and to Y/n's surprise, the room isn't as dirty like she thought it would be.

A king size bed sits in the middle of the room, adorned in clean white sheets. The floor is carpeted with no stains, and there is a tv sitting on a stand across the bed.

Matt gently pushes her inside the room and closes the door, throwing the bag on his arm on a nearby chair. She stands awkwardly in the middle of the room as Matt walks around. Her head is cast downward but she can see him removing his blazer.

He throws it down on the edge of the bed, soon sitting next to it and facing her. He examines her timid frame and hums to himself.

They sit in a pregnant silence before he finally speaks, "Take that bag with you into the bathroom. Get yourself ready."

She eyes the bag on the chair and finally looks back to Matt, "W-whats in there?"

"Just take the bag, and get ready," he demands. She nods and timidly grabs the bag, holding it to her chest as she makes her way into the bathroom. She sets the bag on the counter and unzips it, all her movements stopping when she sees what's inside.

She pulls out a razor and some type of women's shaving cream, shampoo and conditioner, and the final product,

A white dress with a thin pair of white satin underwear.

She takes out the white dress, holding it up by the shoulder straps, and examines it.

It looked like her usual nightgowns, except more provocative.

Her cheeks warm at the thought of seeing herself in the dress, Matt seeing her in the dress. She sets the dress down and looks back at the shaving products. She's a bit confused at the idea of shaving considering her mother and father never let her do so, telling her that children of the lord don't need to shave, and if she does shave she's a Jezebel.

But that's what she is right? That's what her father has deemed her as,

A Jezebel.

With that, she strips herself of her clothing, climbing into the shower, and cleanses herself. With never having shaved before, she takes quite a bit of time getting rid of the hair on her body, especially in other areas.

She climbs out of the shower and dries off, rubbing a vanilla-scented lotion into her skin and slipping on the dress, underwear, and knee highs.

She stares at herself in the mirror and examines herself.

Although she's exposed, looking whorish as her father would put it, she likes what she sees in the mirror. She loves the way her brown skin is a stark contrast to the white dress, and how soft and plump her skin is.

She has a glow...an Angelic glow.

She slowly turns towards the door and hesitates as she reaches for the handle. She's a nervous wreck at the idea of Matt seeing her so exposed, no one has ever seen her in such a state since she was a baby.

She debates on locking herself in the bathroom, but she knows that's not logical. With a fast-beating heart, she slowly opens the door, her left hand clutching the rosary that hangs in the valley of her breasts, tucked into her lingerie.

She steps out of the bathroom, her eyes landing on Matt who's still sitting on the edge of the bed, but now he's smoking a cigarette. He doesn't look at her, keeping his eyes on the TV that's playing nothing but static.

"F-Father?" She addresses shakily.

Matt says nothing as he stands up from the bed, walking over to the window and drawing the curtains shut.

"Sit in the middle of the bed, on your knees, palms turned upward," he demands, loosening his tie. She tenses but does as told, her heart beating wildly as she anticipates what's to come.

Matt ashes out the cigarette, throwing his tie somewhere in the room as he finally turns to her.

She watches as he looks her up and down, his eyes staying on her chest with an unrecognizable look in his eyes. She flinches when he finally makes eye contact with her, her head dropping downward almost instantly.

"What did you see?"

She looks up in confusion, not understanding the question. Matt moves to the foot of the bed, standing tall above her.

"In the closet, what did you see?"

Her breath hitches at the question, scared to tell him the truth.

As if he's reading her mind, he tells her to tell him the truth.

"I-I...S-shadows...."

Matt hums, taking a step closer to the bed. "Shadows...and what were the shadows doing?"

"Sometimes they would j-just stand quietly...staring at me. O-other times they are whispering, screaming...clicking."

Matt says nothing for a moment, staring at her with such an intense gaze she feels something in her lower abdomen. "And how long has this been going on?"

"S-since I was five... but it stopped when I was 7, when I first had the body and blood of Christ." Matt's eyes turn into slits, his posture becoming tense.

"Your parents told me about your imaginary friends, how you explained they would go bump in the night but would stop. Why and how would they stop?"

Matt's words become quick, almost as if he's excited, anticipating her answer.

"T-they would stop at 3 AM- The devil's hour." Her heart drops as he cuts her off, her eyes wide in fear.

"W-what?"

"The devil's hour, anytime between 3 and 4 AM when demons, ghosts, anything considered hellish are their most powerful. They can cross borders between realms, speak to the living, touch the living." His words hint at something, something Y/n isn't picking up.

"T-they were demons?" She whispers softly, her hands that were still facing upward shaking and beginning to sweat. Matt smiles at her, that devilish smile that she finds herself often thinking and dreaming about.

"I believe so...So tell me, why and how they would stop." He urges once more. "I um...They-they would stop when he appeared..."

"Who's he?"

"Ma-" She stops herself as her mind begins to connect the dots. The boy who she deemed her savior, the one who showed up at 3 AM and made the things that go bump in the night disappear. The boy who would cuddle her at night and hold small conversations with her.

She wasn't sure at first, but as she started to analyze his features, everything from the head down, it was the same person.

He was standing in front of her...In all his glory.

Matt's grin grows tenfold as he sees she's connecting the dots.

"Did you miss me, angel?"

She thought if she ever saw the boy she considered a friend again, she would be jumping for joy, but instead, she crawled backward towards the head of the bed.

She was scared.

Her hands shake as she covers her mouth, the reality setting in.

"Y-you're the Devil!" she accuses softly.

Matt chuckles and turns toward the mirror behind him, still holding eye contact with the frightened girl.

"Devil? No. A product of hell itself? Yes."

Y/n feels her whole world crumbling. She couldn't wrap her head around how her life had come to this, why she was the one picked for this?

What could she have done from the time she was born, to be deemed of this fate? Was this her punishment for what she had done in a past life? Was this punishment for using God's name in vain when she was younger?

"I told you when we were younger that one day you'll understand, that time is now." He grabs a bottle of wine and pours himself a glass, taking a long sip before turning around and leaning against the dresser.

"You see, your mother wanted a baby, and with your father shooting blanks, she was never able to have one. Despite calling herself a woman of god, she made a deal at the crossroads with my father, the devil himself. She was dumb, crying and begging for a child so bad, she didn't care about the repercussions that came with it."

Y/n feels as if she's going to pass out, all this information too much for her to handle.

"So she made the deal, the deal to give her little baby girl to one of the devil's sons. Me."

y/n quickly shakes her head, refusing to believe the truth. "Y-you're lying! You're a liar! She would have never done that!" She shouts, tears running down her face. she begins to pray, hoping that god will listen and make all of this stop, hoping that he will save her. Matt grows angry, throwing the glass of red wine on the floor as he crawls onto the bed. He grips her jaw tightly, getting in her face.

"Stop praying! God can't help you, he was never able to help you!" He bellows, the whole room seeming to shake. She opens her watering eyes and Matt relaxes just the smallest bit. He removes his harsh grip on her jaw and wipes her tears away.

"You're pretty when you cry Angel, so pretty."

He inches closer to her face, his breath fanning softly. " You're mine Angel, you always were-" His hand drops from her face and down to her shoulder, his fingers fiddling with the straps of her dress.

"-You know it's true, I know you feel the connection. I kept you safe when we were younger, making all the bad stop."

Her thighs tense as his other hand grazed the freshly shaved skin, his fingers dancing along the hem of the dress.

"I've only made you feel good, I showed you how good life could be in both your daydreams and at night. I broadened your mind, I gave you pleasure."

She gasps softly at his last words.

"T-that was you....My thoughts a-and the moment in the confessional?"

He nods, a soft smile on his face, "that it was. I knew you'd appreciate it, you never felt a sense of belonging following that path. You knew they were lying, sex isn't bad, touching yourself isn't bad, and reading whatever you want isn't bad. You enjoy those things, I want you to enjoy those things. I want you to be free, I can give it to you. you just have to trust me...Do you trust me?"

She comes to the conclusion that he's right, he never lied to her. he's only ever broadened her mind, gave her what she craved, lusted after.

He was her savior.

He was her god.

"Tell me you trust me Angel, grant me the access to give you freedom." she looks to her right, watching his hand toy with the thin string on her shoulder.

She doesn't know what he means by freedom, but she wants to be free. She knows there's more to life than her small town and the path of God. She wants to experience things, she wants to create memories,

She wants to live.

With dried tears on her cheeks, she looks back up at him.

"I trust you."

That's all Matt needed to hear before his lips crashed against hers, hungry and ready to devour her. Y/n is caught off guard, never having kissed anyone before. She doesn't exactly know what to do so she lets Matt take the lead.

Matt doesn't care, he knows of her innocence, and he loves it. In fact, it's a turn-on for him, knowing that he is the once who's going to ruin her.

He pulls away from the feverish kiss, trailing his lips down her jaw and to her neck. His hands rest on her waist, his knee in between her thighs and lightly rubbing against her core. He grabs her hand and places it on the tent in his pants.

He can feel her tense, he can hear her heart thumping wildly.

It drives him wild.

"You have me so worked up Angel, this is all for you. You did this." He holds her hand as he guides it in an up-and-down motion, moaning softly in her ear, expressing the effect she has on him.

It gets her hot and bothered, that tingly feeling she usually feels in between her legs when she usually thinks of Matt expanding. Matt chuckles, his lips brushing against her ear as he gently ruts into her palm.

"I can smell you Angel...you smell so sweet, delectable, divine even."

Y/n pants heavily, her body feeling electric. It felt just like her dreams, so real, intimate, right.

It felt right.

Every inch of her body that he touches feels hot, her muscles flexing at the soft yet heavy touch.

He leaves multiple hickeys along her neck and collarbone, sucking and biting at the skin in a way to claim her.

He pulls back and and yanks her towards him by her thighs, he stares down at her, appreciating how her curls fan out across the white pillows, adoring the marks he created on her body.

She was Angelic.

He pushes her legs apart and looks down, grinning wildly as he sees the wet patch in the underwear. His finger tickles her inner thighs as he takes his time getting to her core, her chest rising and falling harshly.

"When you touched yourself, did you think of me?"

He chuckles as she turns her head away from him. "I know you did, I know of everything you dreamt of. How you imagined my fingers plunging into your mess of a cunt, how you imagined my tongue lapping at your folds."

He rips the underwear off with ease, her eyes widening in shock from the action and now being exposed. She tries to close her legs but he shoves them apart.

"And my personal favorite, was me fucking you so hard, you kept begging me to keep going. Is that what you want Angel? You want me to be your God and fuck you?"

She nods sluggishly, drunk off of his erotic and intoxicating words.

She gasps softly at the foreign feeling of his fingers trailing through her folds. It was nothing like how her fingers felt, it felt better. Her eyes flutter shut as she relishes in the newfound pleasure, only for them to fly open when two fingers are slipped inside of her.

Matt instantly begins to thrust, curling the slim digits in efforts to break the girl. Her jaw drops as her eyes roll back, the lewd squelching noises make her back arch.

"You're so tight-shit- can barely move my fingers Angel. I can't wait to have you wrapped around me." He grunts out as he watches her walls clamp down on his fingers. She's already making a mess and he has barely done anything.

He takes his fingers out and smears her mess over her lips before slowly pushing them side her mouth.

“Suck.”

She does as told and sucks on his fingers, finding herself addicted to her own taste. Matt smirks and slips them out of her mouth, trailing the saliva down her chin to her chest. He wraps his fingers around the rosary and yanks it off, the beads flying all over the bed.

A metaphor for her being stripped of her innocence.

Before she can fix her lips to say something, Matt’s lips crash against hers once more. Her arms wrap around him, her eyes closed as she kisses him back as if her life depended on it.

Matt rips his button-up off, throwing it somewhere in the room before he starts to unbuckle his belt. Once he manages to take his pants off, he pulls away from the kiss and forces her on her knees, a pillow being pushed in between her legs.

He pulls his boxers down making her eyes widen in shock. She's never seen male body parts before, ever. She looks up at Matt, an unsure look in her eyes.

"Go on, put it in your mouth," he persuades, eager to finally feel her mouth on him.

"I-I- don't k-know ho- Yes you do." He cuts her off, his hand wrapped around his own member and jerking himself off. She watches with wide eyes, unintentionally grinding against the pillow in between her legs.

"Put it in your mouth, lick on it like you do your ice cream cones." Matt's mind flashes back to the park, watching her walk away from the ice cream stand licking and sucking on her vanilla cone.

He wanted to claim her that day in the park, taking her under the tree for all to see, but he couldn't, he had to wait.

Y/n hesitantly moves her head forward, giving a small kitten lick to his tip. Matt's whole body shudders, the urge to fuck her mouth too strong.

He snaps.

He fists a handful of her hair and pushes himself in her mouth, groaning loudly as she gags and chokes around him. Her eyes clenched shut as the salty tears streamed down her face. "Fuck-look at me Angel," he grunts as her throat contricts around him.

She manages to open her eyes, her tears flowing even faster.

"Keep em' open," he says beginning to bob her head up and down. She does her best to follow his orders, her mouth opened as wide as it could go. She figures out that she should breathe through her nose instead of her mouth, the air flowing into her lungs easier. However, that was short-lived when Matt pinches her nose, preventing her from breathing. Instead of bobbing her head up and down, he thrusts his hips harshly, enjoying the choking and gargling noises coming from the girl on her knees.

She tries to breathe through her mouth, but it's proven difficult with the speed at which his genitalia is abusing her throat, and yet

She loves it.

She shamelessly ruts against the pillow between her legs, chasing that euphoric feeling she felt not too long ago in the confessional. She knows if her parents saw the ludicrous acts she was performing on a male, they would have a heart attack. But she didn't care, she loved how warm she felt, how safe she felt.

She loved being used.

She looks up at Matt, watching how beautiful he looks with his head thrown back and jaw slacked. It's an image that will forever be burned inside her brain.

Suddenly his thrusts stop, a warm and salty liquid filling up her mouth. He pulls himself out of her mouth, watching as his semen leaks past her lips. Instead of telling her to swallow, he wraps a hand around her throat and kisses her.

He moans into the kiss, lapping his own fluids out of her mouth.

He lifts her back onto the bed with ease, crawling over her panting and dazed form. He settles in between her legs, already lining himself up with her clenching hole.

Y/n doesn't know what's next, she's still trying to catch her breath, but she doesn't have much time to dwell on it once Matt shoves himself inside her. A strangled yelp leaves her throat and her hand flies to his abdomen, attempting to stop him or at least slow him down.

But Matt does neither, instead, he begins to pound into her relentlessly.

"I-It b-burns!" She yelps, trying to stop his brutal pace. He ignores her cries of pain, his eyes trained on the blood seeping out of her cunt, coating his cock and painting the hem of the white lingerie adorning her body. He lets out a deep and animalistic growl, his grip on her thighs tightening at the sight.

"You love it-fuck- you love the burn. It feels so good doesn't it Angel? You love the way my cock stretches you out, the way it fills you up so good you can feel it in your lungs,"

It's as if he's warping her mind, forcing her to believe his words,

and that's because he is.

With each word he speaks, the burning pain becomes pleasurable, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Her arms drop to the sides of her head, her body too weak to move on its own.

Small noises and nonsensical babbles exit her throat, her mind dizzy and fogged by the pleasure she's receiving. She couldn't believe that this is what sex feels like. She couldn't understand how something so heavenly could be considered a sin when it's so euphoric.

She begs and pleads for him to give her more, to make her feel alive.

"P-please! Please please ple-Oh God!" She arches her back when a certain spot inside of her is stimulated. Matt lets out an airy laugh, his hips still driving into her at an inhuman pace,

"That's right Angel, beg for me, beg for your God."

In the height of her pleasure, she begins to feel..odd. Almost as if there are people in the room with them. She manages to focus her eyes behind Matt, and what she sees shakes her to her core.

The shadows, the shadows she has become all too familiar with are watching, watching Matt ravage her. There's a bunch of them crowding the room, their bodies blending into each other as their groans of excitement fill the room. Matt can sense her panic, watching her eyes dart around erratically.

"It's ok Angel, they have to watch," he rasps out, his movements never ending.

"Don't look at them, look at me." He demands. However, she doesn't listen. She can't pull her eyes away from the faceless shadows, captured in a trance by their dark aura.

And that's when she starts to notice other things.

The paint on the walls is peeling, deteriorating right before her eyes. The room begins to reek of death, the smell so pungent she finds it harder to breathe. Particles of dust float in the air, a hazy film coating her eyes.

The room becomes scorching hot, suffocating the girl as a thin layer of sweat covers her body.

Y/n heaves as Matt continuously ruts into her, her chest burning as it screams for oxygen. Too much is going on for her to comprehend, the world moving slowly yet spinning so fast.

Her eyes finally avert back to Matt, her mouth open as no sounds leave her mouth. She sees the eerie smile that plants itself on his face, the dark look in his eyes. If she concentrated hard enough, she could even see the small horns coming out of his head and the pointy tail swaying behind him.

She sees the truth, she sees him for what he is.

The spawn of the Devil himself.

She feels as if her soul is leaving her body, every limb and muscle vibrating. Her jaw goes slack as she feels a sharp pain in her chest, as well as a pleasurable feeling in her lower region. Her eyes roll back as her whole body shakes violently, a metallic taste coats her tastebuds as she begins to cough and sputter out blood. The red liquid stains matts face as well as the white lingerie, before eventually coming to a halt.

Matt finds himself experiencing his own release, throwing his head back as he paints her gummy walls a pearlescent white. He groans as he pulls out of her, his dick falling limp as he crawls backward off the bed. His chest rises and falls quickly as he pulls his pants up, buckling his belt.

He pants as he stares down at her lifeless body, analyzing everything about her deadly appearance. He walks over to the side of the bed, brushing one of her curls out of her face, trailing his fingers through the blood splatter on her face.

"So pretty even in death, an angel plucked of it's wings."

he scoops her up bridal style and holds her close to his chest, her arm dangling as her head is draped back. The door to the room opens, revealing a dark abyss that still holds a blinding light.

He walks over to the door looking down at the dead girl in his arms, the shadows in the room whispering amongst themselves eagerly.

"you'll rise like a phoenix from the ashes, in all its beauty. You'll gain new wings that will set you free. You'll finally be mine...My wife."

He kisses her forehead softly and walks through the threshold of the door, into the darkness.

The door slams behind him, leaving the room empty.

The dingy structure of the motel begins to shake in the wake of the door slamming. The lights begin to flicker, cracks appearing in the ceiling. it's not long before the old and moldy building crumbles in on itself, leaving no trace of Matt and Y/n, or the other tenants and their caricatures of intimacy.

AHHHHHHH ITS FINALLY DONE! IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG BUT WITH WHAT I LIKE TO CALL WW1 OF TUMBLR TRULY DRAINED ME AND I NEEDED A BREAK. PLZ LET ME KNOW WHAT YALL THINK AND IF YALL WOULD LIKE TO SEE MORE FICS LIKE THIS ( OBVI WITH A DIFFERENT PLOT).

𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 🍑: @mattslolita @thenickgirl @guccifrog @luverboychris @zayyluvz @mrsmiagreer @chrisssluttywaist @78yaz @freshloveforthefit @3lizaluvs @mattsturniolosgirlfriend @jetaimevous @luxy-nyx @ts-is-my-spirt-animal @iihrtsturniol0 @idontexistman @katw4shereee @madisturn @starlace111 @zivall @adoreindie @imwetforyourmom @sturnsxplr-25 @sturncakez @theyluvme-2315 @moonk1ss3d @@babyalliah-777 @sturniololol @oliviasturniolo21 @ariithereyet @blahbel668

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misstycloud · 5 months ago

Text

Queen of hearts reader x yan card knights

As the next in line for the throne its most important you raise yourself with dignity, elegance and wit. You could not afford to fail or show any weakness. If you did, it could mean your downfall.

So you grew up with this heavy burden; classes in dozens of subject going from dawn to dusk, fearing you might get assassinated, polishing your appearance to absolute perfection.

When it was finally your turn to take over the crown, you were nervous. Despite having trained hard for this moment ever since you were born, you still feared for the future. Would you really be able to lead with the same strength as those before you? Or would you do a terrible job and doom the kingdom? Those were both equally possible options.

Luckily, you did have trustworthy friends by your side who’d lay down their lives in order to protect you.

Lucius Stormheart was your childhood friend. He’d been with you for as long as you could remember. He was the son of the captain of the royal guard, whom have been a friend of your father for a very long time. Perhaps that is one of the reasons the two of you were introduced. You were around seven and nine at the time. You still remember how he refused to meet your gaze and bowed deeply whilst telling you what an honour it was to meet you.

He was a bit stiff for his age, you believed it was because of the legacy and role he’d have to eventually take over; although you were hardly one to talk. If you had any other friends they’d probably also think you’re strange and not at all fun.

Lucius and you never really played traditional children’s games. It was already decided he would become a knight, so he became your guard. Of course, there was no real danger since you stayed within the palace but he took his duty seriously; constantly following you in silence and staying vigilant of anything that moved. Usually, you would have tea in the garden and he would just stand watch. You beckoned him to sit down and enjoy himself, offering him sweets and other delicacies, but he only shook his head. It went on like that for years. You grew tired of him hardly uttering a single word to you. He was supposed to be your friend but wouldn’t even engage in simple conversation. He truly was too stiff for his young age.

You recalled one day, you were almost an adult then, when you wanted to tease him a bit. You pretended to have lost your gold bracelet somewhere in the grass and cried for him to find it. The moment he bent down in the grass to scour for he (not) lost jewelry, you took off as quick as your legs were able. Lucius immediately reacted and shouted for you to come back, but you had gotten a head start.

You laughed as you felt the freedom you’d never had. It wasn’t long until you ditched your fine shoes and ran barefoot. The wind in your hair and ground under your feet felt great. Lucius’ voice wasn’t far behind you. Tiredness overcame you and you threw yourself down among the green and the flowers. You closed your eyes.

Not soon after you heard heavy footsteps and deep breaths. You looked up to see your childhood friend-made-guard loom over you with a furious expression. How could you just run off like that? Do you understand how dangerous it is for someone in your position? You could be attacked!

You ignored his scolding and rolled around, inspecting the flowers instead.

“Are you even listening to a word I say? Of course not.” He huffed. “You can’t run away from me. Ever. If you do, I might not be able to protect you. Imagine that someone had managed to sneak into the palace ground and was waiting for an opportunity to assassinate you, this would be the perfect moment to do so. Honestly, have you no sense of danger? I’d think someone with your background would posses more caution-“

You drowned out his speech. You were staring blankly at him, an idea came to you, you wanted to tease him further. Besides, this was something you’ve wanted yourself for some time. You rolled your eyes with a smile and sat up.

“- and then it would not only affect you but also-“

“Lucius.” You said gently.

He quieted down. It was evident he was not yet done and seethed in silence, after all, you were a princess whilst he was nothing but a commoner. A commoner inheriting an important role and being more privileged than other commoners was still a commoner nonetheless.

“Can you come closer?”

The young guard frowned but did as told. He knelt beside you and awaited your next words. What he did not expect was for you to caress his cheeks and quickly pull him in for a kiss. Lucius’ mind went completely blank. At first, there was nothing, no air, no light, no sound. Then after a couple second came everything, the warmth of the sunny afternoon, the sound of birds twittering on branches and the feeling of your lips against his. They moved with a gentle passion, your tongue licking his lips, asking permission to enter. He complied. It was sweet and warm, completely different from the early mornings and harsh trainings he goes through everyday.

It wasn’t until after you pulled away and smiled at him that Lucius remembered how to breathe. He stood up like someone had burned him- which someone had to a certain degree- and backed away.

Stuttering, he gasped, “P-Princess? What..w-why would you?-“

You laughed at his embarrassment, feeling a bit sorry for him. He was completely red in the face, matching the uniform he wore.

“My apologies, I couldn’t help it. I wanted to tease you one last time.”

Oh. So that was it? Yes, of course you only wanted to have some fun. It’s not like you get to do anything else out of pleasure in your life. You used him for amusement.

“…..Yes, Princess. It’s alright, but you should not do something like this again. You need to refrain from having relations with men that are not your husband- especially not commoners.”

That was the end of it, you thought. You apologised a couple more times before forgetting about the experience. Lucius said it was fine so there was nothing more to it, right? Unfortunately you had no idea of the massive crisis you’d started within Lucius.

You kissed him. Him of all people. Lucius would not believe it if he hadn’t experienced it firsthand. He wondered if all those years of him loving you in secret had been in vain. Did you know? No, obviously you didn’t. It’s just like you said, it was for amusement. You wanted to tease him like when you suddenly took off. It was only fun.

Nothing more like that happened afterwards. The kiss was long since buried along with other memories. That was the case for you. But not for Lucius. He didn’t forget.

About a year before you were crowned queen, Lucius took over his fathers position and became the new captain of the royal guard. You both had become so busy-him with his new job and you with preparing for your coronation- that you hardly saw each other. If you were lucky, you saw him training outside with the new recruits or wandering the hallways. You sent a mere nod of acknowledgement to the other person, no words were exchanged. If you had the time you would’ve mourned the death of the little friendship you had.

You believed you would be no more than strangers with no past and no future. However, you were surprised when your father had called you into his office and there, in all his glory, stood your childhood friend Lucius. His hair reached just above his ears and he wore the same stern expression he always had. The red in his armour seemed glowing, it reminded you of blood.

Your father then revealed the news of Lucius officially becoming your personal knight. When the two of you were young he constantly guarded you but it was more of an assumed responsibility. He was not actually in charge of your protection.

Lucius had done well in his new position and your father wanted to grant him a wish in return. The young man had proceeded to tell him there was nothing more he wanted than to serve his kingdom by protecting its future monarch. This wish was so noble it was granted without further questions, so long he could manage his other duties as well. It made sense, as the captain of the royal guard, whom else was more qualified to protect you?

You first met Sebastian Spade when you were visiting another kingdom as a preteen. The adults had their meetings and swatted you away. They ushered you to go explore the castle whilst they took care of the things that mattered. You decided to go outside since you weren’t too sure about snooping around in all the rooms, there was always a chance you’d find something you shouldn’t and your parents had previously urged you not to run into trouble.

The outside was also beautiful with colourful flowers and carefully trimmed bushes. You wandered, taking in the wonderful scenery. Along the way, the flowers disappeared and you found yourself at the training grounds. At the centre stood a boy your age holding a sword. He lunged at the training dummy positioned in front of him. Unfortunately, he lost his footing and flew forward. The sword landed on the ground with a loud clatter and the boy let out an ‘omfph!’.

You rushed to side and asked him if he was alright, which he was; just embarrassed. He told you his name was Sebastian and that he was aiming to be a knight. He managed to become an apprentice of a knight at the castle. It was one of his training sessions that you stumbled upon. Being a knight had always been his dream. Apparently his father and grandfather had been one, so it was in the blood. Or, it would have been if Sebastian hadn’t been so bad at everything. Truth was he wasn’t actually allowed to use a real sword, only wooden once. But he took one anyway. He thought that maybe he could improve faster if he got used to wielding one out of metal. Well, you got a first row view of how that went.

He felt so worthless. Why couldn’t he ever do something right? Why was he such a failure? No matter how hard he trained, he was barely able to hold the sword straight. Maybe he should give up being a knight altogether, it was hopeless after all. No one said anything, but he noticed the way everyone looked at him. They all thought the same thing, ‘why is he even here?’. How could he blame them? Even his own mentor didn’t believe in him.

You frowned, feeling terrible in how this boy had lost faith in all his dreams. Now you knew nothing of knighthood but you had a friend who did. You wished he could’ve come with but he needed to keep up with his training and besides, you were in yer another royal castle so the chances of anything happening to you was very low. So you decided to give Sebastian some tips; simple things you’ve picked up when watching your friend home his skills. Sebastian listened eagerly, desperate to improve. If there was any way he could become better than he wanted to hear it. That boy hung off every word that came out of your mouth. You did however assert that you were not an expert by any means and these where just things others have told you or what you’ve learned from observation. That didn’t matter though. Thanks to you he understood how to correct his stance and made it possible to hold up the sword- the issue he was struggling with earlier was solved!

During the entirety of the week you and your family were staying, you hung out with Sebastian every day. Every moment you didn’t have to be present out of curtsy you spent with him instead, which was much more pleasurable.

Sebastian was more than happy to have your company. Truth be told, he didn’t have any friends, good acquaintances maybe, but no one he’d be able to call a friend. He was also quite shy. It was to nice to finally have someone who believed in him, who encouraged and was patient with him.

At the end of the week, he had improved so much. It was hard to think he’s the same boy who could hardly even lift a sword. Sebastian was no master, far from it, but it was undeniable that he had become a lot better. Now he only had to hone his skills and he could fulfill his dreams when he became an adult.

The attitude against him changed as well. Before, the other students refused to interact with him unless they were forced to and they along with the knights made fun of him when they thought he couldn’t hear. Now, however, they approached him and wondered how he’d managed to improve so quickly and if he could lend some tips. Obviously he didn’t. They don’t deserve his kindness. Not after how they treated him. Sure, they never outright bullied him by shoving him around or anything but they might’ve as well.

Sebastian ran through the garden. He shouldn’t have since there’s definitely be a scolding coming his way if an adult saw, but he didn’t care. He needed to find you. He had to tell you about the praise he received form his teaching-knight after the day’s training. Before you met he never would have reached a compliment, it was a sign of the good fortune you brought.

His cheeks glowed red at the thought. You were so kind to him. He thought all royals were snobbish assholes who only cares about themself and their looks, now he knew he was wrong. You weren’t like that at all. You smiled, played with him and didn’t care if your dress got dirty. Of course, you preferred if it didn’t but you wouldn’t mind a scolding from your parents for once.

You were beautiful too. Almost too beautiful in his opinion. You were sure to attract a lot of suitors when you grew up. Sebastian’s heart stung. It was a strongly unpleasant feeling; imagining you beside someone else. Sebastian was young but not stupid, he understood what he was feeling. He shouldn’t be jealous, he knew that at the end of the day you were a princess and he was not even close to being a prince, and only a prince could marry you. Realistically he didn’t stand a chance. Unfortunately, his heart didn’t listen to his brain and he couldn’t stop the blossoming affection he felt for you.

“(Y/n)” he yelled when he saw you coming his way. You wore a nice dress that complimented your appearance. His heart thumped uncomfortably within his chest.

“Sebastian, I was just coming to see you.”

The boy scratched his neck. “Well, here I am!”

You laughed at his positive nature. Then your smile fell once you remembered the intent of your visit. “I actually came to see you..for a last time.”

“What?” Sebastian froze. Did he mishear you? No, your words were loud and clear so that meant… “You’re leaving?”

You sighed and nodded, “yes, my family has done the business they came for and we are to return home.”

“When?”

“This evening.”

You hated seeing him hurt. You wished you didn’t have to leave but you had no choice. This was always going to happen, this was not your home. You just weren’t prepared to make a great friend whom you could miss dearly back home.

“Oh. Okay...” Sebastian said in a low voice. His chipper mood was entirely destroyed in a minute.

That evening your belongings were loaded into a grand carriage. You took a seat on the soft cushions inside and scanned the outside form the window. Your parents were in a different carriage so you didn’t have to explain to them why you were staring outside so intensely.

You felt the carriage begin to move. You were really going home. Well, it’s not like you weren’t going to go home in the first place. This was always the plan. No matter how thoroughly you searched there was no sign of your friend. You sighed with a heavy heart. Not being able to see him hurt you too but you at least wanted to say goodbye.

And so you were moving in the direction known as home. Whilst you were thinking about the young knight-in-training, you saw a shadow at the edge of the forest. You leaned towards the window to get a better look and there he was, your friend! So he did want to say goodbye after all, although not in the most conventional way.

Sebastian’s breath was heavy and tired. He’d ran along the toad through the forest. He could feel the smal scrapes he’d gotten from branches(and the one time he fell over a root). It stung a little, however it was no comparison to how he felt inside. He gained and lost his best-and first- friend in the span of a week. And to be honest, you were a bit more than that to him.

He stared longingly at the carriage you were sitting in. He found himself hoping it would break down and you’d have to turn back around, which did not happen since the royal family’s belongings were only of the finest materials and craftsmen ship. Sebastian could only watch as you went further and further away, until you were nothing more than a dor in the horizon. Finally, he waved weakly. Though he was too late for you to be able to see it.

That evening he made a promise. Sebastian vowed to become stronger- better than any knight in the kingdom. Then and only then would he be honourable enough to flee to your kingdom and serve you there. It might take a very long time. But it was completely worth it if it was you.

You’ll see, he will be your knight one day.

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sheeezu · 6 months ago

Text

My shifting guidebook.

This is my last post, as melodramatic as I was in my last post, since both the posts I've made on here and reddit i got busy with responding to dms (for those confused check my first post) so i didn't permashift.

Unfortunately i still couldn't respond to all the messages and questions sent to my inbox and dms, mainly because of the different time zones and general laziness from my side.

I appreciate everyone who asked questions, although i felt it's a bit unfair since the answers to very common problems didn't reach everyone, and i want everyone to shift, i want everyone to shift tonight, so i decided i'll make a post to share all my knowledge, whatever i know, sort of like a parting gift.

And this isn't going to be a beginners guide, mainly for people who need a final push, and most importantly, for emergency shifters.

Onto the questions (: Divided into categories, skip through according to your needs :)

Detachment from CR, attachment to DR:

How can i detach from my CR/attach to my DR?

Generally, detachment can be achieved by numbing your emotions in your CR. But first, I would advise you to refrain from extreme and unhealthy detachment, because you'll end up getting stuck in a endless cycle of messing up your CR and not shifting (because you'd have no control over yourself, which would lead to your subconscious getting grounded in the messed up version of your CR; assuming that unhealthy detachment is daydreaming about your DR all day without any sense of where you are, without a strong mindset, when you eventually snap back you'll think even more vividly of your CR)

But- "unhealthy" attachment can be utilised to your advantage, to shift, in a controlled manner.

Pick a day to shift, let it be a weekend. After dusk, only indulge yourself in your DR. (When you're sure you have free time and you won't be disturbed) for me, I hid under the blanket, with a fully charged phone, I spent a portion of the hours listening to subliminals, and a portion of the time scrolling through pinterest with spotify in the background (things that remind you of your DR)

I recommend listening to detachment from CR and attachment to DR subs, and if you are a permashifter, and it's your deadline, go all out.

This is my advice for detachment from CR during the day, during the method it'll be different.

How can I detach from my CR while I'm shifting? I can't divert my attention away from my CR body/mind.

I'm writing in the pov of my own method.

The only way you can let go of the CR while you're shifting is with a calm mind. If you're overthinking about how you're going to carry out your method, whether you'd wake back in your CR, you'll have trouble reaching a detached state.

To detach, first of all, make yourself comfortable, do not try to force yourself into doing something, or laying in a position which makes you uncomfortable. Next, think of thoughts which pushes your CR to the side, your CR is just another reality, and you're the creator of it, treat it like its any other pebble on the road.

Affs: (again, void reality meaning your CR)

"Void reality? Huh, can't seem to remember what that is..."

"It's so peaceful not being in the void reality, going to fix it when I eventually return from my DR" (I vividly remember saying this, if you're a permashifter, make it so it fits your situation)

"..."

(Not saying anything says a lot, fall numb to your void reality and go onto your DR)

Remember, you're not answerable to your CR, its not your boss or captor, it's actually the opposite.

To attach to your DR during the method, in the middle phase of my method, say identity affs until you feel familiarise with your DR self, think of memories, have a small conversation with your DR loved ones, do a small rewind of your DR life in your mind, so you can ground yourself. I won't be going into much details on how to shift by becoming your DR self, my first post says it all.

How to detach from CR body?

Detaching your thoughts is basically detaching your CR body, the 30 second black out state is basically a window to shifting, because when your CR shuts up for a even just a few seconds it will give you the opportunity to divert your attention to your DR, no matter how fidgety you are.

Problems faced while shifting:

Something always itches me when I try to shift, any advice?

Before you're shifting, take a look at you're environmental factors, why are you feeling itchy in the first place?

If it isn't bugs, dry skin, I recall that during the method some symptoms are just itchiness.

Say affs to block off your senses first of all, until then try to control yourself

Affs:

"I have stopped sensing my void reality (CR)"

"I have stopped hearing, feeling, seeing my void reality"

If the need gets overwhelming and you're just starting your method, make yourself comfortable and move a bit, or just itch it, you can still shift.

I always fall asleep when I try to shift, what should I do?

During the day you're going to shift, and you know you're just tired and lack sleep, take a nap during the day.

If you didn't nap, or just generally feel sleepy still, turn my method into a sleep method, by letting yourself fall asleep while you're actively acting, thinking like your DR self (you'll wake up in your DR the next day)

Sleeping is a good tool for shifting, especially if you're starting to doze off while doing your method, you can achieve other states such as sleep paralysis, lucid dreaming or mind awake body asleep state, so don't get discouraged, if you prefer awake methods, there are some subliminals you can use to stay awake.

I always fear or dread shifting while doing my method and back out at the last minute.

(Copypasted from reddit)

Familiarise yourself with your DR, it's not scary if you know where you're laying, who you are, what's next to you and who's going to be in the room.

If you already start acting like your DR self then in theory fear shouldn't be here (why would you be scared being yourself in an environment which is supposed to be familiar to you?)

It also depends upon the kind of fear

Fear of spirits snatching your soul mid shift - listen to safety and protection subliminals (no, I wasn't personally possessed by demons last minute but it will put your mind at ease)

Fear of the unknown - familiarise yourself with your DR and shifting

Fear of symptoms - don't focus on them

Just know that nothing fearful will exist as long as you don't allow it to exist, you're the creator of your reality.

Trouble focusing while shifting.

Once you're even a tad bit detached from your CR, you would have no trouble focusing, because it's only your CR body's mind which is causing you trouble, the semi-void state in my method (when you don't feel your body that much, you force yourself to not have thoughts) is all you need to do to go onto the next phase of your method, and trust me, it'll feel very easy for you.

Prior to shifting, listen to frequencies, subliminals, basically flood your subconscious with your desired affs (calm mind subs, focus subs, general shifting and void state subliminals) when you're shifting, stare at the blackness and think of it as a milky way, like you're stargazing, I don't know why but your hyperfixation allows you to focus; count to a hundred, visualise your DR memories, youll eventually reach a trance state where you're focused and ready to shift. (if you can't visualise, then think of it in the form of a story)

Misc:

For folks with ADHD:

(Copy pasted from reddit)

I'd recommend try listening to subliminal (especially bundles) when you aren't feeling like doing anything or if you think your messing up.

Also try to keep yourself as comfortable as possible, if you can distract yourself in a way you aren't attached to your CR activities, for example watching movies or shows or youtube video which require minimal effort and attention

And im saying this only if you're utilizing a single day for shifting, or practicing LOA

while doing the method, i'd try to use as less time as possible, and if you feel off, then you can open your eyes and try the method after a small break.

Can I shift to-

Yes, yes, yes. You can shift to anywhere your mind can think up of, it really is that simple. You can shift to the past, shift to prevent a certain event, you can shift to a reality with a confusing concept, you can shift to become a chair.

Did you shift to a animated DR? How was it like?

I shifted to a pokemon DR where I studied pokemons for a living, but I quickly shifted back after 2 days because I got bored.

Personally for me I get creeped out of anything that's eerie or out of the ordinary.

So basically I scripted that it'll feel normal and I wouldn't even question it.

So I didn't, and now that I think about it, everything was proper, people had noses it wad 3D and everything, so just this reality except everyone looked unnaturally good and the world's graphic were different. If the entire world looks the same then nothing feels weird.

Your opinion on clones/time period?

I don't really care about clones or what they are, mainly because I believe in the consciousness theory, and the multiverse theory is a subdivision of consciousness theory, you basically let yourself believe there is a multiverse and for that reason it exists.

So in perceptive of the multiverse theory, your "clone" is just a body, which comes under your command or control.

It can't mess up your CR life, it'll make the same choices as you like you would have made if you were present in your CR.

Personally I had scripted that when I shift back I will wake up the next morning, following the night when I was shifting.

So my "clone" was just sleeping.

Secondly, stop stressing over your clone,

It'll just do what you want it to do, or just live life how you'd normally would

If you script your clone is a superhuman for the time you're in you DR, you'll shift back to a parallel reality of your CR where a superhuman lived your life for a while, but if you want you can just shift to a better CR like I did.

...

Those are all questions that came in my mind, I tried looking back into the chats and inbox to find more commonly asked questions or something I didn't clarify in my first post but most other questions had straight forward or a clear enough answer.

I really wanted to expand this post with more sections and questions, but in my opinion my first and this post combined are a lot of their own, I think I clarified a lot.

It's been a week being on Tumblr, and I loved helping people out, everyone was kind and unique in their own ways, I looked through my followers scripts and blogs and I enjoyed everyone's dedication to shifting, and their DRs (btw, I hadn't expected to get so many follows and notes, I'm genuinely suprised even now)

It had been a lovely experience being on shiftblr, in my opinion it's the best shifting, or just generally the best community on the internet.

As much as I would like to stay and blog regularly on here, I have to go back home, I'm permashifting in (from the time this post went up) 7 hours, and this time I'm not staying, so refrain from asking me questions after that, I won't respond, but this post will still be up.

Farewell, I hope your shifting journey conclude today and each of you live happily in your DR, with your well deserved love, respect and peace.

Goodbye c:

(Within the 7 hours, I may be partially active, if there is any question that is truly different and a genuine struggle for you, inbox me, I'll try my best to answer; I may as well post my DR script in my last few hours, since some people asked, remind me if I forget; also not posting on reddit, ive already annoyed the mods so much by breaking several rules)

#shifting blog #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting #shifting antis dni #shifting motivation #shifting community #shifters #shift #desired reality #shifting tumblr #shifting tips #shifting advice

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idkwhylou · 6 days ago

Text

𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

Summary : Since your marriage, the distance between you and Marcus has only grown wider. Doubt settles in, hand in hand with your growing loneliness. But during a conversation with Lucilla, you come to realize something far heavier—you are even more alone than you thought.

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings : arranged marriage, mentions of suicidal thoughts (blink and you'll miss it, it's like just one sentence), cold behavior, age gap ? (not mentioned), infidelity (towards reader), secret relationship, toxic behaviour, manipulation, angst, no y/n

Words : 5,9K

A/N : this one was so hard to write, idk why. Sorry if it’s not perfect

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

The domus was quieter than you imagined a place of such size could be. Its silence was not peaceful; it was the sound of old stone and restraint, guards who never laughed, courtyards where voices echoed too sharply. Rome, they said, was the center of the world. But for you, it felt more like a stage where everyone played a part, and you were still reading the wrong script. Your new home was beautiful, you could admit that. Even if it never quite felt like yours. The marble glowed ivory in the mornings, and the frescoes caught the changing light like painted memories, but there was something unyielding in the walls, something that did not bend to your presence. The mosaic of Gods watched you wherever you walked, their inlaid eyes judging, as though they knew you did not belong in this place.

And yet, you did what was expected of you. Gods, even more. You learned the names of every servant in the villa, learned where they came from, and tried to address them in their own dialects—poorly at first, but with effort, and with warmth. You oversaw the household ledgers, made notes in elegant Latin, organize the pantry to accommodate both Roman and your homeland’s cuisine—dried figs wrapped in parchment, pickled lemons floating in clay jars and cinnamon sticks tied with string, sent directly from your mother’s kitchen gardens across the sea.

You had meals prepared with quiet hope, always with some small detail meant for him. Lamb seasoned the way his men said he liked, olives pressed into the bread he often reached for first, honey-wine chilled precisely to the hour he returned. You even arranged a private dinner once, beneath the olive trees in the inner courtyard, where hanging lanterns cast golden halos through the leaves and the scent of citrus bloomed in the dusk.

He had thanked you with a nod.

Just a nod.

A simple and quiet nod. How stupid of you.

He never ignored you, and sometimes you wish he would. That would have been easier. Cruelty had shaped, form and texture. But civility ? Civility was airless. He was always courteous, always present in body but never in soul. His answers remained clipped, delivered with military efficiency. You dared to ask once, when you saw the pale edge of a scar disappearing beneath his tunic, if it sometimes still hurt.

“No.” He said. And that was the end of it.

You tried again, weeks later. He had just returned from the Senate, and you met him as he sat, pouring his wine before he even asked. “How was the council ?”

He shrugged, already reaching for a piece of bread. “As expected.”

“Do you often speak on behalf of the Emperor ?”

“When required.” He replied, cutting into the meat without ever looking at you.

“Do you-”

“I had a long day,” he interrupted firmly, glancing sideway to your form. “Please.”

As always, you nodded and lower your gaze, retreating just before his indifference could harden into something sharper. You had learned quickly the quiet line between civility and dismissal. This time, you did not even get the chance to tell him about the meal. How you had spent half the afternoon with the chefs, your sleeves rolled up and helping to cook the roast with spices your mother had insisted you bring from home. “He should taste where you come from.” she had said, tucking the jars into your palms before you could say anything.

But Marcus never asked, never seemed to notice, never paused, never looked at you the way husbands were supposed to look at their wives. His expressions always remained unchanged as he took his place at the table, not even looking at you. You would trace the lines of his profile over and over, trying to find the man everyone else seemed to see. He was never cruel though, never raised his voice or said anything unkind. Just detached. And somehow, that was worse.

His silence and distance stretched on for weeks. You had already gone over it all in your mind, countless times. Was it your fault ? You barely knew each other, why did he not at least try to act like a kind husband ? Maybe he did not see the efforts you made, did not feel the quiet weight of your loneliness. Perhaps it was simply normal here, in Rome—for a man to neglect his wife so thoroughly. After all, it was so easy to hide behind duty, to wear the excuse of responsibility like armor.

And yet, he had not even bothered to do that. He had not even tried to offer you those hollow words. Since your wedding night, he had not deigned to speak to you for more than a few clipped seconds at a time. Surely, he could not imagine what it felt like to live in this constant state of silent dismissal. And so, you tried. You held yourself together with frayed strings and stubborn hope, and each day, you persevered. Secretly, foolishly, you hoped that maybe he might change. But deep down you knew. You were not meant to except anything in return. Not from him or anyone.

A few days later, you could not take it anymore. It had been two days since you last saw him. Two long, empty days. You wandered through the corridors of his villa like a ghost—alone, disoriented, slowly unraveling. You could not flee, that would be reckless, foolish, and so humiliating for you or your father. But the mere idea of stepping outside made your stomach twist. You could not bear the stares anymore, the judgment etched into every look. Perhaps you were discreet, yes, but not naïve. Or at least, that is what you once believed.

The rare times Marcus allowed you to company him beyond the villa’s walls, you could feel it—the whispers, the mocking smiles, the stinging judgment. Walking beside Rome’s most revered General made you disappear in your own skin. You were not seen as a person anymore, only as a wife. Not even his.

That morning, something inside you broke. You had risen far too late, long past the moment you always cherished: sunrise. The one constant in your days, the only faithful presence left to greet you. And even that, now, had passed you by. That day, your mother arrived at the domus unannounced, as if she felt that broken feeling from where she was. It was late in the afternoon when a servant came to your room, wide-eyed and breathless. “Domina… Your mother… She is here.”

You did not believe it until you saw her. She stood in your chamber like a mirage; her cloak dusty from travel, her hair twisted in the same thick braid she wore the day you left, the faint scent of jasmine clinging to her skin like a memory.

“I was not supposed to come.” She said as soon as you closed the doors behind her. You fell into her arms without a word, breathing her in like air after drowning. “I had to see you with my own eyes,” she whispered, cupping your face, her thumb brushing your cheek. “Letters do not hold truth. Not the kind I needed.”

Yes, the letters. It was clear you could not speak the truth in them, not fully. You could not lay bare the reality of your new life: its silence, its coldness, its invisible grief. You reminded yourself that in some strange way, you were still lucky. While you suffered in loneliness, others died in agony. That thought haunted you, shamed you even. And yet… there were moments when the weight of it became too much. Moments when you would have gladly traded places with those lives lost. When you would have offered yourself in exchange, just to be freed from this beautiful prison gilded in gold. But you could not write that—not to your mother.

You both sat near the brazier, heads close together like the nights of your girlhood, when you had listened to the ocean wind rattling through the shutters and believed the world would always be kind to you. You felt her eyes study your face. She could see it, surely, the fatigue carved into your skin, the fine line that had deepened between your brows, born from confusion and sleepless worry. You could not let her grow more concerned than she already was, and so you spoke.

“I just did not sleep well, mother. I am fine.” But even as the words left your lips, you could not convince yourself.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then softly, with the heaviness of someone who already knew the answer, she asked, “He sleeps elsewhere ?”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

“I thought it might be… a slow beginning,” you said, though even the words felt thin now. “I thought if I gave him peace, he would give me trust.”

She looked at you with a gaze you had never seen in her before, something almost sacred. There was no use in lying anymore. Not when her eyes saw through every wall you had built. Not when they refused to let you hide anymore. “I tried, mother. Every day, I try. I make this house a home. I speak his tongue, follow his customs. But I think… I think I am only another one of his duties.”

Your mother exhaled through her nose, not sharply, but in sorrow. She reached for your hand, her fingers soft and warm against yours. “There are men,” she said gently, “who wear armor inside their skin. Even when there is no more war to fight.”

You looked at her completely lost, your voice a whisper. “But am I not enough reason to take it off ?”

She did not answer immediately. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the rooftops of Rome caught the last rays of sun, burnished gold and cruelly beautiful.

“He may learn,” she said at last. “Or he may not. But you, my daughter, are not here to be small.”

You pressed your forehead to her shoulder and stayed there, unmoving, wrapped in her quiet warmth. For a moment, you let yourself forget the silence of the halls, the weight of your own unanswered questions. She said nothing because she did not need to. Her presence alone was enough, like a balm laid gently over skin that had long since learned to ache in silence. You breathed her in, that faint familiar scent of crushed herbs and something maternal you could never name, and clung—not to her exactly, but to the feeling she brought. The reminder that there was still softness in this world. That someone, somewhere, still saw you.

She left before nightfall, as if she feared to overstay in a home that was never truly yours to begin with. Or maybe she was too furious to risk running into Marcus. You walked her to the threshold, fingers reluctant to let go, your mouth forming the barest thank-you that did not even touch what you wanted to say. Her departure felt like waking from a dream you were already mourning, like the kind you chase back into your pillow, only to find it slipping further each time.

That evening, you sat at the long marble table once more. Alone. Again. The light from the candles trembled faintly along the gold detailing of the walls, too bright for the mood that clung to the air like fog. His chair remained untouched, the embroidery on its cushion undented, preserved in its quiet defiance. The food cooled slowly on the plates, but you could not bring yourself to lift the fork. You stared down at your wine—red, still, and full—as though it might hold some answer at the bottom of the cup. But it did not. It never did actually.

There was no anger in you. Not that night. Just a familiar hollowness, settling in again like an old companion. You sat there, in the vastness of a home that had never felt like yours, and wondered how long it would take for the sound of your own thoughts to drown you.

You would try again tomorrow, you promised yourself.

And the next day.

And the next.

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

But there were patterns you could no longer ignore. The day Marcus finally decided to make his grand return, he gave no explanation for his strange and prolonged absence. Nothing. Not a word. And in the days that followed, nothing changed. The same distance. The same evasive glances. He slipped right back into his silence, as though he had never been gone.

As thought you had never waited

He left earlier in the mornings. Returned later. Sometimes did not come home at all until the moon hung low and pale, and even then, he would pass your chambers without a word, smelling faintly of perfume that was not yours. The scent so faint it might have been imagined. But it was not. And yet, it clung to him like smoke after flame, unsettlingly familiar. You tried to place it once, standing alone by the doorway long after he had gone—that note of crushed rose and some darker resin beneath—but your memory gave you nothing. Just unease.

You could not let the weight of it settle without resistance. You owed yourself the truth, or at the very least, the effort to seek it. So, you began to watch, to listen, to gather the pieces one by one as the days unfolded. And yet, something refused to align. As if a part of the puzzle had been carved to deceive, beautiful on the surface but wrong in its shape.

You began to see things with new eyes. The way certain hours of the day were always unaccounted for. The way Lucilla began to arrive unannounced. The way she never glanced at you directly, but smiled as if she knew a secret you did not. The way the servants went silent in her presence, and even more silent in yours after she left.

That evening, a dinner had been arranged. Not grand enough to warrant togas stiff with ceremony, nor quiet enough to be dismissed as informal. A gathering, modest in size but laced with the kind of expectation that only Rome could dress in such refined stillness. You had prepared for it without thought, your fingers guiding the clasp of your dress, smoothing the folds, pinning your hair—motions you had long since stopped attaching meaning to.

The seat at Marcus’s left awaited you, as it always did, and you sat there before the others arrived, your hands folded gently in your lap, your spine held by an invisible thread of composure. He was beside you already, not late for once, but silent, cloaked in the same guarded stillness he wore as naturally as his mantle of command.

He had not said much. Well, he rarely did. But for a moment, his eyes had lingered on you simply… observing. As if trying to remember something that refused to take shape. You could feel the weight of his presence more than you could feel the shape of it. And when you dared glance toward him, there was nothing in his expression that betrayed thought or feeling. Just distance.

Then she arrived.

Lucilla swept into the atrium with the poise of someone who had once belonged to the place and never truly left. Her dress was a muted gold that caught the light just enough to seem effortless, the shade almost the same as the skin at her throat. Her hair was gathered with a kind of calculated ease, too graceful to be accidental, too loose to be innocent. Her voice followed her, soft and warm, full of the kind of charm that made people lean in just slightly, as if wanting to catch a secret they knew she would not give.

You felt Marcus shifting beside you, so subtly it might have been nothing. But you knew his silences well by now. You knew the way his body tensed, not from danger, but recognition. His gaze moved—past the servants, past the senators already halfway rising in greeting—and settled on her. Not with shock. Not with longing. But with that heavy pause, the kind that stretched a single moment wide enough to fit years inside.

He looked at her as one looks at a place they have once been and both long for and regret.

It was not dramatic. No drawn breath, no visible stiffening. But it was enough. Enough for your own gaze to falter, your stomach to dip, your throat to tighten. And when at last he turned to you, his greeting quiet and courteous, it did not matter what he said. The pain lay not in the words, but in the ease with which he spoke them, as though you were no more than any other guest at his side.

Dinner passed like mist. The roasted duck, crisped with honey and thyme, the jeweled lentils, the pine nuts glistening with oil. You registered none of it. Their voices moved around you, threading together with the practiced smoothness of people who had spoken many times before in places you had not been invited. Lucilla never raised her voice, never pressed, well she did not need to. Her control was in the softness of it, in the practiced pauses, in the way her laughter folded at the edges of his words as if they had rehearsed the timing in another life. And Marcus… Marcus responded with a familiarity that asked for no explanation. One that told you enough.

You smiled when you had to. You answered when spoken to. But each movement felt like wading through something thick, something that clung to your skin. The wine was too warm. The candlelight too bright. The scent of pomegranate and spiced oils made your chest tighten. And when Lucilla laughed—that delicate, curved laugh—it was not jealousy that came. It was the confirmation of a quiet truth; one you had tried to ignore. That you were sitting beside him, but he was somewhere else entirely.

You excused yourself before the final course, fingers trembling slightly as you set your napkin down. No one stopped you. Marcus did not even turn, his shoulder already leaning, just slightly, toward hers. His hand rested near his cup, fingers curled in a way that invited the space between them to narrow. You stood slowly, brushing your fingers once more along the cool edge of the table before turning away to the gardens.

The night clung to your skin like silk, warm despite the breeze, the air heavy with something darker and unspoken. You did not look back as you crossed the peristyle, just moved, half-guided by the rhythm of your breath and the dull ache that now lived beneath your ribs, quieter than before but no less present.

Inside, the murmur of conversation spilled gently from the triclinium. You did not return to it. Instead, you lingered in the antechamber, half-shadowed beneath a tall candle, where the flickering light painted gold across the stone floor. Here, the house felt quieter. Removed. As though you had stepped just slightly outside the world everyone else still inhabited.

Then you saw her.

She rose from her seat with the same fluid elegance she wore like a second skin—unhurried, unannounced. There was no drama to it, no glance cast around the room. Only the subtle gathering of her shawl, the way her hand trailed for the briefest moment across the back of Marcus’s chair, and then—

She moved.

Out into the corridor, past the columns, toward the garden. You hesitated. There was no reason to follow her. No purpose, no justification. But your feet had already begun to move before your thoughts could intervene. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe it was the simple, awful need to understand—her, him, or yourself. You did not knew anymore.

You told yourself that you only stepped into the garden because the air inside felt too thick, because your thoughts screamed too loudly within the echoing silence of your own restraint. So, then, you wandered past the stone columns, past the still water of the fountain, trying to find a breath that did not burn. At least, that is what you tried to convince yourself.

You caught her beneath the laurel arch—the same one you used to stand under at dawn, waiting for the first light—and it hit you all at once. The scent. Not the sweetness of garden herbs or fresh linen, but something richer. A fragrance you had noticed once on Marcus’s cloak, faint and persistent, clinging where your hands had never touched. At the time, you had told yourself it was a stranger’s, a passing trace from a crowded room.

But now, in the dark, under the stars, it wrapped around you again—and this time it had a name.

Suddenly, everything snapped back into place.

It was her perfume you scent on Marcus’ shadow.

The one she had worn the night you first met her, when she leaned in too close with a smile that was too sweet. You remembered it—the way it clung to her skin, expensive and deliberate, a scent that marked territory without needing words. She belonged in this house more than you did.

The garden exhaled cool air around her as she stepped into the night. Silver light softened the sharpness of her shoulders, catching in her hair like it had been placed there on purpose. You felt invisible, walking behind her. Like a ghost in someone else’s story. She reached the edge of the walkway and turned. Slowly. Not startled. Not surprised. As though she had already known you were there. Her eyes met yours, and she offered you a smile.

That smile—soft and polished, serene as temple marble. It held no suspicion, no tension. You had seen her offer that same expression to Marcus, across the atrium, when she thought no one was looking. Now, that same look was yours. Somehow that made it worse.

“You walk like someone carrying a secret,” she said gently, almost amused, but without cruelty. “Do you need something from me ?” Her voice was so gentle, and she looked at you with such tenderness. There was something kind, something genuinely good that seemed to radiate from her presence.

And yet, you did not know how to answer. Your mouth was dry. Your thoughts rushed forward too fast and tripped over themselves. Lucilla waited. She always waited—not with impatience, but with the calm of someone who had already played this scene before.

“I did not mean to follow you.” You murmured eventually.

“But you did.” There was no bite in it. Just a simple truth spoken without judgment.

You dropped your eyes to the stone floor and nodded, heat crawling up your throat. She turned slightly, looking toward the laurel trees that danced softly in the breeze. “It is quiet here at night,” she said, voice distant. “I like to walk when the house sleeps.”

“I do too.” You replied. “But tonight, I could not.”

Lucilla glanced sideway at you. “Why not ?”

You did not answer. You could not, at least not without unraveling. Instead, you asked the question you had not dared until now. “How long have you known him ?”

A pause. Just long enough to feel measured. “A long time,” she said eventually. “Before the wars. Before he learned how to wield silence like a weapon.” Lucilla kept her gaze fixed straight ahead when you finally reached her side. Her back was straight, her hands clasped neatly behind her, as if she was reciting something she had long since committed to memory.

The answer struck something in you. A note of truth so resonant it almost hurt. “He acts different with you,” you confessed. “Not soft, but… closer.”

Lucilla tilted her head without looking at you, as if she had not anticipated this. Suddenly, there was nothing soft left in her voice. Her brows drew together in a sharp frown, and even before she spoke, you could feel the irritation radiating from her, pulsing off her body like heat from sunbaked stone. “He knows I am not asking for more than he is ready to give.”

The honesty of it stung more than you excepted. “So you think he is cold with me because I expect something real ?” The words came out sharper than you intended. Not because you wanted to wound her, but because you no longer knew how to ask gently for something that kept slipping through your fingers.

She did not flinch, of course she did not. She titled, once again, her head slightly, like someone measuring a fragile object for cracks. Her voice, when it came, was smooth but laced with that certain knowing that made your spine straighten in defense.

“I think Marcus fears depth,” she said carefully, each word placed like a stone. “Not because he lacks it. But because he gave it once, and what he gave was lost. That kind of wound does not bleed anymore. It calcifies. It teaches you to guard what you love by never letting it be loved again.”

You stood very still.

She had been kind to you when you arrived—warm, even. The only one who had offered you a true smile, a soft touch of welcome when everything else had felt like ceremony and silence. You remembered how gently she spoke that first night, how it had made you feel seen for the first time since your arrival. But, that memory now flared like a sting against your skin, the contrast unbearable.

“So he lets you in,” you said, and it came out colder than you meant. “That is how you know.”

Her eyes narrowed, just a little. Not enough to seem angry, but just enough to make it clear she had heard what you were really saying. “I have known Marcus longer than anyone in this house,” she said, and though her tone was soft, it carried an unmistakable edge. “I have seen what he is like when no one is watching. What he hides from even himself. That sort of knowledge does not come from title or proximity. It comes from surviving with someone.”

You felt your stomach twist. “But you, are not his wife.” You replied, and your voice wavered between defiance and desperation.

Something flickered in her gaze then. Something proud, something ancient. But her smile did not falter. If anything, it grew fainter. Sadder. “No,” she said. “I am not. Which is why I can afford to be honest with him.”

You scoffed, unable to stop yourself, “Honesty… You two seem to treat it with a luxury, not a principle.”

The words settled like ice between you.

“Are you implying something ?” She asked quietly.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. When Lucilla finally took a step back, it was not with the grace of a victor. It was slower, smaller, measured perfectly to make you feel as though you had struck first.

“I did not realize that you thought so little of me.” Her voice trembled just slightly, just enough.

You opened your mouth—whether to apologize or defend yourself, you did not even know yourself—but she was already turning away, her posture tense with something between pride and sorrow. Her eyes did not narrow, and neither she raised her voice.

“I have only ever been kind to you,” she said, and her voice was maddeningly calm. “Even when I did not have to be. Even when others would not.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but no words came fast enough. She went on, her gaze never breaking from yours. “From the moment you arrived, I treated you with warmth. I welcomed you into a world that is colder than you realize. And still-” she shook her head lightly, not in anger, but something quieter. “Still, you speak to me like I am your rival. Worse—your enemy.”

There was no venom in her tone. That made it worse. Your pulse had risen seconds ago, chest tight with something sharp and defensive. But now that heat began to dull, giving way to something heavier. Shame crept in, slow and low, curling around the anger like a vine around stone.

“I did not mean to…” You started, your voice thin.

She stepped back half a pace—not retreating, just drawing a boundary.

“I have lived long enough to recognize fear when it wears the mask of cruelty,” she said, softer now. “You are not the first woman to feel lost in his silence. But you might be the first to take it out on someone who is only ever offered you understanding.”

It landed with the weight of truth. No accusations. Just… quiet disappointment. Your throat tightened. You had not expected kindness to be a weapon, and now it was turned inward, piercing something you did not know was vulnerable. All the words you had flung like stones—suspicion, jealousy, hurt—suddenly felt childish, small.

“I did not mean to-” You said, barely audible.

But Lucilla did not wait for you to finish. She turned, not in fury but in sorrow, and walked away with the silence of someone who no longer needed to defend herself. And as her figure slipped between the marble pillars and into the night, your anger left with her. Replaced by a quiet ache, dull and sinking. You stood there, hands clenched at your sides, and felt it bloom behind your ribs: you had wounded the only person who had offered you kindness in this house.

And somehow, that hurt more than any of the silence Marcus had ever given you.

And you hated yourself a little for it.

You breathed out slowly, the tension in your shoulders beginning to unravel, even as your chest remained tight. You had let suspicion get the better of you. Gods, you had followed her like a shadow, had spoken too sharply, had thrown barbed questions like someone preparing for betrayal. And she had not met you with cruelty. Now, in the silence of the empty courtyard, it was not anger you felt anymore. It was shame.

What had you done ?

Lucilla had smiled at you. That soft, slow smile she always wore like a veil, neither warm nor cold, simply practiced. And still you had doubted her. She was his friend. His oldest companion, maybe the only person who had known him before the walls went up. Of course they were close. And yet you had questioned it. Accused her, even if you had not meant to. Your voice had been edged with fear, your words too pointed, too raw.

She must think you are fragile, insecure, a jealous child playing dress-up in a home too grand for you. You sat down slowly on the fountain’s edge, fingertips brushing the cold marble. The night felt softer now. The air cooler, clearer. You told yourself it was relief. Still, something gnawed at you. Not doubt in Lucilla’s words… but in yourself. You had let that perfume, that glance, that silence turn into something else in your mind. You had let yourself spin shadows into stories. And now you were left with the sour taste of regret.

You stayed in the garden, head tilted to the stars you could not name, trying to gather yourself. You had wanted truth, but now that it was offered, it felt heavier than you expected.

You did not hear the steps at first.

The garden held too many sounds; the wind threading through the laurels, the soft ripple of the fountain in the dark, your own breath, shallow and uneven in your chest. But when the footsteps stopped behind you, not heavy, not urgent, just there. You felt it before you turned. A shift in the night air. A stillness pressing in.

Marcus.

Standing just beyond reach.

“Why are you still out here ?” His voice was quiet. Careful like a blade turned flat so as not to cut.

You did not turn to face him yet. Your fingers brushed the edge of the marble, grounding yourself. “I needed air,” you said softly. “To clear my head.”

A pause followed. Not long, but long enough to carry weight. You could almost hear him choosing his next words. “Lucilla seemed… upset.”

You winced. You hated how easily your body betrayed your guilt, how quickly the shame surfaced. “That is my fault.” You said before you could stop yourself.

He waited.

But you did not elaborate.

You could not. The words burned in your throat, too tangled to set free.

“I thought…” You shook your head, staring out at the dark curve of the garden. “It does not matter anymore.”

“I see.”

You turned to him then. Slowly. You did not know what you were looking for in his face, a crack in the calm, perhaps. A glimpse of something real. Or maybe just permission to say what needed to be said.

“She told me there is nothing between the two of you,” you said, your voice barely more than breath. “That she only knows the shape of your silences.”

Something flickered behind his eyes. Not surprise. Not guilt. Just the faintest withdrawal, like a man pulling his hand from a fire he had not realized was lit. “She is been a part of my life a long time.” He replied, and his voice held nothing but truth. Clean, uncomplicated. The kind that did not defend, but did not deny.

“I know.” You whispered.

And now you did. You should have the moment you saw them together; the familiarity that ran deeper than words. The ease of shared pain. There was nothing seductive in it, only something private. That was what stung.

“I think I was unkind,” you admitted. The words tasted strange in your mouth, raw and half-formed. “I let fear turn me into something cruel. I made her feel unwelcome. And she is been… kind to me. From the beginning.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Not like someone observing, or assessing, or simply fulfilling the role of husband. But like a man seeing the ache that had no name. The hollow behind the eyes. The tired slope of your shoulders. You did not look away.

“You were not cruel,” he said, after a pause long enough for the wind to shift. “Just hurt.”

The word landed softly. Hurt. No embellishment. No dismissal. And somehow, it was worse than blame. Because it was true. Something inside you gave. Not entirely, not visibly, but enough to feel it: a slow loosening of the knot you had been carrying behind your ribs for weeks. Your throat tightened. For a moment, you thought you might cry. Not from sorrow, but from the unbearable relief of being seen.

But you did not.

Instead, you stood up. Your voice was steadier now when you said, “I am going to bed.”

He nodded once. You moved past him, your steps slow, your breath measured. But this time—this time—you felt it as you passed:

He turned.

Not to stop you. Not yet. But to watch. To follow not with his body, but with something else. With thought. With attention. And though nothing was spoken, you carried the echo of it with you into the darkness. Only when they stopped behind you did you sense him. Marcus, standing just beyond reach.

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

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