#forgotten realms x reader

[imma-write-stuff]

Zaknafein Do'Urden Romance Headcanons

(I don't generally believe he would be interested in romance after everything he went through.)

Zaknafein would need a...certain kind of person that can be patient with him. He does have a lot of issues and problems. Don't get me wrong he does have a heart deep down.

Plus it would be easier if you get along with his son Drizzt. I don't think he would want to be with someone that has beef with Drizzt.

And life in the Underdark drow city Menzoberranzan where the society considers love as a weakness. That would be tricky to differ toxic and healthy relationships.

If you manage to past these challenges with romancing the famous weapons master congrats!

He's very protective of you, whatever or not you are a skilled fighter he'll keep an sharp eye on you.

Teasing is how he shows his affection, he's not a mushy nor a romantic.

Acts of service is his main love language he doesn't out right say "I love you" alot but he shows it in his own way.

Dates, I think he would enjoy quiet moments like stargazing or being lazy in bed. Also if you are a skilled fighter, flirtatious sparring may happen.

He's a good kisser and...other things as well. (Its canon in the books. *cough*)

[nocturnesmoon]

I was an adventurer like you

Mhm you know what time it is? It's time for more of my random thoughts piled together into something I hope is coherent.

Today we are taking our lovely couple consisting of Simon and johnny and catapulting them into Faerun along with you.

Despite it's supposed glamour in the bigger cities, the realm of Faerun is quite the brutal one. Different species at war, the overlap between realms, the creatures and monsters that roam. It's quite the chaotic place to be, full of dangers and mysteries.

By the natural order of things, it's no surprise the number of adventurers that exist within these lands. There's rarely a shortage of them, as they seem to pop up everywhere, with new ideals, goals, and incredible powers. The young and aspiring adventurers quickly ends up taking the place the older retired ones.

Simon and Johnny were once such young and aspiring folk, a smile on their faces, excitement in their hearts as they went on unimaginable adventures. They fought creatures they'd never imagine; they fought devils, slayed dragons, and laid waste to goblin hoards.

They became quite renowned in their time under the aliases of Ghost and Soap. Songs and tales were written about them, big inns knew them well, and they became quite the role model for the younger adventurers.

That was a long time ago now, feels almost like an eternity ago. Though the circumstances of their retirement came unexpected to Simon, it eventually became clear it was a good decision for them both. Especially since Johnny took an arrow to the knee and was ready to settle, Simon saw it wouldn't be quite the same without his partner out there on the road.

Though they aren't active adventurers anymore they're still quite known, the young might not recognize them anymore but the older still hold their images in their heart. And though they are no longer out felling demons, they have their own way of getting by.

It was originally Simon's idea, but one that Johnny quickly took over. They opened a small potions shop just outside of a small town. Simon wanted somewhere with peace and quiet, and Johnny still wanted to hone his absurdly good craft of creating things. The compromise was quite easy to make from then on.

The shop became a trademark of the town, though business wasn't always through the roof, they made enough to get by. Anything between potions, ingredients, food, and general supplies could be bought there, making it a good pitstop for adventurers.

They managed to make quite a comfortable life here for themselves, even if they had to retire early by Simon's standards. Johnny tends to the shop and does most of the social bit, selling and buying, the whole lot. While Simon takes care of the garden out back and the miscellaneous maintenance around the house that's bound to occur with Johnny's experimenting.

It has become a weekly occurrence that something tends to blow up spectacularly, and while Simon is used to the sudden twists and turns of an adventure, these minor explosions might give him too many white hairs too early.

Despite the hiccups along the way, it's a quiet life that they're able to live out in peace. At least it was quiet until that fated day where you crossed their path.

It's nearing the evening, closing time for the shop and around the time where Johnny tidies the front desk up while Simon sits down with a cup of tea, and they talk. The door is almost thrown off its hinges as its being barged in, startling them both into action.

When you stumble in it's clear you won't make much of a threat even if you wanted to. You looked beyond drunk, stumbling in, knocking one of Simon's precious flowers over and shattering the bowl. Your sword was drawn but not to antagonize, merely so you had a support as you looked up at them with droopy eyes, pleading for help.

Simon is the first to recognize the familiarity in your face. He remembers you from all those years ago, a battle against a horde of goblins, back when you were all young and bright eyed, with that spark for adventure that kept you alive. Though you didn't adventure together for long, you fought alongside each other well.

You had fought bravely, even taken a hit that was meant for Simon. He suddenly remembered he never got to thank you. Though with the dark no-nonsense presence he gave off back then he doesn't think you expected a thank you if you even remember.

You liked them both quite a lot back then, if his memory doesn’t betray him, though sadly you weren't able to join them on future adventures, and they hadn't seen you since. Simon would be lying if he didn't occasionally think about you, Johnny would be too. They both knew there could've been something special there if they had let it grow before taking off.

He wonders what in the world happened to you, during all those years. Clearly you kept your career as an adventurer alive, a lot of battle scars littering your body and face that he doesn't believe you had back then.

Johnny doesn't seem to recognize you as quickly, not that there's much to see when you fall face down on their wooden floor. "Ach c'mon I just washed the flooring," Johnny exclaims as you topple over, your bloodied sword scattering off next to you and creating a splatter.

They both look at you cautiously, as if to see whether or not you were gonna get back up. When you don't move Johnny takes a few steps forward, crouching down next to you as if to see whether you were even alive.

"How much did ye drink," Johnny scoffs and carefully rolls you over to see if you were awake and faking. "Bloody idiot-" he cuts himself off when he sees the wound in your side and the pooling blood beneath your body.

All it takes is one look between them before Simon springs into action, walking over to a medicine cabinet they keep in the shop's storage area. Johnny carefully hoists you up, hooking an arm under your knees and one on your back to pick you up.

He takes a moment to take in your actual state, you looked pale, sickly so. You'd likely been wearing armor once upon a time, but your breastplate had been ripped clean off, only leaving the leather binding underneath. Your clothes were torn and dirtied with either blood or mud. It wasn't an unusual look for the adventurers that came in to shop, but admittedly they normally didn't collapse on the floor either.

Johnny carries you out of the shop area and into the back where the rest of their house is. He gently gets you situated on the couch as Simon comes with different sets of supplies, they needed to stabilize you. While Johnny went to work on your wound, Simon went back out to the shop.

He had intended to clean up the flooring, so Johnny didn't need to bother, but was promptly interrupted when he realized the shop wasn't empty like they left it. An Orc was bustling about, tall enough to barely fit in there with the lower ceiling.

Simon held back a string of curses that wanted to bubble up, he had nothing against the orcs, but they were closed and had a bleeding out person in the back, this was too much. "Excuse me" his voice sounded out and caught the attention of the orc, "We're closed."

The orc grumbles something incoherent glancing back outside briefly before fully turning their attention on Simon. He noticed the several other orcs waiting outside the shop, it made him grit his teeth. If they brought trouble here it wouldn't be good, even if he was quite skilled once it's been a while since he picked up an axe or a sword.

"We're looking for someone that came through here," the orc grumbles again, Simon starts to realize it's just their speech making them harder to understand, some sort of accent. "They're likely injured," the orc continues "And we need to take them with us."

They then proceed to give him a long description of the features on the person they're pursuing, and it doesn't take a genius to realize it's you. It makes Simon really start to wonder what in the hell you were up to, and whether or not you were really worth the trouble.

"Ain't seen anybody," Simon grumbles back, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks the Orc up and down. If it came down to it, he could reach for the knife on his belt and spin it into the orcs uncovered neck, then make a beeline for better equipment.

"Don't kid us" the orc starts to sound irritated, "we're not dumb we see the blood on your floor, just hand them over and this will go fine."

They didn't seem to want to go easy, but Simon wasn't about to get violent just yet if he didn't have to. "I don't know what you're on about, that's fluids from a broken potion, i was just about to clean it up," Simon rides it off, keeping himself stoic to pass off the lie.

"Then where's the glass," The orc asks again dumbfounded, seemingly questioning their own judgement now that Simon brought up a different possibility.

"I…cleaned that up already…" Simon answers, looking on to see if the orc buys his lie, no matter how flimsy it might seem it is still believable.

"Hmf alright…if you see them come find us…" the orc says it's final and then leaves the shop once more. Only when the door closes, and the orcs are well on their way does Simons shoulders relax again.

He lets out a sigh and continues his work of getting the floor cleaned of your blood before it soaks into the wood. Luckily there wasn't a lot to clean, and he took the courtesy to wipe off your blade as well, putting it off to the side so you could take it back later.

By the time he's all done and joins Johnny again, you're all patched up and snoring away. Your wound wasn't severe but would likely still need weeks of rest before you could do any adventuring again.

They let you rest, discussing amongst themselves what to do with you while they make dinner together. It's only later that night when you wake up again, Simon had almost fallen asleep sitting in a different chair, Johnny sitting on the floor next to the couch they had placed you on.

Johnny was quick to assure you of your safety, explaining how you ended up here as far as they know, and that they got you patched up. You thank them profusely, feeling rather embarrassed at the whole deal.

They let you stay the night, getting you filled up on water and food and making sure to tend to the wound as it needs. The night ends up quite entertaining for the three of you even with the rather grim start of it. You all catch up on each of your adventures, they find out what you've been doing since all those years ago and what accomplishments you've gotten.

They're very impressed as well, even if they had seen the potential in you, so many with good potential die young. To see how far you've gotten, only a few years younger than themselves, and still going, it's something to be proud of.

Neither of them mentions it, but part of them regrets not making a longer friend of you all those years ago. You were easy to talk to, excitable, and eager you would've made a good companion when they were still adventuring themselves.

They're once again reminded of what brought the three of you together in the first place, what kept you guys talking even once the battle was over. You couldn't lie to yourself either, you had missed a connection like that, a thing you hadn't found anywhere else, with anyone else.

After you've gone to sleep on the couch again, and they've retrieved themselves to their bedroom, they find themselves unashamedly scheming on ways to have you stay. They saw something in you they haven't seen in anybody else, something sweet and caring, while still adventurous and wild.

Maybe they could have you come back at least if you didn't want to stay.

The next morning however you awake in agonizing pain, having Johnny absolutely panic that his remedy wasn't working, and immediately getting to work on a new one. Meanwhile Simon does his best to soothe you, moving you into their bed instead of the uncomfortable couch.

They close shop for the day, spending most of it tending to you, trying to get you stabilized again. Worst case scenario they'd have to go find a healer of some kind, there was a cleric that would sometime pass through town, and they could ask around.

By the end of the day things are looking up once again, the pain isn't as bad and one of Johnny's remedies seems to have worked for you. They insist you stay the night again, so they're sure you're healing okay.

They end up falling into bed with you, though it's soon you seem to not mind it. Having them on either side of you to make sure you didn't roll around on your wound, and to protect you should you need it, found itself to be quite comforting in your state.

From then on you don't really make any incentive to leave during the healing process. It's slow and grueling, with a few setbacks it felt too long at times, but it eventually got better. Once you did, you slowly started helping around the shop, trying to repay a debt you insisted on owing them despite how much they assured you it was fine.

You helped clean up after Johnny's experiments, restocking the shelves, and even assisting Simon in the garden when it wasn't a lot of physical labor. You enjoyed the mindless activities, being able to make conversation with them while doing it was usually the best part.

You enjoyed Johnny's quips, and excitement over his passion for potions and remedies. In contrast to the quieter time spent in the garden with Simon, you enjoyed his jokes and his insightfulness when it came to the plants. To see him have a gentle touch with them, much the same how he handles his partner (and you in turn), it was heartwarming to see for how brutal he used to be in your eyes.

It took quite a while for you to get back to your full strength, and by the time you did you had found a place with them. A place where you could explore the connection that attracted you in their direction, what made you so good for each other.

Even as you started up smaller adventures to get yourself back on track, you were never gone for long. The once pitstop, became a full stop for you, a new home with them that slowly developed into something beautiful, that you couldn't stay away from.

Mmhm the things i'd do to see these two fight dragons...too much

I kinda have some more ideas for this, in a fantasy dnd kind of setting, but i dont know if im gonna make it into anything.

I'm also working on a different actual series that i hope to share the first chapter of soonish, if i can get myself to actually plan it out and fully finish the first chapter. Exciting things :))

(I read through this a few times but i have an urging feeling i missed a mistake somewhere so if you find it i apologize)

[onyourowndaisymae]

under where?

content + warnings: nsfw, x fem!reader, flashing, discussions of oral

prompt: "Imagine sitting across from the brothers and nonchalantly spreading your legs to reveal no underwear under your skirt. Just IMAGINE their reactions…" (via: @shywritersblog)

there's a tension in the air, a mixture of seven different reactions to the same action. seven demons who knew their master had such a commanding presence, had fallen victim to "stay" time and time again-- yet here you are, bringing all of them to their knees without uttering a single word.

lucifer pales when your legs spread. a low, possessive growl threatens to rock his chest, but he swallows hard and averts his gaze. you can see his cheeks flush a little. he meets your gaze-- he's very determined to show you he doesn't see you as a piece of meat-- and opens his mouth to scold you for such vulgar behavior. but there's this heat in your gaze, almost inviting as your eyes smolder with want. his mouth closes. he takes another look between your spread legs. fuck. you're so wet it's obscene. were you really that needy, working yourself up like that over there? he can only imagine what's running through your head, what depraved thoughts linger beneath that cheshire smile. no matter. just say the word and he's whisk you away to his room, alone, ready to please his master until dawn breaks through the darkened skies.

mammon whines, the sound loud and uninhibited, his cheeks engulfing in flames-- yet he can't bring himself to be ashamed. it takes everything in him not to pounce on you. he wants to yell, too. why? why're you so comfortable spreading your legs like that in front of all his brothers, huh?! don't you know the kind of filthy thoughts running through their heads?! the conflicting feelings make his stomach flutter. he wants to close your legs, guarding your entrance like a dragon to its hoard, greedy to keep its greatest treasure private. but he also wants to fall to his knees in front of you. to wait for your permission before burying his face in your cunt, fucking you on his tongue in front of everyone. he's getting impatient now that the thought's entered his mind-- so can you please stop looking at him like that and let him touch you already, before he loses whatever mind he has left?

leviathan can feel his shame rush to his face, burning heat pooling at the back of his neck. it's embarassing how quickly his pants grow tight and cumbersome. this-- this is too much for him. he needs to hide away, now, burrowing into a fort of blankets in his bathtub until a century or two passes and he's sure everyone's forgotten about this moment in time. but he can't. because you're staring at him. your eyes crawl up his body, lingering on his shifty feet, his quivering hands, his tented pants-- your gaze makes his head spin. he's going to pass out if you keep watching him like that. you wet your lips briefly, eyes darting to meet his before your gaze falls between his legs again, and he swears to every authority in every realm that he can feel his cock throb in need. please say something, do something. either let him retreat to lick his wounds or ride him until he's a puddle of drool and slick underneath you.

satan's cheeks flush, but he keeps his gaze steady as he thoroughly observes your sopping wet cunt. he wants to think of something clever or witty to say, but his mouth is so dry and his brain is so fuzzy-- do you know what you do to him? he's aware that you're teasing him. it's frustrating. all these eyes on you, and yet you're only looking at him. like a cat that got the cream, you're smirking, lounging in your chair like he can't see the slick gathering around your entrance. it would be so easy for his finger to slip inside you, finger fucking you senseless until you're so sensitive you writhe and dig your nails into the arms of that chair. but that would be too easy, wouldn't it? no, you're teasing the avatar of wrath. while patience is not his favorite virtue, it will be the one he has tonight-- because the moment you're finally underneath him, he's going to toy with you as much as he wants, prowl around your exposed body until he decides to pounce. after all, you're the one who wanted to play cat and mouse.

asmodeus can feel his lips curl into a grin. oh, you naughty little thing! a giggle escapes his lips as he watches you with rapt attention. oh, that slippery little cunt of yours is so cute! would you mind if he got a closer look? he wants to bask in this moment. you're biting your bottom lip and grinning right back at him, and it takes everything in him not to break the tension by letting honey filth spew from his lustful lips. sure, there's a lot he could say, but don't actions speak louder than words? in that case, he wouldn't mind running his tongue along that pretty clit of yours to taste your slick himself. he can't think of a better way to express his love for you than to ravish you as thoroughly as the tried and true avatar of lust can. the room is delightfully hot and intense, making his head spin as surges of lust bounce off the walls. oh, darling, the anticipation is killing him-- won't you just share all the dirty thoughts caught in that pretty little head of yours?

beelzebub suddenly feels like he shouldn't be here. he notices the change in the air before he notices your legs spread, ever perceptive to the emotions of his loved ones. and all of those feelings lead him to you-- specifically, that wet spot between your legs that's got everyone so riled all of a sudden. it makes him nervous. at first, he worries you've exposed yourself on accident. he looks away as his cheeks turn pink, ashamed of how quickly his mind begins to wander. but then he hears you shuffling-- so naturally, he looks back at you-- to find you pulling your skirt up further, bunching it around your thighs to give everyone a clearer view. he realizes now that you want everyone to see your cunt. now he doesn't feel so bad about staring, about the groan sitting in the back of his throat. he'll never push, never question your motives or try to touch you without explicit permission, but he can't help the way his mouth waters and his erection stirs in his pants. and judging by the way you're staring at him like a five course meal, it seems you don't mind much either.

belphegor's eyes widen in shock, before a predatory grin engulfs his face. oh. you're in for it now. you've given the game away by exposing yourself as a needy whore, and it's clear from your haughty smirk that you think you've won this game. that's cute. but you're playing with demons-- manipulative, scheming, needy demons that'd do anything to bury themselves deep inside of the very hole you're so determined to tease them with. or maybe you're just teasing one particular demon. because your eyes linger on his just a bit too long to be coincidental, flitting away to the ground or a nearby wall before meeting his again. are you feeling nervous now? you should be. make no mistake-- he sees what you're doing here, and he's already thinking of ways to handle it. you're clearly getting aroused by all the attention. he wants to help, but he's just feeling so tired. you're already so prepped and eager-- maybe he should let you sink onto his cock in this very room? he's curious to see how well you can perform with an audience.

[mydear-corinthian]

Attention || Thomas Shelby x reader

Synopsis: You're a jazz singer and you were invited to Tommy's brother's wedding and you caught his attention Pairing: Thomas Shelby x reader Warnings: SMUT +18, unprotected sex, p in v, breeding kink, dirty talk Notes: Rushed Click here to find the main masterlist. Click here to find the PEAKY BLINDERS masterlist.

SMUT AHEAD

The newlywed couple, John and Esme Shelby, and their guests gathered on the dance floor to dance while you sang in front of the audience. Swaying your hips to the song's melody, your hands clutched the metallic microphone and locked eyes with the audience.

You had previously attended countless weddings, so being asked to one was not a new experience for you. However, receiving an invitation from the prominent Shelby family? That was an altogether unusual situation, laced with both thrill and fear. You were thoroughly familiar with the Shelby family's reputation, understanding all aspects of their business transactions, the shady realm of their crimes, and the mysterious personas that disguised each member of the family in mystery.

While singing, you noticed that all the Shelby siblings were on the dance floor except for one: Thomas Shelby. He was alone on a big round table, a glass of whiskey in front of him while his lips were decorated by his cigarette. You didn't even noticed that he was looking at you, his ocean-like eyes locking to yours. 

The jazz band had finally finished their performance, and while your bandmates mingled around the large round table, chatting and enjoying drinks, you found yourself lingering behind the stage, separated from them. Memories of the way the gangster had looked at you replayed in your mind, causing a flutter of nerves to dance in your stomach. Butterflies swirled within you, making it impossible to shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in.

Exhaling, you tried to forget his eyes in your mind as you took your metallic cigarette case, getting one of the cancerous stick before putting the case back on your black beaded purse. You flicked the lighter numerous times until you gave up. Groaning in annoyance, you threw the non-working lighter away. 

"Here," a deep voice echoed in your ears. "You can use this." An arm extended towards you, a lighter in hand. You stared at whoever it was, and when your gaze met the man's, your eyes widened. "Oh, Mr. Shelby. I - Thank you," you said, accepting the furious man's offer and successfully lighting your cigarette before returning it to Tommy.

"You were quite impressive up there," he said nonchalantly, flicking his lighter to start his cigarette and joining you. The unexpected praise caused a rush of warmth to flood your cheeks, catching you off guard by his awareness. It was unexpected to receive compliments from someone like him, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and doubt during the discussion.

You continued to share the story of your journey to becoming a well-known jazz vocalist in South Birmingham as an expression of gratitude. Throughout the conversation, he stayed fairly mute, responding only with a nod. Surprising to you, his stillness concealed a strong involvement with your words. As you chatted enthusiastically unconscious of his shifting stance and the intensity of his gaze as it moved from head to toe, it became clear that he was more than just a passive listener; he was intensely intrigued by your story.

You looked at your pearl watch and read the time. It was already midnight, and there were no available cabs for you to book. "Oh, forgive me, Mr. Shelby, but it's getting late, and I really must make my way home," you exclaimed, a note of urgency in your tone as you rapidly searched through your handbag, double-checking to make sure you hadn't forgotten anything.

"Stay here for tonight; there are no cabs available anymore, and I have a spare room for you to stay in," he said almost instantly. The tone of his voice suggests that he still wants you to be with him.

"Are you sure, sir?" he nodded to your question. The two of you hopped into his car, Tommy drove going to his house with you. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When you finally arrived at his house near the reception, he opened the door and invited you inside. The house wasn't particularly large or small; floral wallpaper was used everywhere, and circular picture frames adorned the large fireplace in the living room. As Tommy entered the house, you laid your white fur-like scarf on the chair.

Your heart raced at the sight of him, each beat echoing in the silence of the room. It was as if you were seeing him through new eyes, taking in the intriguing depth of his gaze, the chiseled lines of his attractive face, and the neatly combed hair that framed it all. He projected an effortless charm while wearing his usual suit, sparking a deeper admiration for his natural charisma.

Tommy did the same thing, starring at you -- your physique, your lovely golden dress, the way your white feather hat hung in your hair. His eyes communicated love and longing simply by looking at you. He knew you even before the reception. He knew who you were.

His hands cupped your cheeks as he approached you. You didn't know what was going on, or so you thought. Your cheeks flushed, and your heart fluttered at his moves.

"May I?" he asked quietly, his voice a smooth whisper that sent thrills down your spine. With a gentle nod, you gave him permission, excitement coursing through every fiber of your being. As his lips touched yours, a burst of energy flowed between you, igniting a passionate flame that appeared to swallow everything. Your breath mixed in the intimate space between you, resulting in a heady symphony of longing. Your hands reflexively moved to his neck, fingers threading through the delicate strands of his hair, while his firm grip on your hips drew you in, erasing any barrier between you. The kiss grew into a gloriously wild dance of lips and tongues, each movement a witness to the sheer intensity of your connection. In that moment, buried in the heat of the embrace, you tasted not only each other's lips, but also the burning need that held you together.

Fortunately, the house was empty, leaving just you and Tommy. He brought you to his bedroom, the air heavy with expectancy as the heated session went on. As you lay on the bed, the springs creaked beneath you, adding rhythm to the intensity of your touch. His lips trailed over your neck, leaving a path of kisses that sent thrills down your spine, each touch leaving its mark as you couldn't help but moan his name in pleasure.

"Mr. Shelby .." you moaned as he sucked the sweet spot of your neck, your legs locking his hips. 

"Tommy." he corrected. 

"I know your name, Mr. Shelby," 

"Then moan it." 

He began to undress you, leaving the floor gripped with your gold-colored heels and lengthy dress. Continuing the kiss, your hands moved to his suit, unbuttoning each one quickly.

Your naked bodies were bound together. His thick fingers found your clit and softly stroked it until his speed quickened, causing your back to arch as you gasped his name aloud.

"Fuck, Tommy.." His hands crumpled the sheets, and his lips curled into a smile, content with what he was doing.

"Does that feel good, mhm? Want me to stop?" he teased as his fingers slowed. Your eyes begged with him.

"No--please, keep going!" you cried, shaking your head. He desires his fingers to strike your cunt.

He stopped, causing you to whine. He laughed, noticing the emotion on your face. He positioned himself in front of your wet cunt before entering you. Because of the unexpected movement, you moaned more loudly than usual.

His pace was first steady, allowing you to adjust his length, but it soon increased. The bed creaked with every thrust he made. Your nails drove into his back due to the pleasure he offered you.

"You like that, love? Who owns this cunt?" he demanded, maintaining his violent thrust. Your breast bounces.

"Yours! Oh god - it feels good, Tommy."

Everything you felt was pleasure and joy. Tommy's cock abuses the area, making you burst with ecstasy. Airy groans and moans echoed around the dim room. You could feel his hot breath on your neck as he rested his head on.

His arm lifted your legs and pushed them towards your chest, allowing his cock to penetrate deeper and deeper inside you. The sudden change of posture hurt, but it was swiftly replaced with pleasure. Your gut swirled, and your cunt clenched on his cock, implying that you were close.

"Fuck - look at you clenching around my cock. Good girl," Tommy praised, his massive arms gripping your legs.

"Tommy, I'm gonna - gonna cum!"

"Me too, love. Cum on my cock, c'mon," he said. "'m going to fill you up, yeah? You like it? Me cumming inside your precious wet pussy?"

"Yes - yes!" you moaned loudly as you approached your climax. Tommy needed a few more thrusts before he released his seed inside of you. He slowly pulled out, spilling his white creamy load into your battered cunt.

He lay down alongside you, passionately kissing your lips.

"Ah, you're good in bed too, Mr. Shelby."

"You did well with your voice training today, Ms. (Y/n)," he taunted before you both went to bed.

[popamolly]

‘ INTERNAL REDEMPTION ’ LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR

summary. In the fiery depths, she captures the attention of Lucifer, who senses a unique purity in her soul. With his help, (Y/N) finds herself on the path to redemption and self-discovery with dangerous trouble along the way.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE

warnings. lucifer morningstar x stripper!fem!reader, she/her pronouns, valentino exists, eventual smut, mention of death, biblical references, sex work, sexual themes, trauma, abuse, murder

author’s note. inspired by @punching-pentagrams and their amazing ongoing story “Love In as Hopeless Place”, it encouraged me to write my own fic about Lucifer. go check out their story, it is so good and deserves more love!

In the dimly lit, pulsating world of Club Elysium, where the air was thick with anticipation and desire, a mysterious aura surrounded a captivating figure on the stage. Under the flickering neon lights, you moved with a mesmerizing grace that defied the earthly realm. Dressed in glistening attire that caught the reflections of the vibrant hues around her, you became an ethereal presence, drawing the attention of every gaze in the room.

Your movements were a dance of contradictions – an alluring blend of sensuality and innocence. You twirled and swayed to the rhythm of the music, casting a spell upon the enchanted audience.

Unbeknownst to the patrons of Club Elysium, you were more than just an exotic dancer seeking to enthrall with her physical prowess. Your celestial grace, forgotten in the afterlife coil she now inhabited, manifested in the subtle elegance of her performance. As you moved, you felt a distant echo of a certain purpose, an inexplicable connection to something beyond the neon-lit stage.

In the hazy ambiance, Valentino, the enigmatic owner of Club Elysium, watched from the shadows, his eyes reflecting one of red burning lust, but it was more than just lust for you— no, it was something more— it was a thirst for power that had him grinning from ear to ear. Valentino knew that in this corner of Hell he owned everything, even you.

As the music reached its crescendo, your dance reached its zenith. The room held its breath, suspended in a moment where hell and celestial intertwined. You were always the ballerina in the jelwery box, the beautiful antique that Valentino had in his grasp to show off and praise. Though he may own you outside the building you made sure to show him through your dancing, that you were the one that owned the stage. He hated when you went off script or changed the choreography but you made sure to do it on purpose and on nights you knew he was watching you.

That was your little dose of rebellion, a little taste of freedom you could only wish to have. You were content with your situation though, it could’ve been worse. At least with Valentino you were paid, clothed, and feed with an overall decent place to live. Being one of his toys had its perks— you couldn’t complain. Especially when there were those who had it so much worse than you.

“You jus’ love angerin’ him, don’t you doll?” Your coworker, Angel Dust, asked as you entered the dressing room that you and the other dancers shared. The smell of makeup and cheap perfume filled your senses, calming you with the sense of familiarity, “Cause last I checked, that wasn’t what we rehearsed.”

“Well,” You chuckled as you sat on the couch, its fabric ripped and white stuffing nearly popping out the sides, “I just thought that my choreo was better, and by the sound of that crowd and the money on stage, it was.”

“Heh,” Angel couldn’t help but envy your confidence when it came to Valentino, who owned you both in more ways than one and yet you always found a way to yank on the chains without consequence. A part of Angel loathed you for it.

You could sense the mood shift in Angel, not that you cared but you weren’t exactly heartless either. With a sigh, you get up from the couch, ignoring your aching feet as you join Angel’s side, looking into the vanity mirror so you could touch up your makeup, “Trust me, if my act wasn’t purity and innocence it would be a different story. Lucky for me, bruises and marks on my body wouldn’t sell too well.”

“Yeah, count it on luck shortcake.” With that Angel left, pushing another girl out the way angrily while snatching the drink out her hand. You could only sigh, not intending on upsetting him more but as always, your intentions don’t matter when your words spoke otherwise. It had been so long since you had a decent human connection, you were just a bit rusty.

“My sweets,” The sudden sound of Valentino’s voice had the room go silent, the air becoming so thick you were sure you’d might suffocate in it, “Can I have the room please?”

With hushed scared whispers and nervous glances, you and the other girls make your way to the door. You had hoped you could sneak past him under the cover of the other women who all but rushed passed Valentino but his slender hand caught your forearm quick, gripping it with such force that you were slightly shocked by the pain he caused— it wasn’t like him to be rough with you, “Not you, darling. We have to have a chat, don’t we mio caro?”

You turn to look at him with a frown, “About what? My performance?”

“Oh I would love to talk about that little stunt you pulled but I need you for something a bit more important,” Valentino yanks you further into the room, locking the door behind him with his other hand before slinging you against the vanity, bottles of perfume falling over and onto the ground as the desk shakes violently. Your employer towers over you with ease making you shudder beneath his fiery gaze, “I need something done and I need it done right, I trust that you can accomplish this task, yes?”

What shit was he getting you into now? You were done with porn, you had paid a hefty price to alter your contract with him and you weren’t going to slip back into the void now, not when you were so far ahead, “I won’t be one of your pornstars, Val. We had a deal.”

Valentino laughs, his pointy fingernail dragging along your cheek while he licks his lips, “This isn’t about that principessa, this is a more delicate matter. Think you’re up for it?”

“I don’t have much of a choice do I?” You yank your head away from his hands, lowering your gaze into a slight glare.

“This is why I always liked you, dove. You learn quick.”

“If you were going to tell me to send in a whore Val, I wouldv’e just asked you to send Angel Dust!” Vox glitched with anger, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration as he turned around in his chair, his claw like hands gripping onto the table with such force that it left a mark, “What makes this slut is any different from him?!”

It was hard to bite back your tongue but you did, unwillingly submitting to your role as you stood before the V’s with your eyes to the ground, not daring to even look as confident at you usually were. Not because you were scared of them, no, you were scared of embarrassing Valentino. Your boss might have forgiven you for your countless stunts but when it came to matters of business with the V’s, you knew your place.

“Angel dust thinks he is on this path to redemption, let him stay in his delusion but until I can break him fully he will never be loyal to me. Not as loyal as (Y/N) here…” Valentino wraps his hand around your neck, forcing your head up to look at Vox— who for a split second was taken back by your beauty, “I have broken (Y/N) time and time again, she would do anything for me, isn’t that right (Y/N)?”

You closed your eyes, “Yes, Valentino.”

“Good.” Valentino pushes you toward Vox, making you stumble into him, forcing him to catch you in his arms, “Quite the vixen, she would surely catch the eyes of any overlord.”

“Even the King of Hell himself?” Vox tips your chin up with his index finger, looking into your eyes with a devilishly grin that makes you shiver.

“Asmodeus throws the biggest parties in the Pride Ring that is filled with all kinds of debauchery, especially for his birthday.” Valentino explains, leaning back in his chair as he crosses his right leg over the other, exhaling out a long drag of pink smoke, “Every one of importance will be there since it isn’t just a party but a show of status.”

“And..what? Your pretty toy is just supposed to waltz in there and get the attention of any overlord that wants to fuck her?” Velvette finally tears her gaze away from her phone, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Well it is an important party of one of Lucifer’s friends—”

“Which means he is bound to be there.” Vox grins, “Get close to the king and we get closer to controlling Hell.”

“And what makes you so sure he’ll entertain such..” Velvette looks at you with a roll of her eyes, “From what I hear Lucifer is loyal to Lilith, no one has seen him with another woman on his arm and it’s been 7 years, hashtag faithful.”

“Ah, well, 7 years is a long time to go without intimacy…I say the man is touch starved and would like some attention.” Valentino says, “Anyone can still get lonely, no matter how faithful.”

“I like the way you think Val,” Vox grips your chin as you grit your teeth. “And I think your little whore here will do just nicely.”

Before you know it was the day of Asmodeus’ birthday party. The V’s gave you the run down of the plan and how you were supposed to get close to the King of Hell himself— who you haven’t even seen in person for as long as you been hell. Which was a few years by now. You were a simple lowlife, you kept to yourself and tried to survive, only to end up within his grasp. Was he as cruel as people say? ‘What sort of question is that? Of course he was! He was the King of fucking Hell, which last time you checked, wasn’t given to just anyone.’

Of all the people, of everyone in Hell, it just has to be you. Because of your cursed deal with Val, you were stuck in a continuous limbo that you couldn’t escape from. Damn you and your loyalty, damn it all if it will end up with you dead ( again ) on the steps of Lucifer’s palace. This wasn’t fair— but then again, when has your situation ever been fair?

“Oh, you look just like a doll.” Valentino ruffled with the fake angel wings that adorned your back, fixing and prodding with whatever to make you more presentable, “Like an angel. Hell, upon just a glance mio caro you might have been able to get away with actually being one.”

And as you glance at your reflection in the mirror you felt a sudden sharp pain in the center of your forehead. Only fragments of memories came flooding your mind like a crashing wave. It was all so blurry but the word Angel held some sort of weight on you but you couldn’t place exactly what.

You held onto your head, trying to steady your breathing and relaxing your nerves as Valentino continues to add the finishing touches to your look.

“Get it together, dove.” Valentino meets your gaze in the reflection, “I hope you won’t disappoint me.”

“No..” The pain in your head quickly fades away as soon as it came, “I can do this.”

“Good, because it is just about your turn to be presented for the auction.”

The auction. Asmodeus does it for sport at every single one of his parties but now that this is his birthday party, this auction is the biggest one yet. It is where he finds Hell’s most beautiful prized possessions, not limiting to actual sinners. The hope was to capture Lucifer’s attention as he would be in the crowd through this angel facade, and pray that he would bet on you. And if that didn’t work, then you would have to move on to plan B. And you didn’t like plan b.

Valentino wished you luck as you stood behind the curtain to the center stage, disappearing into the shadows to leave you on your own and this mission that was screwed from the get go.

“And last but not least, I present to you—! what is the object’s name again?” The announcer whispers, putting his microphone away from his face to get a confirmation from another employee, “Ah! The pure and innocent, (Y/N)!”

The curtain suddenly opens, the spotlight from above blinding you in away that made you shield your eyes from the brightness. You squint, looking upon a sea of red lustful eyes looking over your figure with curiosity. You take a deep breath, as you played the part of a shy girl, slowly bringing your hands to cover yourself even though the white thin laced gown left little to the imagination.

“Hubba hubba! Would you look at that boys?” Asmodeus’ eyes nearly turn into hearts at the sight of you, “And I thought nothing could even look so angelic in Hell!”

“What a beaut’” Mammon agrees.

“Indeed.” Lucifer sat beside his friends, trying to cover his boredom with peaked interest as he looks in your direction. This whole thing was pretty fucked up to him but that was just the way of life down here, there’s no changing that— no changing people when it is just in their nature. Now usually he wouldn’t indulge such things but he was the King of Hell, and he had to play the part to maintain order even though he longed for nothing but to be constructing rubber ducks right now.

“500!” A man in the crowd closer to the stage shouts.

The announcer points in the man’s direction with enthusiasm, “I hear 500! What about 550? Do I hear 550?”

“600!” Another shouts.

“600 to the gentleman in red! But do I hear a 650? 650?”

Asmodeus sits back in his seat, taking another swig of his whiskey. Mammon looks at his friend in disbelief as the unknown sinners below them begin to shout various of numbers for you, “Is she not to the Lustful Overlords taste?”

“Ah, I have so many who do the innocent act. It gets boring after awhile. But if you’re interested…you should buy her.” Asmodeus smirks, shaking the single ice cube in his glass as he signals to the waitress for another.

“She ain’t my type, but—” Mammon gets a sudden idea, “Lucifer should have her. I’m sure he gets off to the Angel shit don’t you your highness?”

Lucifer tips his hat up with his cane, “I am married.”

“To a woman who you haven’t seen in seven years!” Asmodeus rolls his eyes with a loud groan before raising his hand to join the bid, “Lighten up! Good sir, I say 2500!”

“What a doozy! 2500! 2500! Do I hear 3000!?” The announcer nearly jumps from his stool at the amount offered, “Going once! Going twice—!”

“Asmodeus.” Lucifer warned. Not wanting any part in this sinful behavior.

The sound of a gavel rang through the air, finalizing the amount, “And sold to the gentleman in VIP! Your prize will wait outback until you are ready to retrieve it! Enjoy!”

Just like that the plan was working. In just less than five minutes you were sold off like some prize. Your life being in yet another’s hands that wasn’t your own, it was a bit ironic since this life is almost just the same as the one you led on Earth. It was getting harder and harder to distinguish which one was truly Hell.

© POPAMOLLY 2024 all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, or repost in any other social media.

Be sure to leave a comment & let me know if you want to added to the tag list for this story so you’re updated whenever I drop a new chapter! xo

[willowbelle]

Stay Here, With Me

part one

❤︎ trafalgar law x fem reader ❤︎

༉‧₊˚✧ (nsfw, afab!reader, 18+ only) ༉‧₊˚✧

cw & summary: established relationship, piv sex, cervix kisses, mating press, comfort and reassurance. mentions of reader's unidentified trauma, reader has a habit of crying after sex, law is comforting.

word count: ~1,300

note: this one is more poetic, and i wrote it to help me through something i am dealing with. :')

i hope you all enjoy soft, sweet law ♡︎

part two is here! : You Know Me

Stay Here, With Me

part one

Law challenged you in ways you weren’t prepared for. 

He beckoned you into realms uncharted, testing the fibers of your being unanticipated.

You had always buried your anguish; covered it in dirt to be forgotten, locked it away and swallowed the key.

And it petrified you, an inexplicable fear, the way that your pain always trembled on the verge of unveiling itself in his presence.

Not because he echoed your burdens, or reminded you of your baggage, oh no, quite the opposite. It was because, with Law, you had finally discovered solace in the company of another soul. And for once in your life, you wanted to let it out, unlock your chest, crack open your skull, expose your brain, and let it out. 

You wanted to tell him; to cry to him, to sob until your lungs gave out, to rid of all the contributors of your displeasure. 

But you didn’t; too frightened of the guilt you’d feel if your burdens were to meet the weight on his already-heavy shoulders. You were stubborn, and you were determined to keep this distress as yours and yours alone. 

You chose to stay numb in the home that you had built in your mind; made of iron walls and iron doors, shackling you to the metal. Each chain of your confinements spell out your anguish, far too long and far too heavy to name, so you locked yourself in your iron brain.

But, he knew, you poor thing, of course he did. 

Law’s analytical, observant nature kept your relationship, unbeknownst to you, essentially secretless.

He didn’t miss a thing; from the way in which your eyes told a different story than your mouth, to the tears rolling down your cheeks that you disguised as sweat, he knew why you opted for excusing yourself to the bathroom following intimacy. 

In defiance of his accustomed nature, this stone-faced “surgeon of death” taught himself to be comforting. Because he had come to learn that, above all else, this is what you needed. 

You needed him to hold you, to redirect your restless mind, to curb your enigmatic sorrow. 

Because when your tears threatened to escape; unexplainable, uncontrollable, Law remained, like he always did, lingering by your side, a constant presence in the ebb and flow of your emotions.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to cry after sex, though you didn’t know why; tears flowing down your cheeks without remorse, betraying your intention to conceal your trauma in the recesses of your soul. 

And Law would listen, though it broke his heart to do so, to the cries you tried so desperately to muffle from behind the bathroom door. 

And as the echoes of your cries made their way to his ears, he made a vow to himself. 

He studied you intensively, silently, making a map of your body inside his own, determined to understand your tears in the only way he knew how. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The grasp he held on your delicate body remained gentle and kind as he fucked you into the mattress, a stark contrast to the jarring heaves of his able hips. 

The softness of his touches, coupled with the sweet words of reassurance he whispered into your ears, made up for the unruly pace of his thrusts. 

The lewd sounds of moans and skin slapping together dismissed the silence that hung in the air earlier, and even amidst the noises, the movements, he could sense you starting to slip away and into your mind. And so, he decelerates, a gentle hand on your cheek, ushering you back to the shared embrace of the present.

“Hey, y/n,” he begins softly, his velvety voice beckoning you out of your head. His hips stall, throbbing member still engulfed within your tight warmth, “Are you okay? Do you need me to stop?” he asks, his countenance and voice carrying an earnest concern.

“N-No, Law, please keep going,” you whimpered softly, nails digging down the muscular flesh of his back.

He kisses you in response. But not a typical Law kiss, no, this was different. This kiss was an ardent embrace of lips, a dance of passion. This kiss conveyed an unspoken promise solace, of pure understanding and security. With your cheek in his hand, tongues still dancing together, Law begins again, bringing his hips back to thrust into you. The sensation of being stuffed full again forces a moan to escape from within your throat, into Law’s mouth. You feel the corners of his lips twitch upwards against yours, satisfied with himself. 

It’s hot. The room is hot. Your bodies are hot, pressed together, intertwined. Law breaks your kiss, tilting his head down to watch himself disappear into you over and over again, groaning at the sight. 

“God-, you-take me so-well,” he slurs, enunciating each word with a harsh thrust. 

With one arm holding him up, he uses the other tattooed limb to press one of your legs down, forcing you harder into the mattress, and it turn, pressing himself deeper into you. 

Another moan emerges from your lips, this one more of a cry, as the tip of his cock now hits that one sweet spot within you dead-on, over and over again in time with his thrusts. 

“A-ah-! Law-!” 

His breathing begins to grow heavy, low groans and huffs rumbling out of his inked chest. He grips your leg tighter, his thrusts becoming sloppy and unsynchronized. He’s close. 

He sits up a bit on his knees to give himself more room to move faster, now bringing both of your legs up to rest on his strong shoulders.

You throw your head back and moan loudly at the sensation. Goosebumps begin to bud all over your spent body as his blunt tip continues to bully your cervix, sending shivers down your spine with each bump to your sweet spot.  

One more glance down at you, writhing and whimpering beneath him, causes the coil growing within Law to snap, and he shudders, groans, and unapologetically paints your insides white. He looks heavenly like this; head thrown back, damp hair clinging to his sweaty forehead, inked chest rising and falling with each exhausted breath, his powerful, tatted hands now trembling as they gradually relinquished their bruising grip on your legs. 

As the two of you come down from your highs, your unspoken vulnerability begins to surface, like it always does. Law senses the impending swell of tears in your eyes, even before you do.

He knows it’s coming; it’s routine at this point for you to dart away afterwards, retreating into the bathroom to come undone on the cold, harsh tile. He wants nothing more than for you to abandon the hard and unforgiving flooring, stay in bed with him, and just unravel in his arms, instead.

So this time, he stops you. 

The moment you begin to stir beneath him, he gently grasps onto your wrist, halting your movements. 

“Law, what are you-” you begin, your lips trembling, trying your hardest to keep your tears at bay. 

“y/n,” he starts, his free hand finding its home on your cheek, “You don't have to grin and bear it,” he smiles weakly, “Not around me.” 

You could feel tears pricking in your eyes, and as you stared into his nurturing steel irises, you swore you could feel all your pain and discomfort seeping out of your skin.

His thumb rubs gentle circles into your cheek, 

“Stay here, with me.”

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧��.𖤣𖥧𖡼.

part two is here! : You Know Me

©this work belongs to willowhaze26.

do not repost, modify, plagiarize, translate, or share on other platforms. 

comments, likes, and reblogs appreciated!

[swannieluv]

₊⊹ Fogaréu.

✦⸼࣪⸳ Pairing: Arlecchino x GN! Childhood friend Reader

✦⸼࣪⸳ WC: 4k

✦⸼࣪⸳ Warnings: Injuries, child abuse, blood and death.

✦⸼࣪⸳ Insp. by João e Maria - Chico Buarque

✦⸼࣪⸳ A/N: Finally wrote for Arle and I really liked it! I hope you can enjoy reading this and GOOD LUCK ON YOUR PULLS!!!

✦⸼࣪⸳ likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated!! <3

If there was one thing the Knave knew about herself, it was that she was no saint. One way or another, she had to triumph over those around her to climb the ladder of power and reach the top. She watches over everyone with a sharp but zealous eye, without losing mutual respect for those under her wing.

On nights like this, with the children already in bed, The Knave would be found walking peacefully through the dark corridors, only a small lamp in her hands for company. Every now and then, the ghosts of the past seemed to walk around her in that pit of darkness.

With subtle movements, she gently opened the door to one of the rooms, checking if all children were asleep. It was an unnecessary gesture, since no child - at least not those with a love for their lives - would dare disobey such a simple rule for nothing. It wouldn't be strange to say that she had ironically acquired this maternal habit after becoming Father. Was she getting soft? No. Absolutely not.

Cautiously measuring the force with which she closed the door, preventing any of the children from waking up, Arlecchino stares at the tiny splinters made by the children to measure the height. In it, three familiar names almost washed away by the action of time. Perhaps the door should be replaced soon, in a small renovation planned with the money from a "kind donor".

Her fingers ever so gently touch the splinters. There was nothing much to it, so why... why did her mind start resurrecting the forgotten ones of the past? She finally allowed herself to be carried away by the wave of nostalgia for the first time in many years, since that was the room she had once used.

"..."

'I'm sorry, I didn't know it was your spider :('

The white-haired child stared at the note slipped under the door for a few seconds before folding it up and slipping it into her pocket. At that time, there was no 'Arlecchino' but Peruere.

It would be comical if it weren't tragic that the child on the other side of the door had crushed Peruere's pet spider with full force the other day, though it wasn't necessarily their fault if the animal was running around unnoticed on the floor. She harbored hatred and resentment towards her spider's killer, it’s just not worth the stress. But seeing her pet crushed at someone else's feet was cruel enough.

If it hadn't been for their remorse, the chances of Peruere opening the door would have been zero. So she decided to give just one more chance to her… friend, the troublemaker [Name].

"You killed Lady Belladonna."

Peruere left the room, walking aimlessly. However, her unwanted companion crossed the path all the time. Sometimes they were walking to the right, other times they were in front or diagonally. It was annoying and they stepped on Peruere's shoes all the time, almost knocking them off.

"Ms. Bella- Ah, the spider." [Name] blinked twice before their face burned with shame at the attitude towards the animal. "In my defense... I didn't know that ugly insect- err, I mean, devoid of beauty, was yours."

"Spiders are..."

"Arachnids..."

The light from the lamp had been extinguished long ago, leaving its bearer in complete darkness for who knows how long. Or rather, it returned Arlecchino to the bitter realm of reality. Standing in silence, she navigated for minutes in thoughts that are only allowed after the flames of the fireplace have ceased.

There is no clear distinction between what exactly is acceptable and what is bad, it's all a question of point of view. Many factors differentiate Arlecchino from her predecessor. But in the end, the King's cycle has always repeated itself and always will, no matter who is in control and what their policies are.

During all the years that Arlecchino exercised her role as Father within the House of Hearth, there was never a child who couldn't be "tamed", a challenge that was never overcome.

There has never been a challenge like... [Name], and Arlecchino can only be thankful for that since, without a shadow of a doubt, they had been simply the clumsiest child the House of Hearth has ever received. Stumbling around the corridors with that typical mischievous grin on their face.

Carrying drawing materials, instruments, weapons or anything else they could get their hands on, [Name] ran up and down the corridors looking for something they could make or break.

It wasn't uncommon for those around them to stop what they were doing to observe the way they carried herself around, Peruere included. [Name] was a strange child, but undeniably very charismatic. However, once they had passed, everything returned to its usual monotonous rhythm, because they were so...

"Exaggerated."

The word left her lips unconsciously, slipping out of her thoughts and taking shape. It was a slip of the tongue that surprised even its author, whose face didn't let go of its stoicism for a second.

There wasn't a single action carried out by Arlecchino that didn't carry with it a purpose. From the time they went to bed to the food they ate, everything was done to ensure that the children performed as well as possible. After all, there are no quality sheep without pasture.

Leaving that aside and the inspection completed, she turned back to the traditional home office - of course, she had completely redesigned it after taking over, but it was still classic.

Arlecchino had always been professionally organized. She didn't have a lot of paperwork because she didn't do it, but because she simply did. As a Harbinger, countless responsibilities fell on her shoulders. Just the slightest slip-up would not only jeopardize her, but also those around her.

Accompanied by the typical cherry tea - one of her few preferences - the Harbinger diligently wrote like there was no tomorrow, at a fast and precise pace. Alongside this, the sweet aroma of the tea didn't help to stop the parallel thoughts, sugary like the distant memories tormenting her thoughts today, dancing around her head and bringing to the surface what should remain guarded.

"You don't seem to understand anything about this." The x-shaped pupils reflected in the liquid served as a distraction from the constant boredom, or just a way of distancing herself from her surroundings.

Ah, yes. That's exactly what they used to do, tea parties prepared by children who had no idea how they worked. Brilliant.

"And what's there to understand? We just have to put tea in the cup and drink it then-" The rest of the words were like an incoherent buzz, proof of the vagueness surrounding these memories. "Let me show you. It's just like that-"

Splash.

"..."

Without her noticing, the tea had spilled on her white jacket, staining it a blood red. A pity, as it was such a pretty piece. Leaving that aside, her first action was to check for any burns and take it off to clean.

She would wash it with her bare hands in the laundry room, well away from the bedrooms so as not to interrupt anyone's sleep. Then she left the rings on the table and made her way through the house again, with no light to guide her. It was so chilly when the fire was extinguished. But she was used to it, and certainly so were the other residents.

"Freminet, you know that I can see you. Right?"

"P-Pardon." From the shadows emerged Freminet, face turned downwards as if he were hiding something and his usual shy attitude. He seemed to be desperately wiping away the tears flowing from his eyes; after all, Father didn't like it when children cried.

She turned around, looking away from Freminet. "You shouldn't be awake. Go back to your room and I'll let it slide this time."

"Yes, Father." Freminet fled the scene like a shadow. There was no intention of frightening him, only of warning him.

He was there before she became Father, although he was too young to possibly remember much of the events that led to her ascension. Well, he was a good kid either way.

Arlecchino didn't like tears, they were just a semblance of pain and weakness. She had already seen too much suffering in her life to hate them. They were a reminder of the suffering experienced and something she wouldn't like to see again.

But it didn't mean they couldn't cry by themselves. She only wanted them to be strong enough to defend themselves so not have to go through the horrors of the world, although she knows it's impossible.

"..."

How many times did Peruere wake up in the dead of night, in pain and agony as her curse only intensified? Inside, she wanted to let out an inhuman scream, which is a way of being heard in this fairytale-like hellhole.

The silence around her agitated her further and further, and in a numb state, she couldn't rest. At any moment, it was as if she would be eaten from the inside out by the curse inside her body.

"Hey, hey... Calm down, is everything all right?"

The pain she felt that day was real, but the comfort given to her was more markable. It hurt (and a lot), but no tears would dare to flow from her exhausted eyes, carrying a great deal of fatigue. "You're not going to tell Mother, right?”

“Not if you don't want me to.”

"Then don't.” She didn't want to be taken care of by her, so she was fine as long as the pain didn't kill her. "Although I don't think she'll stay in the dark about it for long."

“But won't Mother be mad if she sees us awake?” They sat on her bed, keeping distance enough to be able to jump quickly to their own in case the door opens.

The leather belt hanging on the side of the old clock was a threat for those who were bold enough to try to break the rules. All children should be in bed during the whole night, no exceptions. But no one could stop [Name] from doing what they wanted.

“If she gets mad, then I'll take the blame for you…”

“Then you're just gonna get hurt!” They left an incredulous whisper. There was no way she would do that, right?

“And won't you?”

“Honestly, I'd rather be beaten than grounded.”

In a way, being hit would be better because it would happen once and then they could heal for the next few days. Since they weren't doing anything too serious, the punishment wouldn't be so bad.

But being grounded was the worst thing that could happen to a child inside the House. Or they would get excruciating tasks during weeks, or have their freedom taken away as if it was nothing. And [Name] certainly didn't like being stuck in a dark room with little light for days.

“I don't think there's a better option between those two…”

"You need more rest, you know that?" Arlecchino could no longer feel the comfort of those hands. But she was sure it was a gentle touch, because she didn't feel repulsed. "I don't understand why you accept to go through all this pain alone..."

"Because only pain breeds understanding—"

Mother's motto, a phrase repeated over and over again as a justification for the punishments handed out. Painfully engraved in children's minds as a survival rule.

"No, no, no, no, no," the hurried voice tried to silence the other. "Shh, shh. It's not like that, stop thinking like that."

"If you want to talk, then talk. If you want to cry, then cry... For the archon, if you even want to kill, then kill! But don't accept things so easily! It's so frustrating!"

Their whispers were angry, but it was clear that the anger was not directed at Peruere. In any case, she felt a little guilty about making someone take care of her.

“I don't believe that's exactly how it works—” she answered, grabbing her arm as it itched from under her skin. The simplest movement of Peruere's fingers was enough to make them snap and the sound echo through the room.

“Can I see your arms? Or is it still hurting a lot?” They wouldn't do anything without Peruere's permission. Even though they hated seeing her like that, they would respect her boundaries just like she respects theirs.

“You can…”

They gently gave her a gentle massage, trying to help that overbearing pain to go away. Peruere tried to think of something she could say to thank her friend without the typical “thank you”. Her lack of expression was a bit frustrating.because she didn't want to come out as ungrateful, but couldn't think of the right thing to say.

“Hm… thank you…” She ended up saying the same overused words, and was about to apologize when she saw the droplets of water drip down their face. How weird, for it was the first time someone had cried for her, and the first time she had been hugged so tightly.

“It's really okay… I just want to see you well.”

"Come on, you know I care about your well being." The embrace that enveloped her was as warm as an ember, and helped her hide the shame on her face. "You're not going to take my advice, are you?”

"No."

"Haha... You're so stubborn." Wiping away their tears, [Name] released Peruere's cheeks.

The scene didn't last long. It was all because they were careless enough not to notice the person standing there in the doorway, watching with a neutral, expressionless face. They were taken by surprise like two rabbits in a trap.

“Peruere, [Name], go to the Hearth room. I wish to see the two by the morning.”

That tricky grin that appeared on the woman's face never failed to confuse Peruere. Mother knows best, so why… Why was Peruere starting to slowly doubt her conduct?

The two could only stare back and low their head in respect — no, fear. Whispering the same thing in unison, they silently made their way to the door.

“Yes, Mother.”

During the daily routine, the Knave set aside a part of the evening to get together with the orphans by the fireplace. A family activity that built their companionship and teamwork for future missions, certainly not an excuse for them to have the playtime they needed while growing up.

She usually sat in the furthest seat, watching them talk in their jovial, relaxed language. These young people today... she was sure that these dialects were not part of the vocabulary used during her youth.

Generation by generation, they would have to fight their way to the top. But now, she hopes that this chain is broken and plans for her method to continue for a good few years after her title passes on.

Lyney. He was the most likely to take over as King, although she still doesn't believe he's fully ready to take on the challenge. He was a kind-hearted child, but he needed to evolve so that he had what it took to abandon childlike ways and embrace a different reality forcefully.

In a way, someone had to suffer so that others could survive. Whether it was selfish for her to be the one to choose that person or not is a matter for another discussion. But just the thought that most of these children could become adults already appeased Arlecchino's heart.

As she closes her eyes and contemplates the sound of the fire crackling and the laughter of those around her, alongside the moonlight, Arlecchino's mind drifts to the past once again.

Just for a second...

“What is it exactly that you want, Peruere?”

"I wish for the same as the others." Everyone is waiting for the moment when they will compete for the position of King, aren't they? After all, that's the goal. "But what about you? What do you want?"

"All I know is that I know nothing. Stupid,. isn't it?"

Click.

The opening of the window completely dispelled those thoughts of Peruere, who was absentmindedly observing everything. Ahead, [Name] took in the cool breeze and the warmth of the sunset rays that touched their face, now clear and fresh in the Knave's mind.

Carelessly, already characteristic of them, [Name] climbed onto the windowsill. "I don't want to be King, or Mother, or Fatui or... anything."

Although the light touched every inch of the room, it was as if Peruere remained in the dark. There, hidden in the shadow cast by [Name], she looked away.

The hand outstretched to her, how could she possibly forget it? The hesitation to grasp it would forever be one of her greatest regrets, as would all the words that went unsaid. Peruere's cold, disconnected manner had often been the best weapon she could use, but also a major flaw.

"I want to be... free."

"..." Without an answer, her gaze only followed [Name]'s raised hand, pointed at the sky - more precisely, two birds hovering there.

"Tell me, Peruere..." the dramatic pause, their eyes still full of tears. Everything contributed to the melancholy of the moment "Will we ever be like them?"

"..."

Freedom. Peruere never had never truly believed in it. There is no such thing as true freedom, never has been and never will be. Does being free mean having autonomy? What nonsense, at the end of the day everyone is tied to their ideologies and beliefs. The two of them were no exception.

[Name] was like a resilient flame that lit up the frigid walls of the House of Hearth, bringing an air of change and perhaps hope wherever she went. On the other hand, Peruere was a... moth, yes, a single moth that belonged in the darkest corners of the night. Their flaw was clearly their ego. From an outside view, not in a million years could [Name] become King. However, something was burning inside those hopeful yet stubborn eyes, an even greater ambition.

Undeniably, Peruere felt slightly confused about them. They were a source of trouble, that was a fact. But then, why was she increasingly tempted to go against the rules with them?

"Don't dream too much. Freedom is too distant a utopia for us." She offered [Name] her hand in return, helping them down from the window.

"But aren't you curious? Maybe... maybe the world isn't as small as in here."

"And if it isn't? Will it make any difference? Either way, we'll still be chained up like the good dogs we are."

"Hm..."

"Look at me." The seriousness in [Name]'s gaze surprised me. There was no longer that silly smile on their face, nor did their voice carry the same casualness, just the seriousness needed.

"If you're going to be King, do it properly."

The metallic smell of blood no longer bothered her - she'd been feeling it long enough to get used to it. And the disgust at being stained with Crucabena's blood was tremendous, and the emptiness of the corridors was a stark reminder of the massacre that had taken place there, since at that moment, only Peruere's deep footsteps could be heard.

Did [Name] manage to get out? Surely those who survived had gone into hiding somewhere, so Peruere made a point of searching every room from top to bottom to make sure that none had been left behind from the first search. There was no longer a Mother to run to, one monster had just devoured another in the great food chain that shapes the structures of the House of Hearth.

The bloody marks on the wall gave Peruere an ominous feeling. But now, the goal was different: to find [Name]. With everything that was going on, she was sure that the other would fulfill the agreement they had made. If [Name] wasn't there, then they had successfully escaped. So Peruere ran from where she was to the fireplace room.

And [Name] did as said. They laid there, leaning against the fireplace as if seeking the comfort of the flames. But what she didn't expect was the large open wound in their chest, which they held in distress at the pain caused.

And of all the memories Arlecchino could have, this was undoubtedly the freshest and most agonizing. It plagued her mind like a broken record, repeating itself over and over and over again.

That was the first time she didn't feel fear, but pure dread. Hidden by the serious face, her heart was restless from the sudden rush of adrenaline until her face paled like paper and her eyes widened as if they were going to pop out, for the person standing there was about to die.

"Y-You... did you... do i-it?"

She nodded in agreement, before kneeling down next to them. Peruere couldn't hide her nervousness, unconsciously biting her lower lip to keep it all in; because [Name] didn't deserve to see Peruere in the state her mind was now in.

"Y-You got really... hurt, h-huh?"

With one hand, they stroked Peruere's cheek. This time she remembered the feeling of the fingers getting colder and colder and the weakness that made them tremble, which was why she removed the other's hand from her face.

"[Name]..."

"I wasn't quick enough... I-I-"

"Shh... spare the words."

Peruere took them in her arms, supporting their head as she tried to calm her down - they were already calm enough, it was Peruere herself who needed it. She already understood that death would tear one more person away from her as the flames warmed them, at least for now.

"T-Talk to me, please. I don't want to die in the silence… A-All this quietness is torturing me…" their voice had already become a desperate whisper while they clutched to Peruere tighter, as if they needed her — and they did.

Peruere wiped the blood dripping from [Name]'s lips, before thinking carefully about what to say. Breathing heavily, she began to sing. "Now it was fatal...That the make-believe would end up like this...

[Name]'s eyes widened one last time, before tearing up. But it wasn't out of sadness, as their smile remained and even grew. What a sight, for someone close to death to be reassured by so little.

"I thought... you didn't... like lullabies...?" They were gently interrupted by a finger over the lips.

"Beyond this yard... It's a never ending night..."

They felt their breathing slowly cease, the hand holding hers loosen, and the tears in their eyes flow. Poor [Name], they wouldn't see the end of the song, because they'd already be on the other side. "Peruere... T-Thanks... for being... my friend..."

"B-Because you disappeared into the world without telling me..." Never had Peruere's voice trembled so much. But she would keep singing, she needed to finish this melody for that one peaceful smile as if their life hadn't been taken so painfully, or she would regret it bitterly for the rest of her life.

"And now I was a foolish one asking..." she wiped away her friend's tears and closed their eyes, which reflected the starlight on the other side of the window. Now they would become just like a bird and know true freedom, while Peruere would remain a moth in the dark, without her flame to guide the way.

"What is life going to do with me…?”

[lovelyhan]

— promise ring ⟢

no one would've guessed that the daughter of the town’s royal mage has a soft spot for the clumsiest fire elemental in the entire realm. but when the crown prince suddenly asks for your hand in marriage, you're forced to consider how you feel about a certain lee jung chan a lot more seriously.

★ FEATURING; chan x reader (ft. joshua x reader)

★ WORD COUNT; 21k words

★ TAGS; fantasy, royalty, childhood friends, mutual pining, love triangle, LOTS of drama, jeonghan being a menace, slow burn, angst, smut

★ NOTES; full disclosure that the plot to porn ratio is probably 80:20 so if you're simply looking for filth, i might not recommend this,,, but if you're down for 20k words of slow burn childhood friends to lovers topped with a juicy love triangle with our best boy chan, then this should be perfect for you <3

this is part of the secret garden, a svthub spring collab and the it's complicated series!

★ SMUT TAGS; vanilla, lots of making out, unprotected sex, touch starved chan and reader, first time, body worship, dom/sub undertones, lots of loving n endearing language during the act bc they've pined for each other long Enough, corruption kink if you squint but chan doesn't rly act on it

★ TAGLIST; @cheolhub - @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @idkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jeonghancvunt - @jyiiscool - @jiniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @featmia - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @emmmui - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @novalpha - @dahliatopia - @0717luv

When you wake up, it’s to a strange feeling that something big is going to happen today.

You open your eyes to radiant sunlight filtering into the room through a crack in the curtains. The songbirds chirp happily by the windowsill as the rest of the town prepares to meet the day head-on. You lie in bed for a few minutes more, wondering what’s causing your chest to stir with misplaced anticipation. None of the annual festivals are drawing near and you’re certain you haven’t forgotten anyone’s birthdays either.

The sensation carries over as you head to the Academy with your father. Being from the family who founded the school several decades ago, he makes it a point to uphold the legacy your ancestors have left behind. That includes being at the school grounds an hour before any of the formal magic classes are scheduled to start, apparently.

Some students arrive much earlier than both of you, practicing spells and incantations in the small quadrangle as a means of preparing for their assessments later in the day. You giggle to yourself when you spot one of the older mages—a water elemental named Seungmin—fumble with his technique a little. 

Whether intentionally or not, his friend, Changbin takes the brunt of it—his robes rendered sopping wet from the water that Seungmin had (accidentally?) blasted him with. Though it doesn’t take much to undo the damage since Changbin is easily one of the best fire elementals in the Academy. With one snap of his fingers, his clothes are instantly dry. 

There are times (like this) when you envy the versatility of fire magic. But your father once told you that the gods grant each person with their respective elements for a reason. Instead of questioning their grace, you must show your gratitude by mastering what you've been blessed with instead. 

Yours comes in the form of nurturing all the plants and flora you set your eyes on. It’s for this reason that you still bother to come to the Academy even if you’ve already completed its scholastic program over three years ago. 

Despite your father constantly insisting for you to find a job that suits your talents in the royal capital, you prefer to impart your magical knowledge to the other students in your hometown instead. 

In fact, you don’t miss the wistful look in his eyes as you part ways for the day—him to the headmaster's office and you to the greenhouse at the edge of campus.

As you direct yourself to your destination, that feeling from earlier is yet to subside. Though much more muted now that you’re surrounded by fellow mages both students and faculty alike, it still remains. Quiet yet foreboding, as if telling you not to let your guard down just yet.

So lost in your own thoughts, you startle at the sound of someone calling your name in the distance. 

“Thank goodness you’re here!” One of the junior mages, Chaewon groans before bracing her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “He’s done it again!” 

A worried smile stretches across your lips. Life in your hometown is but a cycle of doing the same things over and over everyday. You don’t particularly mind the monotone of your routine—you’re at peace with it, honestly—but if Lee Jung Chan keeps accidentally burning someone’s precious plants, you’re going to have to make a few changes.

Chaewon leads you to the crime scene swiftly, explaining how your best friend set fire to the monsteras she personally grew from little seedlings with an irritated pout. While you’re completely sympathetic to Chaewon's plight—being her mentor and all—you can’t help the soft laugh that bubbles in your chest at the story.

“Why are you laughing?” she whines. “You’re not gonna let him get away with it just ‘cause you’ve been friends since you were babies, right? I worked so hard to enchant those plants with exotic flowers!” 

The two of you arrive before you can issue an apology on Chan’s behalf. Not that your best friend wouldn’t have already expressed his remorse directly to Chaewon the moment the monsteras caught his flames. 

You can easily spot the repentance in his posture as Chan stands awkwardly outside the greenhouse. From the looks of it, he’s currently being lectured by a school instructor who’s also named Chan, though most of the students and staff call him Chris for easier identification. 

You’re certain that Chris has it all under control. Though you’re not sure how, since he’s a non-elemental mage. You can’t exactly see him putting out a fire with musical magic no matter how good he is, but you’re grateful for his intervention still. 

“I know you only wanted to help out, but Chaewon isn’t the headmaster’s daughter. She’s yet to learn how to properly foolproof her handiwork against clumsy fire elementals.” Chris sighs deeply, arms crossed with a serious look before his eyes catch yours from the distance. “Speak of the devil…”

One would expect Chan to be mortified at the sight of you. After all, he did just inadvertently fuck up Chaewon’s project for her elemental assessment this month. As her mentor, you have all the right to rain hell on earth in the name of your precious student, but the thing about you is that you can never get mad at Lee Jung Chan—no matter how badly he messes up sometimes.

“Hi,” he squeaks with a small wave. “I swear I was just watering Chaewon’s plants ‘cause they were looking kind of…dry.  I do it for you all the time right? But then a cat snuck inside the greenhouse and knocked over a bunch of pots from the high shelves. It scared the living daylights out of me and—”

“Chan, have you at least apologized to her?” you sigh, patting your student’s head while she shoots Chan a hard glare from where she’s hiding behind you. 

“O-Of course!” he stammers, hands flying everywhere in an attempt to express his damage control better. “I even asked Chris where I can get seeds so I can replace them for her! You know I never leave any debts unpaid.”

It’s difficult to keep your mask of professionalism in place when he’s being so unintentionally adorable. Right now, you’re one of the Academy’s respected alumni as well as an instructor that many students look up to. You wouldn’t make the mistake of fawning over your best friend while he explains his not-so-innocence, but that doesn’t mean it makes keeping up appearances any easier for you .

“I told him that BamBam sells everything under the sun at his shop in the next town over,” Chris informs you with a tight-lipped smile. “Though Chan might have to be careful when talking to that guy. He’s a bit…”

“Eccentric?” you supply.

“Exactly.”

“Can he do that now?” Chaewon huffs impatiently. “I was meaning to start another experiment after I made sure this one didn’t fall through, but I guess I’m back to square one.” 

You flash your student a placating stare, rubbing her back in soothing circles. “Hey, your next assessment isn’t until the end of the month, right? You don’t have to rush. Besides, I’ve been thinking about teaching you how to brew your own instant growth potion.”

The enticing promise of a new technique visibly piques Chaewon’s interest. She gasps, taking your hands in hers before letting out a loud shriek. “Really?! You’re really going to teach me that? You know there are no take-backs once you say it, right?”

“Yes, I know.” You chuckle. “Now go head off to class. You have Chris here for first period, right?”

Your student groans. “Yeah… I still don’t know why I took musical theory as an elective.”

“You talk like I’m the worst instructor among the school faculty,” Chris huffs before walking back to the path leading to the main building. “Come on, Chaewon. You’ll be late.”

“How can I be late if I’m with you, though?”

“If you don’t stop being smart with me, I’ll tell BamBam to switch your monstera seeds with venus flytraps.” 

As the two of them bicker all the way to the entrance, you’re left alone with your troublemaking best friend. Chan still has his shoulders set as if the guilt from his earlier actions is still fresh in his heart. You sigh, gesturing for him to follow you into the greenhouse before stepping inside the enclosure.

Out of all the projects you’ve dedicated to mastering your elemental magic, the Academy’s greenhouse is by far your most renowned feat. It started as a pipe dream during your first year of attendance and in your final year, you managed to convince the board of elder mages to build the greenhouse with the help of your father.

Of course, since he’s a royal mage—the town’s representative in the courts of the royal capital—you won’t deny that he might’ve pulled a few strings here and there to make your dreams a reality. 

(If you can recall correctly, you once heard Chaewon’s friend, Yunjin jokingly whisper something about nepotism during one of the on-field classes you held.)

But whatever the means, the greenhouse proved to be an effective medium for magic of varying affinities. Both elemental and non-elemental mages often stop by to test their ideas about innovative applications of their powers. 

Some water mages have tested if plants can purify contaminated samples from the upstream river. A spatial mage once tried to clone a bonsai tree by multiplying their cells in an exact mirror image. 

And your best friend often tests the limits of what he can and can’t do around all the flora—given his magical constitution.

“So I’m guessing you already forgive me?” Chan asks with a sheepish smile on his face. “I promise I’ll just help out somewhere else when you’re not around. Baekho’s been inviting me to the magical combat wing a lot these days, but I need to think about it first ‘cause…you know.”

You do know. And out of every single person who knows Lee Jung Chan, you like to think that you understand his predicament better than anyone else.

Both of you started studying at the Academy at the same time, but you’re the only one who got to graduate after senior year. This made Chan ineligible for any sort of teaching position, since official employment required being an alumnus of any recognized magic school in the realm. The most he can be offered is a spot as a teaching aide and none else.

You’re well aware that because of that smudge on his track record, coupled with his clumsy tendencies, people often assume that Chan is a failure of a mage. A fire elemental who has no idea how to wield his own flames.

But what they don’t know is that in terms of raw power alone, even your father agrees that Chan surpasses every single student that’s ever had the pleasure to graduate from this school. The reason he can’t control his own flames is because of how potent they are. How powerful and all-consuming they can be if kept unchecked.

Your father once offered to bring him to one of his friends in the southern cities—someone who can help Chan tame his powers in ways he failed to guide him to. But your best friend declined, insisting that someone who can’t control their own flames doesn’t deserve the time and hospitality of anyone outside your hometown.

To this day, you still haven’t forgotten the resignation in his voice as he said the words. Like he’s so certain that all he deserves is to be some aberration kept in the shadows. You’ve always hated it whenever he sells himself short, but it’s not as if you can do anything about it if he’s so complacent with where he is now.

“Hey? You’re spacing out on me all of a sudden.”

You blink, nonplussed by Chan’s voice despite the fact that you’ve been standing with him inside the greenhouse for over five minutes. He’s posed a respectable distance away from any of the potted plants and flowers in the vicinity—standing so still, you almost find it funny.

“What made you drop by so early in the morning anyways?” you ask in an attempt at small talk. Your first class of the day doesn’t start until an hour, so you can afford to squander some time. “Don’t you usually get out of bed at noon?” 

“Hey, I get out of bed at eleven!” He insists as if that’s any better. “But anyways, the reason I showed up so early is because someone made a wrong delivery to my house. Ma was so surprised to see a huge crate at our doorstep, but she was even more surprised to see it was addressed to you.”

…A delivery? For you?

“What do you mean?” you wonder, head craned with confusion. “What was inside? Did it say who it was from?”

Chan shakes his head before pointing at the far end of the greenhouse. There, you see the massive wooden crate he must be talking about. “A bunch of flowers in a plant box with no return address. Maybe it’s one of those scholars from the capital who want you to study them again? You did work on a research project about hydrangeas last month right?” 

Strange flower delivery aside, you gape at him—heart fluttering at his thoughtfulness. “You remember that?” 

“Of course I do,” he says easily. “Now are you going to check out the crate so you can tell me what those flowers are or are we gonna stand in the middle of all these highly flammable plants all day?”

You don’t even bother asking how Chan managed to transfer such a huge thing from his house to the greenhouse. He must’ve asked help from Mingyu, another instructor’s aide who does a lot of heavy lifting around the school. Or maybe he even roped Baekho into this whole thing.

Either way, as soon as you open the mystery package, it’s as Chan described it: a plant box brimming with an assortment of flowers arranged in a way only professionals can put together. All the vibrant blooms are expertly placed so that one wouldn’t outshine the other and whoever sent this, they’ve certainly earned your approval. 

“So which is which?” Chan wonders as he peeps inside the crate again.

“Well,” you start, hands tracing each flower delicately. “This one is called a primrose, the dark pink ones are chrysanthemums, while the dantier flowers are carnations.”

As you explain how different they are from the other, it’s hard to miss how Chan struggles to keep himself from reaching into the crate to touch them. You feel kind of bad, but you know he’s only holding himself back because he doesn’t want to unintentionally start another fire. 

“What do they mean? In the language of flowers?” he wonders. “You always go on and on about how each one has its own special meaning. What about these guys?”

You ponder on it for a moment, actively recalling what you’ve been taught. “Hm. Primroses usually represent youth and optimism. Chrysanthemums are for friendship, and carnations…”

When its meaning flits to the forefront of your mind, your eyes widen as an abrupt realization hits you in the next moment. Your gaze drifts back to the flowers as Chan patiently waits for you to continue, and that’s when you notice something strange inside. 

Tucked in the middle of the assortment of lush flowers is a small envelope that wasn’t there before. The flap is enclosed with a familiar wax seal: the royal family’s crest. 

You’ve seen your father open enough letters from them to recognize the sigil pressed into the bright red wax, but you’ve never once received one for yourself. 

“Carnations signify fascination. Love,” you continue, swallowing the lump in your throat. “But I’m sure whoever sent these doesn’t know all that. They could’ve just picked these out because they’re pretty to look at together.”

Chan looks unconvinced. “Why don’t you open the envelope? I’m just guessing here, but maybe it was made to respond to your magic specifically? It would explain why it didn’t appear when I first checked the flowers out.”

For all his foolishness, he might actually be on to something this time.

But instead of brimming curiosity, that bothersome sensation from earlier surfaces again. It cloys in your chest, stirring your heart with trepidation before sinking like a stone in the pit of your stomach. 

Your hands go clammy as you inspect the envelope as if it’s hiding a beast so it could swallow you whole. The royal family hasn’t given you any reason to even be remotely wary of them, but your reluctance refuses to waver.

In the end, you choose to brush it off, picking at the seal until it detaches from the envelope. When you take out what’s inside, the familiar scent of rich red roses laces the fine parchment. 

It’s fairly easy to figure out who the sender is after that.

The greenhouse falls silent as you read through the letter’s contents. You’re acutely aware of Chan’s equally engrossed stare, but with each passing second, you grow more and more cognizant of the fact that this is definitely the reason why you awoke so keyed up first thing in the morning.

“Prince Joshua, huh?” He whispers somewhat disbelievingly before turning to you with curious eyes. “I figured you were friends since your father brings you along to the royal balls so often. Didn’t think he was this into you though.”

You didn’t either. You can hardly call the prince who’s second in line to the throne your friend, much more, a romantic prospect. Sure, Joshua is always hospitable whenever he catches you nursing a drink in the ballroom before asking for a dance, but you never would’ve imagined he harbored those kinds of feelings for you. 

What’s more is, though you came from a highly regarded lineage of mages, there isn’t a drop of royal blood in your veins. But here he is, asking you to be his fiancée all while giving you the prettiest flowers you’ve ever received.

“Do you think it could be a mistake?” you mumble, reading over the letter once more to make sure you aren’t dreaming.

Chan rolls his eyes. “Look, that’s clearly your name he mentioned at the top. And don’t you think that someone as important as Prince Joshua will be more careful about sending out gestures of grandeur? He can’t just give any beautiful girl flowers, you know.”

His words shouldn’t faze you as much as they do. It’s always been easy for Chan to compliment people when the chance arises and he’s called you beautiful dozens of times before. Sometimes teasingly, more often genuinely. 

It’s so strange. The most sought-after man in the kingdom just asked for your hand in marriage, but here you are—heart doing somersaults all because of your best friend’s easy admission.

Oh, heavens, you muse to yourself as Chan goes off on a tangent about how you’re mandated to get him front row seats to the wedding. 

This is going to be difficult.

“That’s good news!”

When you dragged Chan to your father’s office once all your classes for the day were finished, you expected him to at least mull over Joshua’s abrupt proposal a little longer. It’s not that he was strict about the men you let in your life, but he looks much too elated for someone whose daughter is on the brink of being married off to someone else.

Well. When that ‘someone else’ is Prince Joshua, you think the proposal holds more weight than it otherwise would with any other commoner.

“But I don’t understand,” you tell him, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Why does Prince Joshua want to marry me all of a sudden? He hasn’t expressed any sort of romantic interest in me before, so why…?”

Your father chuckles from behind his desk, one finger guiding the drink from his glass with magic so he can spin it around in circles. Water elementals can be so strange at times. 

“If I told you the prince has felt the way he claims in his letter for a good few years now, would it help you consider the proposal better?” he asks before putting the stream of wine he’s playing with back to its proper place. 

“Wait a moment,” Chan pipes up from his seat. “Are you saying he’s been in love with her for a long time now?” 

“Well, I’m not sure of the specifics, but the prince informed me of his affections a few months ago to seek my approval,” your father explains before leaning back into his seat to cast you a fond stare. “But I told him that regardless of what I think about the whole ordeal, the final decision isn’t up to me at all.” 

The weight of their stares suddenly falls on your form.

You swallow thickly, having known all this time that your father wouldn’t possibly push you to go through with the proposal despite how happy it made him. It’s not that you don’t think Joshua is suitable to be your husband, but…

“Isn’t he taking things a bit too fast?” you ask dryly. “He could at least court me first—”

“My sweet girl, you know the way things work at the castle are much different from how they are in this small town of ours,” your father sighs. “You’ve heard about the royal assimilation period, yes?”

You have. It’s a sort of probationary period imposed on non-royals who wish to marry into the family. You know of a few acquaintances who had to spend a full year in the castles of other kingdoms without setting foot outside the premises during its entirety. At the time, you found the idea of isolation dreadful and that you can’t ever see yourself being in their place.

Now here you are, at the brink of being tied down to a prince you barely even know.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t spend a chunk of your day thinking about the pros and cons of marrying into the royal family. Becoming princess consort means you’ll be given a voice in the political court of the castle. Though your father does just fine in representing your hometown as its royal mage, being part of the regency itself grants you more authority over the decisions being made for the kingdom’s sake.

The thought of being able to improve the quality of life in your hometown as well as bringing more adequate funds for the Academy makes the offer all sorts of tempting. This is the place that made you who you are today, and you’d want nothing more than to give back however you can. 

Plus, the thought of being married to Prince Joshua isn’t as daunting as it was when you found his letter hidden between the flowers he’d given. Since you had the whole work day to think about it, you managed to get over the initial dread and actually consider how having him as a partner would be.

His reputation as the kingdom’s most esteemed gentleman precedes him even in other places. It was once a popular opinion that Joshua would marry and settle down much sooner than his older brother, Jeonghan simply because of how adored he is among the people. Yet he’s already halfway through his twenties without any prospective partners.

Until now.

“I think you should accept his proposal.”

It shocks you that Chan is the one who tells you that. You stare at him with glaring disbelief while your father merely raises an eyebrow with mild interest before his lips break into a grin. “See? Even Chan over here agrees. I know it’s a bit much to suddenly become the fiancée of someone so important, but you’ll get to know each other better during the assimilation period anyways.”

Chan nods in agreement. “Besides, we can still visit you every now and again, right?”

The smile on your father’s face falls. “Oh, about that… Prospective royals aren’t allowed to entertain visitors that aren’t immediate family until the assimilation period concludes. But you can send letters if you end up missing each other too much.”

Your father says the words in such a light-hearted manner, you’re sure he didn’t say them in jest. He knows how close you and Chan have been since childhood; knows how important he is to you. If you accept Joshua’s proposal and whisk yourself off to the castle, it would be the longest you’ve gone without seeing your best friend in your entire life.

With Chan added to the equation, you realize that it’s not your level of familiarity with Joshua that makes you so reluctant to go through with it, nor is it the idea of being isolated from the outside for an entire year. 

It’s the fact that you won’t be able to meet Chan for its entirety.

“Well, it’s not like it’s something you have to decide on right away,” your father interjects when he senses that the atmosphere has dipped. “I’ll keep in touch with the prince about the whole thing, but I’m sure he’d like you to take your time anyways. This is a lifelong commitment we’re talking about after all.”

This is ridiculous. Well, not as ridiculous when you remember you’re now of marriageable age and the prince has been harboring feelings for you for longer than you thought. 

Still… 

When you look at Chan, you half-expect him to at least comment on your father’s words, but he merely grins as if he’s completely on board with the idea.

Yet you can’t help but notice how that smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You end up accepting Joshua’s proposal a week later.

From what you could tell when he responded to your letter, the prince was ecstatic. He went into great detail about how he promises to make the entire assimilation process comfortable for you and that he can’t wait to have you at the castle. What makes the entire exchange all the more endearing is the fact that he’s genuinely apologetic about the abruptness of his proposal and that he honestly didn’t expect for you to agree.

You didn’t either.

If Joshua was ecstatic, your father was over the moon. When you informed him that you’re exchanging correspondences with the prince about the entire arrangement, he was quick to put together a farewell party when the final date of your assimilation period has been set in stone. 

In other words, the past month was extremely busy for you. It consisted of several back and forth trips to the royal capital so you and Joshua could get all the paperwork involved done together. He’s just as sweet and accommodating as you remember—making the whole process less intimidating than it’s supposed to be. The more time you spend with the prince and soon-to-be-fiance, the less nervous you are for what’s to come.

The anxiety finally wears off by the time your farewell party comes around. Your father made sure to invite close friends and family as well as a few of his students and yours. Chaewon was in tears at the news that another mentor is going to be assigned for her because of the circumstances, but you promised to keep in touch when you come back.

Although once you’ve had your final conversations with most of your guests, you start to feel how wary you are from interacting with so many people at once. Eyes scanning through the small venue your father rented for the occasion, you attempt to look for a single person—a pout tugging at your lips when you can’t find him amidst the crowd.

No one knows Lee Jung Chan better than you do, so you’re right on the money when you venture out to the nearby river—immediately spotting him sitting alone by the banks.

You can only guess how many stones he’s already skipped across the stream, but Chan doesn’t even flinch as you settle down beside him, pulling your legs to your chest so you can rest your chin on your knees.

“You haven’t come here in a while,” you murmur quietly. “Something on your mind?”

“Mmm.” His eyes are pulled straight forward as if still lost in thought. You sigh before opting to stew in the sound of the flowing river—gazing at the slowly setting sun in the far horizon.

It hits you at that moment just how much you’ll miss him. Quiet afternoons with your best friend have become few and far in between ever since you started teaching at the Academy. Now that you’re Joshua’s fiancée, you don’t even know if you’ll ever get to watch sunsets with him like this again. The thought fills you with that same sinking feeling that you only learned to overlook recently and it must show on your face because Chan is quick to turn to you with a curious look on his face.

“You nervous?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “Not really.”

“Then why do you look so…”

“So?”

“I don’t know…that.”

“You have to be specific, Chan.”

He huffs, taking another stone from a pile he collected at his side before skipping it across the water. “Well, you look like the way you did before your first magical assessment. Remember when the headmaster called me to sleep over because you were practically shaking with anxiety? Even if you’re literally from the best sorcerer family in the city?”

“Hey! Just because my father is good at everything doesn’t mean I am too!”

“But you don’t have to be good at everything.” Chan smiles and you’re unprepared for how your heart lurches at how breathtaking he looks. “You just have to be yourself.”

A pause hovers in the midst of the conversation and you can feel the heat starting to creep up your cheeks. If your best friend notices, he doesn’t let you know.

“I remember that you aced that assessment. Scored highest in our entire year too,” he recalls with a hint of fondness. “I think you’ll do just fine in that assimilation period. Wait, no. I know you will.”

You’ve always admired how easy it is for Chan to uplift others, despite the harsh words some people have used to put him down countless times. It’s like he soaks up the negativity in his life and lets it all out in a more productive manner. 

The steady flowing stream rings in your ears as the silence sets yet again, heart threatening to beat out of your ribcage as you drink in the sight of your best friend. Rays of muted sunlight filter through the trees onto his face and it makes the kind grin on his face glow even brighter.

Chan lets out a choked up sound when you immediately pull him in for a hug. He’s speechless for a couple of seconds—wondering what on earth got into you. In the end, he lets out a defeated sigh and returns your embrace with twice as much affection. 

“Sounds to me like you’re perfectly okay with marrying off your best friend to some guy,” you murmur jokingly, breathing in his scent like it’s your last. Burnt sugar and just a hint of musk. 

He laughs and the sound vibrates across your skin. “Prince Joshua is not some guy. And why wouldn’t I be happy that you’ll be married to such a great person? He can give you everything, you know? Even if I used to give all the dudes who got close to you back then a lot of shit, I know the prince will make you happy.”

Happy…

That’s something you haven’t really considered ever since you and Joshua started making the preparations for your assimilation. He’s a good prince who values his people over his own interests and he’s also a gentleman that always considers your input in every step. 

But not once did it ever occur to you that marrying him would equate to your own happiness.

The thought fills you with shame—especially knowing how much Joshua has done for you for the past month. You tell yourself that maybe it’s because you still don’t know him that well; that you just need a little more time before you can think of him as a person who can make you genuinely happy and not just someone who you have to marry for the sake of your town.

If there is someone who makes you feel that way without breaking a sweat, however…

Chan shoots you a puzzled look when you break away, rising back to your feet all while tugging at his arm. Still, he lets you pull him up—a determined look settling across your features.

“Follow me.”

During weekends, the Academy only grants entry to both students and faculty until mid-noon. But luckily for you, you’ve spent years sneaking into the greenhouse when you were still carefully cultivating all the plants you have on display.

Chan voices out his concern when you bring him inside, muttering something about trespassing on school territory but he tails you from behind anyway. 

The plant box full of dazzling flowers he brought a month ago isn’t here anymore—having been planted safely in the garden of your house. In its place is a brand new shipment of flowers you ordered from BamBam about two weeks ago.

Chan hasn’t seen them yet since he’s made it a point to avoid the greenhouse while Chaewon is in the middle of her experiments. But the curiosity in his eyes shines when you show them to him.

“These are called forget-me-nots,” you say, a warm smile tugging at your lips. “They aren’t that rare, but…they’ve always been my favorite. The first time I saw them was in a forest near the southern cities, where Father taught me the names of all kinds of trees and flowers.”

Chan nods with an expression that tells you he doesn’t quite get it, but is happy for you nonetheless. You stifle a laugh and his face immediately reddens as he clears his throat. “Um, why’d you ask BamBam for these though? They look kind of…simple compared to everything else you already have here.”

“It’s because they’re so simple that they stood out to me, silly,” you chuckle. “That forest was teeming with the most exotic plant life I’ve seen. Flowers of all shapes and colors, trees that grew up to the clouds… Even in such an abundant forest, simple flowers like these grew unassumingly by the side—still thriving despite being considered inferior.”

When you stare at Chan, you realize how much these flowers remind you of him. And it’s for that reason that you’re about to ask him a huge favor.

“Can you take care of them for me while I’m gone?” you whisper—voice carrying a hopeful tone. “I know it’s a tall request but—”

“Are you kidding? Nothing’s ever a tall request from you.” He huffs. “Of course I’ll do it.”

Your mouth hangs slightly agape—not expecting Chan to agree to it so easily. It takes you a moment to pick up your train of thought, but when you do, you break into an even wider grin. 

“Really? Notorious plant-killer Lee Jung Chan is agreeing to take care of a bunch of flowers for an entire year?” you tease. 

“Hey, you’re the one who asked, so why are you suddenly questioning my credibility?” The pout on his face just makes you want to tease him even more. “I’m probably going to end up burning a few of them by accident, but I won’t be seeing you for a long time. This is the least I can do while I wait for you to come back, right?”

You are going to miss him so much, it makes your heart hurt.

Unlike earlier, Chan immediately reciprocates the hug you pull him into. You bury your face in the crook of your neck, ingraining the scent of him in your mind so that you’ll never forget your best friend even if you tried.

“I’ll come back for them in the spring,” you whisper. 

Chan hums, his thumb tracing idle shapes along your shoulder blades. “Is that a promise?”

It feels like forever before you break away from him, but when you do, the desolate feeling you got from the thought of being apart from him goes up in smoke. Chan raises an eyebrow when you reach into the plant box to pluck two forget-me-nots from the soil—enchanting the blooms with your magic so the stems could morph into rings.

One for you and one for Chan.

“It’s a promise.”

“Miss, you’ve got a letter again.”

You’re in the middle of reading up on a compilation of the kingdom’s annual state of affairs when your handmaiden, Sakura, finds you in the castle gardens. She gathers her skirts with one hand while the other carries an unassuming envelope. It’s routine at this point.

“Thank you, Kkura,” you murmur before flashing her a warm smile. “Has Prince Joshua returned yet?”

She shakes her head. “The peace talks between the four kingdoms are taking much longer than anticipated. Although he and Prince Jeonghan should be back by tomorrow, if what the socialites are gossiping about in the main plaza are true.”

You stifle a soft laugh. “I bet Prince Jeonghan’s stirring up trouble in a foreign court as we speak.”

“You can say that again,” Sakura agrees with a withering sigh. “One of the reasons the king won’t easily let Prince Jeonghan take his place is because of his constant deviance. I’d bet my salary that he was just waiting for Prince Joshua to take up a wife before handing him the crown instead.”

“Kkura, the others might hear,” you scold, but there’s a chuckle wedged between the words. “Well, if a miracle happens and they arrive home earlier than expected, you know where to find me.”

“You’re very diligent about reading, aren’t you, miss?” She comments, impressed. “I know a couple of princess consorts in the making, but you’re probably the only one who cares to read about the technicalities of running a kingdom. Most of them are only in it for the chance to marry into a royal family.” 

“Those waiting for me back home wouldn’t be very proud if I only leeched off my engagement with Prince Joshua,” you say a-matter-of-factly.

“You mean your father?”

There’s a pause in the conversation—one long enough for you to suddenly be cognizant of several things at once. The water running from a nearby fountain. Birds chirping before migrating into their nests for the night. In the silence, you let your eyes wander to the rings in your fingers.

A diamond engagement ring that probably costs more than what you’ve earned in your entire life on your ring finger and a bright blue forget-me-not wrapped around your pinky.

Right. Sakura doesn’t know about… 

“Yes,” you tell her, but there’s hesitation in your voice that you hope she won’t hear. “He’s been very thorough about giving me advice on how to make the best decisions for a lot of people.”

“As expected of a royal mage,” she sighs, “Oh well, I’ll leave you be, miss. If your father is as thorough as you say he is, then I can only imagine what he’s written in that new letter.”

Well, she’s not exactly wrong.

After exchanging farewells, Sakura bows her head with a practiced curtsy—saying something about supper being ready in an hour or two before leaving you to your own devices. When you find yourself all alone once more, you rip open the envelope with a hint of excitement buzzing on your fingertips. 

It’s been about three months since you’ve left your hometown and started your assimilation period. During those three months, you were constantly fed with a multitude of information that comes with being part of the regency. From etiquette classes to foreign relations—your teachers all expected you to take everything they told you to heart. 

While the process sounds much too tedious, especially for someone who’s quite literally stuck here for another nine months, Joshua always took it upon himself to make sure you wouldn’t feel too bored with all the stringent formalities. 

He’s wonderful company—never running out of stories to tell. From childhood embarrassments at the hands of his older brother to his own share of mischief that’s always overshadowed by the gravity of Jeonghan’s, Joshua kept you constantly entertained.

Your fiancé even suggested that the two of you sneak out into the city sometime just so he could show you that pub near the outskirts that he enjoys frequenting while undercover as an ordinary citizen. Of course, the offer sounded tempting at first, but you rightfully declined out of respect for both the royal family and the tradition that has kept the kingdom going for so long.

However, Joshua isn’t always here to keep you company. Being one of the most important figures in the kingdom, he and Jeonghan are regularly called in and out of the castle to attend to some business that their parents are too busy to sneak into their own schedules. 

It’s during your fiancé’s bouts of absence that you look forward to your next form of entertainment—all the letters sent from home.

Just as you’ve told Sakura, your father accommodates all your questions about ruling over one’s constituents as much as he can—telling you to pay attention to the needs of the people above all else.

But aside from the detailed notes he leaves you with, there’s always another letter wedged inside the envelopes he sends to the castle every fortnight.

Hey.

How are you? Has the prince been treating you well, still? Sorry I couldn’t write to you last time. Training’s been hell and Jongkook hasn’t let me breathe for the past week. When the headmaster told me that becoming that guy’s apprentice wasn’t going to be easy, I didn’t think he was that serious. It’s a miracle I haven’t gotten third degree burns from all this temperature training.

Things are a little a lot different in the southern cities compared to home. Everyone is as mean as they could be. Jongkook called it the survival of the fittest and I kind of get where he’s coming from. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to see someone smiling every now and again, right? It’s a good thing I’m allowed to go home every week, or else my sanity would’ve disappeared before we could even see each other again.

About your flowers: have I told you that Chaewon’s helping me maintain them whenever I’m away? We’ve buried the hatchet and agreed to look after your forget-me-nots together! But she kind of emphasized that she’s doing this for you and not because she’s completely forgiven me for the monstera incident. But hey, progress is progress, right?

I checked them out personally when I got home today. They seemed more vibrant than usual. Almost like they’re happy to know I’m back. Seeing them made me think how I’d probably feel when your assimilation period is over. Ah, but I’m running out of parchment to write on. Sorry about that. There isn’t much going on with me anyways. 

Tell me about your classes when you write back, yeah? You also mentioned a pub that Prince Joshua wanted to sneak you into last time. Did you go through with it? Did you have fun? I can’t wait to hear from you so the story better be exciting!

P.S. If the prince himself encourages you to sneak out of the castle, would you consider doing that so we can wander around the main plaza sometime?

P.P.S. That was a joke, by the way. Don’t have the royal guard arrest me. 

P.P.P.S. But if you’re up for it, I wouldn’t say no.

Chan writes his letters the same way he talks in real life. You can almost hear his voice inside your head as you go through every word. You’re glad that he still has enthusiasm to spare over receiving tutelage from someone as important as Kim Jongkook, but even you can tell that his training is no walk in the park. 

There were tears in your eyes when he first broke the news. You thought he’d spend his entire life without getting the proper guidance he needs to hone his powers. But a month after your departure, Chan quickly kept you up to speed about his newfound mentor with a promise that he’ll be the best fire elemental in your hometown by the time you got back.

But with how he bemoans the rigorous training in his letters, you ponder if he sometimes gets hit with the thought of quitting halfway. While his excruciating routines are a far cry from the year’s worth of assimilation classes you’re required to attend, you like to think that you and Chan have a similar threshold for the things you’ll willingly bear without complaints. 

Though you’ve already accustomed yourself with your life at the castle, it’s a no-brainer to say you’d choose to leave for home in a heartbeat if given the chance. But your conscience won’t let you entertain the idea for too long, especially knowing how much you owe it to your hometown to persevere until the end.

That’s why even if you’d want nothing more than to see your best friend, you decidedly draw a fine line between your responsibilities and your heart’s desires. You want so badly to meet Chan again even if that means sneaking past the royal guards, but you’ve never really been one to bend and break the rules for selfish reasons like that. 

Instead, you tuck your best friend’s letter away in the envelope beside your father’s. Nothing but the sound of the water spilling from the fountain rings in your ears. 

As you stare at the pretty blue flower tied at the base of your pinky, you wonder for the hundredth time if you’ve made the right decision at all.

Prince Joshua is easy to love.

By your sixth month in the castle, you can genuinely say that you’ve at least developed a kind of attachment to the prince that borders on romantic. He’s handsome, thoughtful, kind, and many other traits that would only quantify him as a perfect husband. 

Jeonghan regularly catches your gaze lingering several seconds too long on your fiancé every suppertime and it’s no surprise that the eldest prince would tease you to the ends of the earth for it. Saying something along the lines of if you’re already making moony eyes at him now, what more when you finally tie the knot?

It’s something that always flusters you no matter how many times Jeonghan brings it up. But it’s not because you’re embarrassed about what you feel for Joshua. It mostly stems from the fact that you don’t know what to feel for him.

Despite having lived under the same roof for six months, you’re still unsure of where your heart stands when it comes to Joshua. It’s a standstill of emotions that frustrates you to no end. You know nothing will be lost if you just surrender to your budding feelings, but it’s like there’s something always holding you back. 

When the king hosts an overdue gala in the castle, you finally realize what it is.

It’s been more than half a year since they last held one within the premises out of respect for your ongoing assimilation. But now that you’ve passed the six-month mark, the royal court deemed it appropriate to give you more exposure to social functions such as this.

You’re understandably nervous for your first public appearance as Prince Joshua’s fiancée. Sakura has told you about how ruthless the kingdom's nobles could be when it comes to unearthing other people’s business. But your handmaiden assured you there’s nothing to worry about since you’ve done flawlessly with your classes since day one.

So there you are in front of the ballroom, arm linked with Joshua’s as the queen introduces you to every single noble in attendance. You wonder if the prince can tell just how nervous you are but you can at least hope that your smile can convince a hundred other strangers otherwise.

“Hey,” he whispers—eyes still riveted towards the crowd.

“What?”

“You don’t have to be so uptight.”

You try your best not to make a face. “Easy for you to say, Mister I’ve-been-attending-galas-since-I-was-in-the-womb.”

Joshua chuckles softly. “But you’ve been attending these frequently, too. That’s how we met, remember?” 

“Yeah, but I’ve never been the center of attention!”

“Well…” He pauses before shifting his gaze towards the crowd—his mother’s sweet voice echoing throughout the ballroom as she tells everyone how excited she is to welcome you to the family soon. “If it helps, there’s a certain someone in the crowd that’s definitely rooting for you.”

Your confusion visibly shows on your face before you follow his line of sight. You knew your father would be in attendance as is required of all royal mages, but it’s not him that you spot in the crowd.

It’s Chan.

He’s a lot different than you remember—looking much too dapper to pass as the boy you knew as your best friend. He’s donned in expensive-looking garbs, the maroon silk of his tunic hanging loosely off his frame. His hair is slicked back and styled in a way that would make anyone think he was from one of the noble houses. Even the manner he’s holding a glass of champagne looks way too sophisticated for someone you frequently teased for his lack of etiquette and—

There’s a woman hanging off his arm. A woman you don’t know, but looks just as breathtaking as any maiden inside this damn ballroom.

Who is she? Chan has never mentioned any new friends in his letters. Hell, he didn’t even tell you he was going to be here tonight. Instead of feeling at peace with the fact your best friend is finally in front of you like Joshua assumed, all it does is stir a plethora of unpleasant feelings in the pit of your stomach.

“Now that we’ve got the formalities out of the way,” the queen says with a smile—snapping you out of your trance, “how about we let our stars of the night lead the first dance? I know the lot of you have missed our parties. On behalf of the royal family and your future king and queen, we hope you’ll enjoy this night of music and liquor. Have a good evening, everyone.”

Forcing yourself not to think about how the queen just referred to you and Joshua as the kingdom’s future king and queen, you let your fiancé lead you to the dancefloor. Joshua is careful as ever as he helps you down the polished marble steps—that handsome smile never leaving his face. You feel like your heart would’ve fluttered as the two of you exchange the opening bows, but your heartbeat is all over the place knowing Chan is here watching everything unfold.

“You remember what we practiced, right?” Joshua murmurs as the orchestra starts the song. 

“U-Uh, yeah,” you stammer—hoping your hands aren’t sweating through your silk gloves. “I won’t step on your toes anymore. Promise.”

“That’s my girl.”

His smooth-talking is not doing you any favors, but you try to dance the same way you practiced with for weeks. The thing about Joshua is that he always makes things easier for you—be it your engagement or some opening dance his parents requested for you to do. He’s so unbelievably accommodating that your initial nervousness easily falls away as the music continues to fill the ballroom.

You only notice that the other guests have already paired up with their own partners on the dancefloor when Joshua twirls you around and hands you over to a noble gentleman you find vaguely familiar. He grins at you when he receives his next dance partner, mouthing “You can do it,” before he spins her away. 

This is the part that you barely rehearsed for. Joshua simply told you to have fun and the rest will come easily. His unhelpful advice threw you off a little, since you were so accustomed to doing things by the book—to abiding by the rules that have been set. 

Your current partner—Hyunjin, as he introduced himself—seems to pick up on your nervousness.

“You’re the kid of one of the royal mages, right?” he asks. “I’m the same. You’ve done this partner exchange thing before, haven’t you? I’ve seen you around a few times in the past.” 

You laugh dryly. “Yeah, but I’m just really nervous today.”

Hyunjin laughs. “Understandable. Don’t think about it too much and just let the music guide you through it.”

Well that’s easier said than done. The noblemen in the kingdom must have some sort of dance class where they’re taught to just take it easy because that’s definitely something you can picture Joshua saying to you as well. 

But as the orchestra continues to play song after song, you find your initial inhibitions ebbing away with each partner that passes. Hyunjin is right—you have done this before and you’re slowly remembering how fun it feels to dance with strangers in the middle of the castle’s ballroom. 

As the last few songs start to play, there’s no trace of nervousness left to be seen on your face. You’re finally in your element.

Until you finally find yourself in the arms of the same person who amplified your anxiety in the first place.

“Hey,” Chan greets with a soft smile as he fits one hand over your waist and entwines the other with yours. “I thought I’d never be able to get to you.”

You spend a couple of seconds just gawking at him, but your body thankfully still moves to the rhythm. Chan has the gall to stifle a laugh at your reaction and you nearly step on his foot on purpose.

“What are you doing here?” you hiss as he twirls you around. 

“Whoa. Don’t get so worked up. The headmaster invited me, so my presence here is completely legal,” he responds, that stupid smile never leaving his face. “Anyway, you look beautiful tonight.” 

“Thanks, but you could’ve at least told me you’ll be here!”

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

You want to snap at him and scold him for taking you by surprise like that. Part of you kind of wants to ask about his date for the night too, but past the frustration, you’re still glad to see him. It’s been too long and you know you have lots of catching up to do in person. So instead of an endless barrage of questions, you simply bask in the feel of being in your best friend’s safe hands after going so long without him.

You lose yourself to the music. At that moment, it’s as if you and Chan are the only two people in the world—contained in your own little bubble. When your gaze lands on the hand clasped with yours, your heart soars at the fact that he’s still wearing the ring you gave to him all those months ago.

A forget-me-not at the base of his pinky—much like your own.

“I’m not sure if I can steal you away for a quick chat after this so…” He purses his lips together as if he’s unsure of what to say. “You’re doing great. The queen seems enamored with you from what I could tell from her speech, so I hope you won’t put yourself down like you always do. You’ll be the best princess consort ever.

“And you seem really happy with Prince Joshua. I’m glad.”

Before you could even issue a response, he’s already turning you over to your next partner—making the words dissipate on your tongue before you can say them out loud.

Your next partner is none other than your future brother-in-law and you’re not sure if this is a good thing or not.

“Having fun?” Jeonghan asks with mirth coloring his tone. 

“As much fun as someone who’s wearing heels all night can have,” you sigh as you match his careful yet precise movements. “Am I really going to have to do this all the time once Prince Joshua and I are married?”

The older man hums. “Mmm… You and Shua getting married? Not too sure about that, love.”

You furrow your brows at him. “What?” 

“Ah, forgive me. I was just teasing,” Jeonghan muses with a sleazy look that’s rubbing you the wrong way. “It’s just that…I noticed you and that last partner of yours have matching rings, as well. Seems too good to be a coincidence on my end, but I could just be making the wrong assumptions.”

You don’t know why, but your chest seizes with panic—immediately explaining to Jeonghan that Chan is your best friend and nothing else. It’s not that you’re ashamed of him, but…

“Relax, little dove. I never insinuated otherwise,” Jeonghan chuckles. “But if you’re going to settle down with my brother, I suggest you do it with an unwavering heart. That’s all.” 

You know you didn’t do anything remotely wrong, but Jeonghan is making it seem like he’s just caught you red handed for a crime you aren’t aware of committing. The same cheery smile lingers on his face for the entire dance, but there was an uncharacteristic seriousness in his words when he told you that last part.

A quiet voice inside your head tells you that you completely deserve the suspicion. 

“Go find your fiancé for the final dance, love,” Jeonghan says with one last gentlemanly bow. “It’s only fair to  properly conclude something you started together.” 

Something tells you that there’s a double meaning behind his words, but even with how much time you’ve spent with Jeonghan, you still can’t easily parse what he means to say. Despite this, you do as you’re told—weaving through the crowd of visitors in search of Joshua.

You find him near the orchestra, dancing with the same woman whose arm was linked in Chan’s earlier tonight. There’s an dazzled look on her face that you’ve seen on the other ladies your fiancé has danced with and you chalk it up to the usual enchantment people are subjected to when they’re in Joshua’s company. He has that effect on people, it seems.

But she promptly snaps out of it when her eyes drift off to you—whispering something for Joshua to hear before the prince spins around with a welcoming look. He grins like he’s oh-so happy to see you and even if you know you should feel just as elated…

All that swells in your chest is guilt.

“They want us to what?” 

A few days after the royal gala, Joshua pays your bedchambers a visit early in the morning. Sakura had just finished helping you into your corset and dress when the prince came knocking and despite your initial surprise, you gladly welcomed him at the doorway.

“Mother and Father want us to pay the local orphanage a visit,” Joshua reiterates the same words he just mentioned a minute ago, bemusement clear on his face. “They’ve been dispatching royal mages to hold magic classes for the young mages there lately. Jeonghan is usually the one who oversees it, but he has something more urgent to take care of today.”

Your throat bobs at the news. “But…I haven’t completed my assimilation yet.”

Joshua waves away your concerns. “About that. Since you’ve done such a remarkable job with your training thus far, and since you’ve apparently enamored dozens of guests the other day, I asked Father to reconsider the restrictions that come with the process.”

Enamored dozens of…? You shake your head, focusing on the matter at hand. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the assimilation period is still in effect, but we’ve decided to…rectify a few of the rules that come with it,” Joshua explains with a cheeky smile. “Once royal protégés like you have passed the half-year mark, you’ll be allowed to go in and out of the castle as you please.”

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor. Is he being serious? Or is this a test? 

“Come on, you’re making that face again.”

“What face?”

“Like what I’m saying is too good to be true.” Your fiancé pouts. "Don’t you want to go out? If I was stuck for six months in the castle without getting a taste of the outside, I honestly would’ve gone insane. Abiding by the one year rule is simply inhumane and it should’ve been amended a long time ago.”

…There he is again—making things easier for you like he always does.

You’ve never once thought of the castle as a prison, but… You did miss the outside. You miss early morning strolls in parks, weaving through markets to buy produce from local vendors. It’s been so long since you’ve had actual freedom that you forgot that you were quietly longing for it at all.

And Joshua went out of his way to give you just that.

“Okay,” you tell him—cautiousness still evident in your tone, but much less pronounced.

“What time do we leave?”

You have a feeling that the gods are out to smite you today. 

No, really. They are. Because what sort of sick game is at play right now? Just when you thought you’ve found even more reasons to stick by Joshua until the end, they decide to throw a curveball at you in the form of…

“Oh, hello,” Chan greets with a stunned look when he appears behind the double doors to the orphanage—white marks that suspiciously look like cake batter smeared across his face. “I didn’t know that you were coming today. Prince Jeonghan said—”

“Yeah, Prince Jeonghan was busy so here we are,” you speak before Joshua could even explain, which you think is all kinds of rude, but your mouth starts running before your brain can even process the fact that your best friend is right in front of you. “Pray tell, what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same, princess-consort-in-the-making. What’re you doing outside the castle?” Chan laughs as he opens the door wider with an apologetic bow given to Joshua. “Forgive me, Your Highness. We’re always just this familiar with each other.”

“So I’ve been told,” Joshua chuckles before turning to you. “Didn’t your father tell you? Chan is his newly appointed aide. He’s dealing with something in your hometown right now, so he often sends him to tend to matters like this in his stead.”

No, your father did not tell you anything about this at all. Your incredulous expression shifts between your fiancé and best friend as if you’re waiting for the punchline of some joke shared between them.

It never comes.

“I-I see,” you say instead, clearing your throat before looking at Joshua again. “So is there anything I need to do?” 

“Mmm, you can go meet the children with Chan while I talk to the orphanage directress,” he suggests. “You’ll be alright with that, right Chan?”

Your best friend nods. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“No need to be so formal with me. My fiancée's friends are mine as well,” the prince chuckles while he shakes his head. “I best be off to the directress’ office. I’ll come find the two of you after. Does that sound alright?”

“Yes, of course,” Chan answers. “It’s a pleasure to have you.”

Joshua grins. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

And that’s how you found yourself in the  orphanage’s communal kitchen—rounding up children who might or might not hurt each other with their own play magic.

They were apparently in the middle of baking a cake for the directress when you and Joshua made your unannounced visit. From how smitten the kids are with Chan, you figure that he must’ve been spending a lot of time here lately.

Your best friend mentioned that he has a new…sideline going on, but you never imagined it to be this.

“Channie, who’s this?” Iseul—as Chan introduced—asks while he eyes you with a doe-eyed look. “Your wife?”

“Iseul,” reprimands one of the other kids. This one’s Eri, if you recall correctly. “That’s rude…”

The boy laughs nervously before fidgeting with his fingers. “O-Oh, sorry. I just thought so since she’s wearing the same ring Channie’s wearing.”

As if on cue, you and Chan both glance at your rings—two forget-me-nots stare back. 

Your best friend is the first to address their curiosity. “No, she’s not my wife.”

Iseul cranes his head. “Then why’re you two wearing matching rings? The directress told me that only people who are married can do that.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” he chuckles before walking towards the brick oven in the middle of the kitchen—striking the coals with a precise shot of flame magic. A quiet ember immediately smolders beneath. “We wear rings as a symbol of a promise we made to each other. Isn’t that right?”

Trying not to look too stunned with his precise technique, you clear your throat. “Um, yes. Chan is my best friend. We make promises all the time.”

You kind of fear that the explanation might not be enough for Iseul, but surprisingly, he just nods in understanding. “Ohhh. Just like me and Eri then!”

At the mention of her name, Eri’s face goes red, but she doesn’t make any moves to deny it. 

“Yup. Just like you and Eri,” Chan agrees with a laugh. “Come on. Let’s put the cake we worked so hard on in the oven. You want to give this as a gift to the directress, right?” 

Ten minutes later, the other kids joined the fray as they watched the cake rise inside the oven. You and Chan watch them carefully from a distance, making sure no one comes too close to burn themselves. 

“Sooo,” your best friend starts, leaning against the wooden counter. “Did the prince sneak you out or?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “No. But he did negotiate with the king to overhaul the terms that come with the assimilation period. Once someone manages to last for six months, they’re allowed to go outside.”

Chan whistles. “Now that’s a guy who’ll do anything for his wife. Uh, future wife.”

If those words were uttered by someone else, you would’ve felt flattered. It’s an honor to have someone like Joshua as your fiancé. He’s done more than enough for you over the past year and you can’t even begin to comprehend how you’re supposed to pay him back for his kindness.

But when Chan says them, it fills your chest with a feeling you can’t name.

“Anyway,” you begin, “were you planning on telling me that you’re Father’s aide now or was I just going to find that out from Prince Joshua after all?” 

“Hehe, sorry,” he says, sounding anything but apologetic. “I…kinda wanted to keep it a surprise until your assimilation period is over. But turns out, I could get to see you much sooner after all.”

You roll your eyes despite the smile that creeps up your face. 

It’s common practice for royal mages to appoint aides that they’re training to be the next royal mage. You can only imagine how much Chan has improved over the last six months to have garnered your father’s approval like this. That man’s standards are crazy high.

But then again, you’ve always known that Chan was always cut out to be an amazing mage.

As the children’s attention shifts to Eri, who’s being egged on by Iseul to ‘do that trick with the flowers again’, you find yourself quietly observing them. With red cheeks, Eri relents—snapping her fingers once before a pretty sunflower materializes out of thin air.

That casual display even catches you off guard. 

At your side, Chan stifles a laugh and you shoot him a dirty look. “You and Eri have the same elemental affinity. She doesn’t know her way around plants yet, but she can make flowers from sheer will alone.”

That’s…quite impressive, actually. You haven’t met a promising mage with an affinity for plant life since Chaewon. And Eri is barely ten years old. 

“I bet she’ll grow up to be a fine mage,” you comment fondly as you keep your eyes on the kids. 

Just as you say the words, Iseul claps his hands enthusiastically—lone spurts of fire jumping from his fingers. The other kids all exclaim as they avoid the flames before telling Iseul to knock it off.

“Uh, yeah. Iseul is a fire elemental,” Chan says dryly. “He’s also kinda having trouble controlling his powers. But don’t worry, that’s why I’m here.”

At that moment, you realize that a lot can change in the span of six months. Before you left your hometown, you never would’ve imagined Chan being responsible for another child’s magical progress. You were so used to hearing him putting himself down that the confidence he now exudes surprises you. In a good way. 

Whatever he went through in the southern cities, you think of extending your gratitude to his mentor, Jongkook. You can only imagine what he put your best friend through for him to have this much trust in himself and his powers now.

Chan heaves a laugh that he pulls from the bottom of his stomach when one of the kids douses Iseul with a magical spray of water. It’s a sound you’ve longed to hear for months and now that his laughter is singing in your ears, you can’t help but stare at him a little too fondly.

What’s more is that he still has cake batter smeared across his cheek. You wonder if he genuinely isn’t aware it’s there or he’s just keeping it on for laughs. Still, you unconsciously lean closer—raising your hand to brush your fingers across the cream. Your best friend visibly startles at the gesture but makes no moves to shy away from your touch.

With your faces inches away, you start to realize just how close you’ve gotten. You can almost feel the hitch of his breath across your skin and… 

Has Chan always been this handsome?

But those few precious moments are immediately shattered like glass when Iseul gasps and points to the entrance of the kitchen. “Look! It’s Prince Jeonghan!”

You and Chan break apart like you’ve both been burned by Iseul’s flames. Confusion races through your brain because you were told that Jeonghan was busy today, so why…?

“Common mistake, but I’m not Prince Jeonghan. I’m his brother,” Joshua clarifies as he steps into the kitchen with a bright smile. “It’s nice to meet all of you.”

One of the other kids gasps. “Are you a prince too?” 

“He is.”

It surprises you that Chan is the one to speak up—having moved away from the counter and closer to the kids. You feel your heart twist when he leaves, but you shove down the emotion since Chan is beaming like he always is.

“He’s Prince Joshua and he’s getting married soon,” he continues before gesturing to you. “To her, actually.”

The children let out noises of awe, blinking up at you and Joshua with mouths agape like they’ve just witnessed someone do a neat trick with their magic. You can feel your face heat up at the sudden attention and you would’ve been glad to know that Joshua—for all his confidence and wit—isn’t faring so well either.

If only you weren’t so put down by the fact that your best friend just drew a fine line between the two of you. A line that he probably, definitely won’t cross.

“That’s right. If all goes well, we’re having the wedding in six months,” Joshua agrees quietly—his initial shock morphing into fondness. 

“Whoa! A royal wedding?” Iseul gasps. “Are we invited too?”

The atmosphere proceeds to blur into a buzz of questions that Joshua is happy to accommodate. For children who are probably no older than twelve years old, they seem very engrossed in the relationships interspersed between the royal family.

You wonder if Jeonghan had a hand in their particular interest in the matter, but you don’t ponder on it too much because Chan eventually excuses himself from the kitchen—asking you to watch over the cake while he goes to check on the other kids playing in the backyard.

Your eyes stay riveted to the entrance even when your best friend is long gone.

You’re not sure how you’ve managed to last nine months away from home, but here you are.

As the end of your assimilation draws near, so does the royal wedding that’s been the talk of the capital for weeks now. Ever since you’ve been given freedom to go out of the castle as you please, you’ve made several friends among the elite socialites. 

They’re always dying to get their hands on an inside scoop about what you and Joshua have planned for the final quarter of the process, but you often turn these requests down before convincing one of the ladies to tell you about the diamond necklace her husband got her for their anniversary. 

It’s a scheme that Sakura told you in passing: if you want to get the nosy ones off your back, just trick them into talking about themselves instead. 

Speaking of your handmaiden, she’s been busy booking you several trips to the most renowned boutique in the capital. With only three months left until the wedding, you’re expected to look out for the perfect dress to wear on that special day. 

Despite knowing that you’re more level-headed than most marriageable women your age, you have fantasized about what you would look like in a wedding gown. Although sixteen year-old you never would’ve considered getting to sample the designs of well-known tailors across the kingdom, much more being fussed over by the royal family itself.

What you pictured was a simple wedding in your hometown—donned with a dainty white dress that didn’t boast much glamor and glitz. The only visitors would be your family, some close friends, along with your colleagues and students. A spring wedding always seemed perfect to you, and whenever you imagined yourself walking down the aisle, the person waiting for you at the altar is—

“Oh my goodness,” the seamstress behind all the stunning dresses you're trying on gasps when she lets herself inside the dressing room—eyes glittering like rhinestones. “You look absolutely stunning! I definitely like the fit of this more than the others, miss!”

You startle out of your careful reminiscing as your brain zones back in on your reflection in the mirror. This dress is as white as an angel’s wings and though she is completely right about it easily being the best you’ve tried on so far, it’s a far cry from the one you dreamed about wearing as a teen. 

You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

“You think so?” you murmur, pushing down those past preferences into the furthest vestiges of your mind. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Aside from wedding gowns, the queen often consults you about the venue of the wedding. You’re actually quite surprised with how much agency they’re allowing you over the necessary decisions, but she insisted that it’s only fair for her future daughter-in-law to have a say with how her own wedding is going to pan out.

“I was thinking of holding it in the castle’s courtyard for all the kingdom to see,” she tells you over afternoon tea, a kind smile settled on her face. “That’s how all royal weddings usually take place, but I thought we could use some fresh input, you know?”

“Fresh input?” you repeat. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I don’t think I can follow…”

The queen shakes her head. “Silly girl, I’m asking if you have another venue in mind! Your ideas about royal politics have always been refreshing to hear, so I figured that you must have an alternative sitting inside that pretty mind of yours.”

The moment the words leave her lips, you immediately picture the riverbanks back in your hometown. It’s not a place that could accommodate hundreds upon thousands of guests like royal weddings should. But if you were to settle with a more intimate gathering, that would be your best bet.

Of course, you tell the queen none of this.

“I think holding it at the courtyard is a splendid idea already, Your Highness,” you tell her with a smile that you don’t quite believe in. “After all, there’s no place like home.”

Another thing to consider is the guestlist. Even if this is an event that the royal family encourages the entire kingdom to look forward to, only a select few are allowed inside the castle premises. 

For some reason, Jeonghan is the one saddled with the job to curate who gets to witness you being hailed both as Joshua’s wife and as princess-consort. He’s hard at work when you find him in the castle library one day, buried in stacks upon stacks of invitations with a look on his face that screams why am I even here?

Curious, you slide into one of the empty seats at the table. “I didn’t think they’d hand you a job so tedious.”

“They didn’t,” Jeonghan frames the words with a sigh. “I volunteered ‘cause I know it would make Shua happy.”

“You can make your little brother happy in other ways too,” you joke.

The older prince hums as he scribbles onto a fine sheet of parchment. “You’d know a lot about making my brother happy, now would you?”

Jeonghan has a reputation for being a scheming, sharp-tongued prince. You’re fully aware of this, but getting to live with him for almost a year made you see sides of him he doesn’t usually show to the public.

Though not as openly as Joshua does, he cares for his family and the staff in his own, quiet way. You like to think that his subtle thoughtfulness even extended to you during these fateful months in the castle. 

But after that fateful encounter in the ballroom during the six-month mark of your assimilation, something told you that you no longer had the privilege of being on the receiving end of his support.

“It’s kind of ironic, really,” Jeonghan muses before dipping his pen into the inkwell. “I’m willingly overseeing this blasted guestlist despite the fact that my brother is getting married to someone who doesn’t even love him. But I suppose it’s an older brother’s job to cater to the fantasy until he sees things for how they are on his own.”

“Your Highness, forgive me but it’s rather bold of you to assume that I don’t harbor an ounce of love for my fiancé,” you tell him outright, lacing your fingers together tightly on your lap. 

Right next to the lavish ring Joshua had given to you, a forget-me-not sits unassumingly by its side. 

Jeonghan laughs. “Really? That’s quite amusing, since I think it’s even bolder for you to choose responsibility over the man your heart truly longs for.”

Silence rings in the room like white noise and you aren’t able to school your expression into neutrality fast enough to escape Jeonghan’s observant eyes. The complacent set of his jaw clues you in on just how much he actually knows and you aren’t certain about what to make of it.

“Whatever you think is going on with me and…that person,” you start, the address tasting like acid on your tongue, “I guarantee you that it’s long gone. He’s the one who made it clear several months before and I never once intended to go back on something I already started.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes before pointing the tip of his quill at you. “You know, things would be much easier if you were just a gold-digging commoner and none else.”

Your face twists with offense. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he retaliates as he leans back in his seat. “If you were in this for money and power like every other woman out there, Shua would’ve called off the engagement much sooner. But even I know that you’re too good for that.”

Your momentary vexation with Jeonghan blurs into confusion in a matter of seconds. Is he making a jab at you or complimenting you?

When he recognizes the puzzled look on your face, he heaves a long-winded sigh before putting down his pen altogether.

“Let me put it this way: you’re objectively the best princess-consort-in-training that I’ve had the pleasure to meet. You do everything you’re told flawlessly—sticking by the book at all times if you can help it. You’d even sacrifice your own happiness for the sake of others. 

“While that sense of responsibility would make for a great leader in the future…my little brother doesn’t deserve to be loved as half-heartedly as you love him.”

Your heart thumps inside your ribcage as if it was a prison it longs to break free from. Part of you knows you should refute every single thing that Jeonghan just said. It’s what a future princess-consort should do. 

But every time your mind flashes back to that old spring wedding fantasy you conjured up in your hometown, Chan’s lovely smile burns itself into the back of your eyelids.

Wordlessly, Jeonghan goes back to work and you stew in the silence of the library much longer than you have to. It’s only when one of the servants calls both of your attention to have lunch in the dining hall that he speaks again.

“You still have several weeks to make up your mind, little dove,” Jeonghan whispers slowly the moment you both enter the dining hall. It doesn’t help your case when Joshua perks up in his seat at the sight of you walking inside with his older brother like he hasn’t given you an ultimatum right then and there. 

“Make sure each one counts.”

You don’t really receive letters from Chan anymore.

He’s stopped sending them together after you last met him in the orphanage. Your father explained that he’s been entrusted with several tasks both in and out of the Academy and that those take up most of his time. 

You want to tell him that your best friend never once missed a letter even during those hellish days he spent in the southern cities, but in the end, you decide to keep your silence.

Thoughts about letters that won’t come are the last thing on your mind when winter falls upon the kingdom. The preparations are in full swing despite the fact that there’s still a month left before the wedding itself and because you refuse to be a sitting duck that lets everyone do all the work, you decide to contribute every now and again.

But even if there’s a sense of accomplishment in being able to help around, this season has always been your least favorite. 

You’re a mage who practices with plants and flowers alike, so it’s only natural for you to feel under the weather this time around. The fact that you’ve scarcely gotten to practice your magic ever since you set foot in the capital does little in contributing to your peace of mind as well.

Your hometown is teeming with plant life that you could nurture with the simplest spells. Inside the stone walls and marble floors of the royal castle, there’s barely anything that requires your constant care. 

It’s a given that royals tend to avoid relying on magic for all matters concerning the regency. You were taught that cleverness and wit are the two things that will keep you alive among the foreign courts of other kingdoms and that things like magic can be entrusted to the royal mages instead.

But all it takes is a withering winter to make you realize that you don’t want your magic—the very core of who you are—to dwindle into nothingness.

It’s for that reason that you find yourself heading over to the castle gardens despite the fact that you promised Sakura that you’d start practicing for matrimonial dance with your usual instructor this afternoon. The sun has barely peeked beyond the clouds these days, but you’re convinced that you’ll at least find comfort in the flowers that grew sparsely inside.

There, you find Joshua crouched next to a shrub of carnations.

He’s dressed down today—comfortably enough to let you know that he doesn’t have any plans for the meantime. Your fiancé is examining each bloom with such rapt attention, you’re convinced he didn’t even notice your arrival. 

Surely enough, as you take the first step to approach him, he rises back to his full height—turning around with a vibrant carnation in his hand.

Everyone inside the castle uses their magic so infrequently that you sometimes forget that you and Joshua share the same elemental affinity. Maybe that’s the reason it was so easy for you to get along with him for the past eleven months. 

But you know better than most that there’s more to it than just that.

“You’ve been very busy lately,” Joshua comments with an easygoing smile. “I barely see you these days.”

You sigh, tucking your cardigan closer to your form. “If I’m not helping with the wedding preparations, I’m holed up in my bedchambers. I…don’t really like winters.”

“Neither do I,” he chuckles. “But my duties won’t stop just because I loathe the cold. I’m sure you understand that well.”

The quiet settles over the both of you like a blanket of snow—making you wonder how you used to deal with long winters in the past. 

Then you remember a boy who’s always brought warmth in your life without even trying. Nights spent sleeping in front of the fireplace, tucked in the warmth of his body no matter how harsh the blizzards could be. Collective yearning for the day the snow finally melts and spring returns with a flowery smile. 

But that’s the thing—it’s all in the past.

“Can I…ask you something?”

The hesitation in Joshua’s words makes you stare at him pensively. 

He always sounds sure of himself. Attractively confident. Not in a way that others would find obnoxious, but the complete opposite. There’s a reason why Joshua is so loved in his own kingdom yet right now, you’re starting to see the cracks forming on his gentlemanly demeanor. 

“What is it?” you murmur softly despite dread slowly sinking its claws into your skin.

Joshua tilts his head up to the overcast sky like he’s wondering if it’s going to snow today. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply before meeting your eyes again.

“Are you certain you still want to go through with the wedding?”

This…oddly feels like the time you found Jeonghan in the library. The guilt you’ve been harboring for the longest time festers at the implications of his question and you wonder if everything you’ve worked so hard on for the past year will come crashing down today.

“Of course,” you tell him but you’re well aware Joshua knows a lie when he hears it. 

“Really?”

“Is there something specific that you wish for me to say?”

He sighs—the cold starting to materialize with each breath. “No, nothing in particular.”

“It’s just that I believe it would be unfair of me to impose marriage when your heart already belongs to someone else.”

The water running from the fountain is all that plagues your ears yet Joshua’s admission doesn’t evoke the visceral reaction you had to Jeonghan telling you nearly the same thing. Hearing the words come from your fiancé’s mouth doesn’t instill you with guilt.

No… This is something much closer to acceptance.

“I once thought that your time in the castle would give enough leeway for us to get to know each other better,” he continues with a sad smile. “And it did. I’m certain that we’re much closer now than we were a year ago. But… I was a fool to think I could ever get you to love me the same way you love him.”

You’re immediately seized with the need to placate him somehow. After all, you were taught that it’s a wife’s duty to ease her husband’s troubles should he confide in her.

But you’re not Joshua’s wife. 

(And from how this conversation is going, you might never be.)

All of a sudden, something that Jeonghan said to you in the library resurfaces in your mind. At the time, you were too frustrated with him to actually process the words, but suddenly all of it makes sense.

I suppose it’s an older brother’s job to cater to the fantasy until he sees things for how they are on his own.

“You’ve known all this time,” you tell him incredulously. “Why… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to think that you were obligated to love me for my sake. That’s something that should never be imposed,” he murmurs, twirling the flower in his hands almost wistfully. “I assumed that…maybe if I just gave you enough time, it would come to you naturally. But sometimes things just don’t work out the way you thought and that’s okay.”

If you weren’t trembling in your shoes a minute ago, you certainly are now.

“Joshua,” you whisper. “What are you saying?”

The smile on his face never wavers even as he crosses the distance between you and pulls you into a sound embrace. It catches you off guard for a second because Joshua has never initiated this kind of contact during your entire stay. 

But even with the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the fact that your mind immediately compares it to how it feels to have Chan’s heat permeating your skin…

It only means that this engagement is as good as over.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Joshua whispers back—one hand smoothing across your hair as he holds you in place. “For giving yourself the chance to love me. For being selfless enough to do everything you’ve done so far. I used to admire your self-sacrificing tendencies, but…

“Now I’m sure it’s high time that you chose yourself for a change.”

You don’t know when the tears started to fall, but you find comfort in the crook of Joshua’s neck as you sob into his arms. He doesn’t say a word as you let it out—all the years you spent looking after others, putting their wellbeing first before your own.

You’ve gotten so accustomed to taking responsibility for everyone around you that it never really occurred to you that things don’t have to be that way.

You’re allowed to choose yourself. You’re allowed to be selfish. 

“Go,” Joshua murmurs against the crown of your head. “Go back home. You deserve as much.”

You look up at him, sniffling. “B-But the wedding—”

“There won’t be a wedding,” he reassures with the same sad smile that breaks your heart to see. “You don’t have to worry about a thing. I’ll explain the situation to everyone. Right now…you have to go because your father informed me that he’s leaving soon.”

As if you haven’t already been given enough to deal with in a single day, you feel like an anvil has been dropped into the pit of your stomach.

“What do you mean?” 

“Lee Jung Chan was assigned to travel to another reputable magic school on the other side of the continent to build an alliance with the Academy,” Joshua explains swiftly. “He leaves tonight and won’t come back in a long, long while depending on how the initial negotiations turn out.”

An alliance…? 

Is that what he’s been so preoccupied with these days? So much that he can’t even spare the time to write to you anymore?

Before the next bout of tears could spill from your eyes, Joshua calmingly tucks a loose tuft of your hair behind your ear. He looks at you with so much adoration and longing that you briefly entertain the possibility of you loving him unconditionally in another life.

You hope he’ll be happier there.

“There’s a carriage waiting for you at the gates of the capital,” Joshua says. “Leave now while you still have time.”

You want to say something. To apologize to him. To thank him. To tell him that he deserves the world and much, much more. 

But all you do is slide off the diamond engagement ring from your finger, handing it to Joshua with an apologetic look before bolting to the castle entrance—not even sparing him a single word in goodbye.

Venues? Wedding gowns? Invitations? None of these mattered anymore.

Not when you're about to lose your best friend—the love of your life.

Joshua tries not to think about how your hand looked now that it was devoid of his gift; how all that remained is a promise ring that he should’ve taken as a sign to give up a long time ago. 

Just as he hears the commotion stirring down the winding halls, Joshua looks up at the sky again. When he closes his eyes, he feels the first few snowflakes land on his face—cold and solitary, much like himself.

Even so...

You broke his heart in the middle of winter, yet Joshua still looks forward to the flowery smile of spring.

The moment you arrived at your hometown, you weren’t sure where to start looking. For one, the coachman who brought you here said that your father was out of town for undisclosed reasons. You couldn’t exactly march up to the headmaster’s office in the Academy to interrogate him about Chan’s whereabouts. 

That’s why you opted to start with your best friend’s house openly greeted by his mother with a shocked expression as she asks what on earth you were doing so far away from the royal capital.

“Uh, it’s a long story,” you tell her sheepishly as you try not to shiver too much from the cold. “I promise I’ll keep you up to speed, but for now I really need to find Chan.”

She hesitates for a moment and you chalk it up to the fact that Chan’s mother must be thinking she’s going to have a hand in something illegal if she helps you. After all, she’s always had good instincts when either you or her son were up to no good.

But you tell yourself that this is probably the most good you’ve done for yourself in a long, long time. 

In the end, she directs you to the Academy—saying something about Chan wanting to deal with a few things first before he leaves. With just half an hour until nightfall, several students can be seen walking out of the gates after a long day. Some just pass by you without a word, while others throw second glances over their shoulder—as if they couldn’t believe that you’re back either. 

You recognize those kids to be some of your former students, but you can’t bring yourself to stop for a quick chat—simply hoping they’ll forgive you for your haste.

But through the thundering of your heart, you hear a familiar voice call your name in the crowd.

“You’re back!" Chaewon remarks with a delightful gasp before tackling you with a firm embrace. “Why didn’t you tell us you were visiting? Did you bring Prince Joshua with—?”

“Chaewon, where’s Chan?” you interject almost desperately.

Your old student blinks up at you, rightfully confused. “Um, he’s going on a trip for a while. Yunjin told me just now that she saw the other royal mages that gathered here leave on their horses an hour ago. Why? Did you need something from him?”

The news makes you feel like your head has been submerged in murky waters—cloying your senses until you could no longer make sense of what’s around you. Chaewon flashes you a disconcerted look, asking if everything is alright. 

You want to tell her that you’re fine, but you can’t find the words. Your mouth feels cottony and your eyes are starting to sting. Instead of answering, you turn on your heel, biting down the guilt that comes with dismissing one of your favorite students as you run towards the opposite direction.

Chaewon calls out for you several times, but you don’t look back.

Maybe you should just head back to the castle and tell Joshua that this was all a mistake—a lapse in judgment that can still be taken back. You should just see your assimilation through until the end. You’ve already made it so far, after all.

But you just know, deep in your gut, that Joshua wouldn’t accept that so easily. He made it clear that he wants you to want him with no holds barred. Not because you feel responsible for his feelings. Not because the love of your life has already left. That’s just who he is as a person.

Not wanting to burst into tears for the second time today, you find yourself walking towards the greenhouse—craving that familiar solace you always get whenever you’re inside. Your father told you he was going to keep an eye on it while you were gone and you figure that he’d been telling the truth when you find the enclosure just as you’ve left it. 

Several of your personal experiments seem like someone enchanted them with time suspension magic—looking the exact way they did before you left almost a year ago. Among the other plants and flora are other pieces you don’t recognize. You figure that these must be Chaewon’s work and you remind yourself to compliment her once you sort yourself out. 

But when you don’t spot a certain plant box you were looking for, a frown roots itself on your face.

Did Chan move your forget-me-nots somewhere else? The vibrant blue flowers should’ve been easy to spot even amidst the lush blooms all around you, but there’s nothing like that in the vicinity. 

You take your search outside for reasons unknown. Perhaps it’s the restlessness of just staying in one place when you know the very symbol of your promise with your best friend is nowhere to be found. As you make your way out, you glance at the single flower sitting at the base of your pinky—sadly wondering if Chan is even still wearing his. 

But the moment you make it to the back of the greenhouse, you’re much too stunned with the sight that beholds you.

What once was a vacant patch of grasslands is now filled to the brim with forget-me-nots that glow vibrantly in comparison to the bleak gray winter. Despite the drop in temperature, the field of blue flowers stretches on until the borders of the Academy and you have to pinch yourself and make sure you’re not dreaming. 

Then, as if this situation can’t get any more unbelievable, you spot someone crouched in the middle of the field of forget-me-nots.

Your best friend.

Chan doesn’t immediately notice you—seemingly lost in thought, just like the day you found him by the riverbanks a year ago. For someone that’s leaving on an indefinite trip to the other side of the continent, he surely doesn’t look dressed the part, having opted for his comfortable cotton tunic and trousers instead of the garbs royal mages and aides are required to don.

You don’t think twice. You just run.

He lets out an undignified yelp when you tackle him into the ground—palms heating up with a flare of his magic with the full intention of blasting away the intruder. But when he finds his best friend lying right on top of him amidst the forget-me-nots, he’s engulfed with a different kind of heat entirely.

“You asshole,” you hiss with teary eyes, beating your fists weakly against his chest. “You’re going away for a long time and you didn’t even bother to tell me? Am I suddenly not your best friend anymore?”

There’s nothing more that Chan hates than seeing you cry, but he loathes it even more when he’s the cause of your tears. He doesn’t even know if you’re actually here with him. You should be back at the royal castle, preparing for your wedding and not sobbing because of your best friend.

But the warmth of your body nestled on top of his own is much too real. It’s the same sensation he’s craved since you left. The same feeling he’s always longed for, for as long as he can remember. 

And he’s not such a glutton for punishment that he’ll deprive himself of it any longer.

Chan cracks a barely there smile, the breath of his laughter materializing in front of him as he reaches up to tuck your hair behind your ear. He’s not sure if your face flushes because of him or the cold, but he likes to think it’s the former.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures, opting to save his many questions for later. “Dunno how you found out about the trip, but I backed out of it last minute. Told the headmaster that I’m not the best with negotiations and that I might unknowingly start a war in the process.”

He half-expects you to either laugh in his face despite the clearly distraught expression you’re wearing or fume at him for being so ridiculous. You probably made the trip from the capital to your hometown just to see him off and he’ll understand your frustration at the fact that his participation was rendered null and void.

But you do neither of these things.

Instead, you curl your fingers into the fabric of his shirt—pulling him up and leaning forward at the same time. 

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about kissing Chan at least once in your life. But you can attest to the fact that you didn’t imagine it to happen while you’re freshly broken up from a year-long engagement—snowflakes starting to fall in the field of flowers you asked him to take care of.

Those he promised to take care of.

“I love you,” you whisper breathlessly, hands trembling from where they grip Chan’s clothes as you force your breathing to even out. “I’ve always loved you and I’m the biggest idiot in the world for not accepting that sooner.”

Chan gazes up at you in stunned silence, lips moving as if meaning to say something in return but the words evade him. But just when you’re about to emphasize your point again, Chan raises an arm to  shield his eyes with the back of his hand.

“You’re lying,” he chuckles almost helplessly. “You’ve got to be messing with me.”

A scowl stretches across your lips. How could that be his first reaction? You thought he’d be elated that you came back and professed your feelings. 

But then you entertain the possibility that…what if you’ve read the entire situation wrong? What if Chan never had any feelings of the romantic kind for you at all?

What if you risked everything for nothing?

“Lee Jung Chan,” you whisper threateningly. “I left the Crown Prince himself in a heartbeat when I found out you were going away. Made the entire trip from the capital to here just for the slim chance of seeing you before you left. I even kissed you outside in the middle of winter because I was so fucking glad that you’re here to stay. If that isn’t genuine enough for you, then what else do you want me to do?” 

Your best friend lowers his hand and you try not to waver at the sight of his puffy red eyes. He sucks in a deep breath that almost whistles down his throat before taking one of your hands and lifting it closer to his face.

At the base of your pinky is the same ring he’s never once taken off since you gave it to him.

As night falls and the endless snow falls upon your hometown, two lone figures in a field full of flowers remain undisturbed in their lonesome. 

For some, love is something you don’t give half-heartedly. For others, it should never be imposed.

For you, it’s a whirlwind of emotions that you could never quite figure out how to deal with.

Yet when it comes to Lee Jung Chan, you realize that love has always been easy.

“Chan,” you sigh into the cold air of his bedroom as your best friend peppers your neck with kisses much too heated than you expected. “S-Slow down a little.”

He breathes out a laugh that sounds much too airy for your liking. Chan detaches his lips from your skin as he flashes you a gummy smile. “Slow down? I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. I don’t think I can slow down anymore, princess.”

You have to fight the urge to hit him with his choice of words. “Act any more cheeky and I’m walking out of your house.”

“Duly noted.” 

Then his mouth is back on yours. 

The trip back to Chan’s house—a new, one bedroom apartment near the town square, not his mother’s house—was a bit tricky. For one, you had to walk around where virtually everyone knows you to be Prince Joshua’s fiancée, answering questions about what you’re doing back home with the wedding coming up so close. 

You keep your answers curt and short—not wanting to ignite the scandal of a lifetime before Joshua can even prepare the ample damage control. That and each time someone mentions how happy they are for your engagement, you can feel Chan’s eyes boring into the back of your head. 

So now you’re here, crowded beneath your best friend on his mattress as he kisses your breath away. 

You’ve never done this before. The most daring thing you’ve done with Joshua, who was literally your fiancé for almost a year, was that last hug you shared before you left the castle for good. So you suppose no one can blame you for feeling so lightheaded from the feel of Chan’s lips pressed against yours alone.

It doesn’t help that, even through his desperation to leave no space between the two of you, there’s still caution weighted beneath his desire. He could probably sense the hesitation in your movements as you reciprocate his vigor—kissing back almost awkwardly despite how good his kisses are making you feel. 

“Open your mouth a little for me,” he murmurs, one hand cradling your jaw as you let out a little whimper. “Come on, don’t get shy on me now. I promise you’ll like it.”

Not wanting to keep either of you waiting for much longer, you do as you’re told—opening your mouth just a tad wider right after Chan kisses you again. He easily muffles the gasp you make with his lips when you feel his tongue lick into your mouth. The sensation makes gooseflesh prickle your arms and he coaxes out another embarrassing noise from you—one too salacious for others to hear freely.

“See? What’d I tell you?” he whispers breathlessly against your lips—a strong arm coiling around your waist as he pulls you against his body. “You like it that much?”

You nod meekly. Chan laughs.

“I wanna try something. Hold on.”

Confused, you watch your best friend take a spot beside you on his bed, legs sprawled across the mattress as he tugs you closer to him. You resist his ministrations for a moment as you try to figure out what on earth he’s planning to do. But then it dawns on you. 

He wants you to sit on his lap.

“Too much?” he asks with a hint of caution, to which you quickly respond with a shake of your head. 

“Just…surprising,” you admit as you settle your hips across his thighs. 

You kind of want to ask where he even learned about all this, but part of you doesn’t want to know the answer. Picturing Chan lying with someone else like this is enough to kill your mood, so you decide to push the thought far away until you could no longer remember it.

Despite how…strange and new this is to you, it’s much more comfortable than having his weight press you down into the mattress. Not to mention, you can just brace your hands on Chan’s shoulders as he licks further into your mouth—fingers laced behind the small of your back as you continue whimpering into his kisses.

Gods above. Will you even get out of this alive?

“You taste so sweet,” Chan murmurs before carding his fingers through your hair. “Much better than I imagined.”

You find it in you to chuckle in spite of yourself. “You’ve been imagining this?”

“Enough times to grant me admission to an asylum,” your best friend replies with a sigh as he continues combing your tresses. “I’m crazy about you, if that isn’t obvious enough. Wanted to kiss you so bad back in the orphanage when you leaned in way too close.”

You didn’t know it at the time, but looking back at it now, you definitely felt the same. Now you’re not sure whether or not you should treat Joshua’s untimely entrance in the kitchen that day as a miracle or a curse. 

“I did too,” you profess with little hesitation, tracing the curve of his lips with your thumb before resting your forehead against his. “We’re so stupid. If only we admitted our feelings earlier, we wouldn’t be in such a huge mess.”

Chan hums. “You mean…if I just spoke up when you got Prince Joshua’s proposal, you would’ve rejected it?”

“Of course I would,” you nearly exclaim. “I’ve loved you since we were kids, Chan.”

“Ditto. Guess we have lots of missed time to make up for.”

When he claims your lips again, it’s charged with want so potent you can almost taste it on your tongue. Chan presses your body even closer to his, if that’s even possible and as he continues building up the fever pitch of your desire, you start to shift uncomfortably on his lap—slick beginning to pool between your thighs the deeper he kisses you. 

The evidence of his own arousal pokes against your middle as well—leaving Chan a groaning mess each time you unknowingly jerk your hips to chase after the barest hint of friction. You don’t know where all this will lead nor do you know what comes after.

All that matters is that Chan is with you right here, right now.

Your clothes all come off one by one. Chan doesn’t forget to drag his lips across every inch of newly exposed skin—a quiet, unrelenting profession of his feelings. He wants to engrave himself into every part of you; to leave his mark so that you’ll remember him still even if he only gets to have you for the night.

But what Chan just doesn’t get is that your heart has already been set on him since the start.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, trailing his calloused fingers along the sensitive curve of your waist when he lays you down on your back. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t like.”

It’s so Chan of him to be this concerned about your boundaries. But you don’t know how else to say that you want nothing more than to take things all the way aside from tugging him back down for another breathtaking kiss.

“Is it going to hurt?” you ask, genuinely curious, just a tad bit afraid.

Your best friend purses his lips, the heat of his body offering you some much needed comfort as he plants another kiss on the corner of your mouth. “It will for a while. But I’ll ease you into it and make you feel good. I promise.”

Chan says the words like you have anything but trust in him. You know he needs a verbal confirmation out of you, but you’re both too embarrassed and too aroused to give him the green light out loud. Instead, you nod your head twice—leaning closer to his ear to whisper:

“Okay. I’m ready.”

Your best friend sighs out something that suspiciously sounds like gods, I love you, before burying his face in your exposed chest—lips latching onto one of the pert nipples as he massages your other breast languidly. The wet sound of his mouth getting to work makes your face flush several shades of red and your sex to leak even more slick than it already has. 

There’s just something so arousing about how careful Chan is with your body. He handles you like you’re the most precious thing in the world and throws your mind into an inexplicable haze.

But then again, maybe you’re just that in love with the guy.

You visibly tense underneath his touch when you feel him start to prod his fingers along your glistening seam. You’re so sensitive that you twitch from the slightest contact and Chan sighs a laugh into your chest when he feels it.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “I can’t make you feel good if you’re too high-strung.”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff. “You’re not the one who’s about to be fucked into oblivion.”

Chan startles from how easily the words fall from your lips—mouth agape like a fish out of water. You wonder if you said something out of turn but when he kisses you for the millionth time today, you notice something else eclipsing his ready set gentleness.

Something more carnal.

“You can’t rile me up by talking so filthily like that,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m trying to be a good lover by taking things slow. Promise you won’t catch me off guard like that again?”

You shake your head with a laugh. “Chan, you know I don’t make promises I can’t keep. But I'll try~”

“Fuck. Alright. I can work with that.”

When he eases a finger inside your awaiting heat, you find the sensation a little uncomfortable. It’s like having something inside you that doesn’t quite belong there. Chan analyzes your reactions in the silence as he continues prodding your entrance—looking for any signs of discomfort like a hawk as he experimentally thrusts that single digit in and out of you.

“F-Feels weird,” you mumble. “Is it supposed to feel weird?”

“I guess you’d feel that way if it was your first time,” he chuckles and your eyes narrow at the implication behind his words. “But I’ve got to loosen you up if I don’t want to hurt you.”

So this wasn’t his first after all. Though you want nothing more than to hear tales about former escapades, you decide to grill him about it later. 

You’re about to question how something like this can do that before Chan robs you of your capacity to think coherently, curling his slender finger inside you until he brushes a spot that has your muscles spasming underneath him. A wicked smile finds its way to his face as he slips in another finger so easily—the pads grazing that sensitive patch of flesh to coax out the same reaction from you.

“Still weird?” he laughs. 

“Good…” you whimper, grinding your hips shamelessly into his hand. “Feels so good, Chan.” 

Your best friend sighs as he watches you slowly cross the threshold between awkward curiosity and the beginnings of an enjoyable time. You’re wet and wanting—just like how he hoped you’d be and the way your tight walls clench around his fingers barely tempers the raw anticipation that sizzles in his veins. 

Gentle. He needs to be gentle. 

He doesn’t want to lose control when he’s waited oh-so long for this moment.

But god fucking damn are you making it so hard when you’re moaning so prettily for him.

“C-Chan,” you mewl and he feels you tighten even more around his digits. “It feels weird again… Like something’s coming.”

He sucks in a sharp breath before pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. The sensation makes you buck further into his hand and Chan can only do so much to keep himself from just fucking you into the bed.

“Let go,” he tells you before flicking his thumb across your puffy clit. “Let it all go, beautiful. Don’t be scared. I’m right here.”

The newfound stimulation blindsides you in a way you didn’t expect—reducing you into a mumbling mess of arousal beneath your best friend as he continues tracing tight circles around the sensitive nub. Your first (of many) orgasms crashes over you like a tidal wave and you sigh out his name so needily, he can barely contain himself for much longer. 

But he doesn’t rush you no matter how pent up he is—he won’t, he won’t, he won’t. 

Besides, the sight of you so fucked out from taking his fingers alone—lips parted, chest heaving, eyes pulling in and out of focus—is a reward in and of itself. 

“You still with me?” your best friend checks in with a concerned look, wiping the sweat that beads across your forehead with the back of his hand. 

But the moment his skin makes contact with yours again, you absentmindedly grab his hand—pressing a soft kiss on his knuckles.

“I’ll always be with you.”

Gods above. He doesn’t deserve you.

When he’s sure you’re ready, Chan positions himself right before your entrance—carefully nudging your thighs apart as he fists the angry red erection he’s been sporting all night. The sight of his cock makes you blush, but you figure there’s no point in acting coy now that you’ve made it this far.

“You know what to do when I do something you don’t like, right?” 

You nod—not really hearing the words with how transfixed you are on other things. “Y-Yes.”

Chan offers up a lazy smile. “That’s my girl.”

You take all of him inch by unbearable inch—your walls meeting the stretch that his girth offers with mild resistance. His fingers are child’s play compared to this and you force yourself to power through it despite how it burns. 

Of course, Chan doesn’t miss a beat despite how hard you try to conceal your discomfort.

“I’m hurting you, aren’t I?” he asks with an apologetic smile, wiping the tears that are pooling in the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry. Just a bit more and you’ll get used to it.”

“You promise?”

Your best friend brings an outstretched pinky close to your face—the same pinky with the ring that started all of this staring back at you. The moment you hook your own finger around his, your best friend murmurs:

“I promise.”

Chan is quite patient despite the fact that he’s balls-deep inside of you—keeping the innate desire to just ram his length into you until you’re a sobbing, crying mess for him. The Academy’s best graduate, the kingdom’s sweetheart, his perfect best friend. All reduced to tears on his cock.

“Chan,” you breathe in deeply, having finally accustomed yourself to how he stretches you out. “Y-You can move now.”

Shit. You sound so shy, so innocent.

How could he not give you what you want?

The first outward drag of his hips pulls a pretty little whimper out of you and an even prettier moan when he thrusts back in. Chan sighs as he minds the pace he’s set, cradling your face with one hand as he steadies you with the other.

“I love you,” he murmurs, pressing a featherlight kiss on your nose. “More than there are stars in the sky, more than how many flowers you’ll ask me to look after while you’re gone.”

His sweet words are subverted with a harsh thrust that he does experimentally to see how you’d react to it. When Chan doesn’t see any indication of pain or dislike, he repeats it—again and again until he can feel you coating his length in the slick of your leaking arousal. 

“Feels so fucking good around me,” he rasps, keeping himself from biting into your shoulder because he isn’t sure of how you feel about those kinds of marks just yet. “Perfect… You’re so, so perfect. I’ve never loved anyone else as much as I love you.”

It feels a bit worrisome, admitting all this in the heat of it all. Chan fears that you would find his words a tad disingenuous. For all he knows, you’re thinking that it’s your wonderful cunt making him say all these sweet nothings. 

But you’re too far gone yourself to even think about the specifics.

“Deeper,” you beg, lacing your fingers around his neck as more tears start to cascade down your cheeks. “Need to feel you deeper, Chan.”

You’re going to be the death of him—this he’s finally sure of.

The fat head of his cock batters your poor, abused pussy with the vigor of someone who’s been waiting for you all his life. Chan babbles out a mantra of compliments and praise all strung together in a haze of pleasurable delirium as your nails start to rake across his back. 

“Want you to be mine forever,” he sighs against your lips—his hot breath fanning against your face. “Can I have you? For the rest of my life?”

Even in the throes of passion, the answer comes to you so easily.

“I’m yours,” you cry out as he angles his cock just right and grazes the spot that makes you see stars. “I’m yours, Chan. Always yours. Forever yours.”

Your mind crumbles as your release crests out of nowhere—coherence draining from every recess of your mind while Chan fucks you through your high. He snaps his hips unforgivingly as he chases his own orgasm. His fingers leave red imprints on your thighs with how firmly they dig into your supple flesh and they stay there even when he finally pinpoints his release. 

The two of you collapse onto the mattress with shallow breaths, sweat-slicked skin sticking to each other with how close your bodies are. When your mind finally returns to the shores of reality, you dare to crack your eyes open—only to see your best friend looking back at you with a tired smile.

This is the man who saw you cry over a stick fort that he accidentally stepped on when you were kids. 

The one who thinks you’re still pretty even when your face is rife with tears and snot.

The one who skips stones with you in the river at sunset. 

The one who keeps you warm by the fireplace during every winter.

The one who defended you from classmates who accused you of being a fraud that rode on her father’s coattails. 

The one you’ll gladly spend the rest of your life with.

You think you should find it strange how Joshua suddenly comes to mind now that you’re finally where you want to be. But if it weren’t for him, you never would’ve gotten that final push to be selfish—to choose yourself for once and not feel any ounce of remorse for doing so.

If it weren’t for him, you never would’ve felt what true happiness feels like.

“So…” your best friend starts as he pulls a blanket over your naked bodies. “For tonight’s pillow talk, you get to decide the topic of interest.”

You snort. “Okay. What are my choices?”

“Hm. The first is: what are we going to do now that we’re together-together when the entire kingdom still thinks you’re still Prince Joshua’s fiancé? You still owe me a story about how the engagement fell through, by the way. Unless I’m actually a homewrecker…?”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully slap his chest. “What’s the second option?”

He grins at you cheekily. “What pet names can I use on you while we’re having sex because…I honestly held back the entire time ‘cause I didn’t know what you were comfortable with.”

“I don’t really mind anything,” you say. “Just…nothing too degrading?” 

“Alright.” Chan nods. “What do you say about lovebug?”

The suggestion is met with a scowl, making Chan giggle underneath the covers.

“Not a fan? How about my little dew drop? My chrysalis blooming into a beautiful butterfly? My hundred year-old tree that never ceases to amaze me with your beauty? My spectacle in an endless galaxy? My—”

“Lee Jung Chan, if you don’t shut up right now, I might just march back to the capital right this moment after all.”

Chan responds to your threat with a needy whine as he cages you around his arms. Your best friend nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck with a sulky pout.

“No! You’re mine. I don’t care if everyone else thinks otherwise.” He huffs and you entertain him with a laugh before Chan eventually disentangles himself from you—the playful expression on his face morphing into something more sobering.

“I was serious about the first pillow talk suggestion, by the way,” he murmurs. “Once the news breaks out, it isn’t going to be easy for any of us.” 

“I know.”

Chan raises an eyebrow at your nonchalance. “Hm? You’re usually the type to psych yourself out way too much when problems like this arise. Who are you and what did you do to my worrywart of a best friend?”

Paying his teasing no mind, you lean in to press your lips to his. The moment Chan’s shoulders sink in surrender, you smile against his mouth.

“Honestly? I don’t really care about what happens,” you admit, tracing the outline of his chest with your finger. “As long as I’m with you, I think we’ll be alright.”

Chan is quiet for a while—a loving look glazing over his eyes at the sight of you.

“Yeah.” 

Your best friend presses another kiss to your temple, lacing your fingers together.

Two forget-me-nots finally find their way back to each other. 

“We’ll be alright.”

⟢ end notes: and that concludes the longest oneshot i've ever written for a seventeen member :') honestly considered breaking this into parts, but decided not to in the end bcs telling their story in one go felt like the best way to go about it! shoutouts to my good buddies and pals from svthub for the constant support and pep talk they offered while i was writing this monster of a fic. freya, my bridgerton sunbae, and zeta, my favorite wonwoorideul (real), thank you tons for your lovely input <3 your silly comments on the doc always made me smile. ofc i won't forget nana who gave me an...interesting list of pet names chan would unironically use on his s/o lol that said, thank you for reading! i hope you enjoy the other fics posted under the spring collab! all writers who contributed poured their hearts into each piece <3

this is part of the secret garden, a svthub spring collab and the it's complicated series!

[jayden-writes]

fragile

pairing: Lucifer x gn!Reader

wordcount: ~1.5k

genre: hurt/comfort, angst

cw: descriptions of an injury (sprained ankle)

summary: When you sprain your ankle, Lucifer doesn't appreciate your attempt at hiding it.

other notes: no name, Y/N or MC used // based on this drawing by @sbmlamb // AO3 // thanks again to @gravedwe11er for helping me so much with this fic!

There was no doubt in your mind that you must have been the clumsiest being in all three realms. Twisting your ankle because you simply tried to keep up with the long strides of a demon? How utterly embarrassing.

Gritting your teeth, you kept following the brother that was escorting you back to the House of Lamentation today - Satan. It seemed as though he hadn't noticed the way you were falling behind or your minor accident at all, being too engrossed in his rant about something Lucifer had done.

Despite the mixture of pain and numbness radiating up your lower leg, you managed to catch up with him, maintaining a mostly normal expression and a steady gait. Turning his head towards you, the anger drained from his features as he observed you. He took in your carefully masked suffering and how your shoulders were heaving with the effort it had required to get back to him.

“I'm sorry,” he said, slowing his pace and giving you a worried glance, “I hadn’t realized that I was too fast for you. Are you alright? It looks like you’re in pain.”

Cursing yourself internally, you racked your brain for a believable excuse.

“I… uhm… I just have a stitch in my side. No big deal,” you explained, shooting him a reassuring smile.

Satan nodded and visibly relaxed at your words, returning his attention to the path. From that point on, the walk back was spent in comfortable stillness with him occasionally glancing at you. When you reached the mansion and entered, you exhaled a quiet sigh of relief and waved goodbye, heading straight for your room as quickly as you could without putting too much weight on your foot while still walking normally. Finally inside your own space, you hobbled towards your bed, sitting down to take off your shoe and sock, which jostled your ankle, and caused you to hiss in agony. Once it was bare, your eyes widened at the sight of it swollen and bruised.

“Fuck…” you muttered and attempted to move it, which only made the pain worse.

Suddenly, there were knocks on your door, startling you.

“Oi! It’s your turn to make dinner!” called Mammon’s voice out from the other side. Right. Of course. You had completely forgotten about that.

“Give me a moment!” you yelled back and you heard him disappear again.

Sighing, you removed the second shoe too, and slipped into a pair that had a looser fit to reduce the pressure on your foot. Then you limped towards the doorway, biting your tongue to stifle the pained whimpers threatening to escape you, and opened it. Peering outside, you looked to your left and right, checking whether someone was around. Satisfied at not seeing anybody, you stepped out and silently shut the door behind you. Making your way to the kitchen, you put as little strain as possible on the ankle.

Aside from being embarrassed about your clumsiness, you also didn’t want them to worry about you or for them to start treating you as if you were a fragile thing. You weren’t. You really weren’t. You were a human and they were demons. Surely, you would be able to handle this just fine on your own, and wouldn't have to rely on one of the brothers.

It took you almost twice as long as usual to get to the kitchen, but once you did, you immediately started gathering all of the supplies you needed to prepare the meal. Still, you stayed vigilant, closely listening for any noises so you’d know when to stop limping.

What you hadn’t accounted for, however, was the practiced silence of Lucifer’s steps. You didn’t hear him arrive, rather, you felt his presence, the way his crimson gaze burned into your back. It made the hairs on your neck stand up and you whipped around to see him leaning against the doorframe, his eyes narrowed and fixed on you.

“And what exactly,” he drawled, pushing himself off the frame to saunter towards you, “do you think you’re doing?”

“Cooking dinner…?” you replied hesitantly, although it sounded more like a question than an answer. His tall figure loomed over you, and you tried your best to maintain a casual position that kept your weight off your foot.

“Is that so?” he hummed thoughtfully, scrutinizing you. “What made you think that this was a good idea in your current state?”

“Huh? Come again?”

“You are hurt, are you not?” Lucifer’s voice was calm and collected, in contrast to the displeasure evident on his face.

“I’m not, I’m totally fi-” you began, only to be cut off by him saying your name sharply.

“Do not take me for a fool. Answer me. What made you think walking around with an injury was a good idea?”

“It’s my turn to cook dinner…” was your meek reply, and he simply sighed deeply.

“Seriously. You are incorrigible. I can’t believe you sometimes. Sit down. Now.”

Reluctantly, you obeyed him. He kneeled in front of you, reaching for your ankle, and pulled the shoe off with careful motions that betrayed the ire he was exuding.

“It’s just a bit twisted. I’m sure it’ll be fine by tomorrow, there’s no need to make a big deal out of this,” you mumbled, grimacing as you watched your swollen and bruised foot become visible again.

“Twisted, you say?” Lucifer echoed, his gloved fingers delicately grasping your injured body part as he examined it. At first, it was painful, but soon a soft glow emanated from his hands, providing a cooling sensation that dulled the ache. “It is not twisted. You sprained it, if not worse.”

“Oh…” you responded quietly. “Well, that’s not good, I guess?”

“Not good…” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “That certainly is one way to say it. Especially considering that you have foolishly decided to keep straining it.”

Standing back up, he hooked one arm underneath your knees, wrapping the other around your back to lift you up. Your brain short-circuited for a moment as you were held against Lucifer’s chest. He was already halfway to your room when you managed to recover yourself and glanced up at his face to study his stern expression. Red eyes darted down to meet yours, and you flinched internally at the combination of anger and disappointment swirling in them, swiftly averting your gaze. Once he had entered, he placed you on the bed and made sure to elevate your ankle, then he turned to leave.

“Stay here and do not move. I will return soon,” he said gruffly, and with that, he was gone, leaving you alone. Defeated, you let your head sink into the pillow and stared at the ceiling. Eventually, the door handle was being pushed downwards, and heels clicked across the floor as Lucifer approached you, pulling up a chair to sit on.

“I will perform a quick diagnostic spell. It may cause an odd feeling, just bear with it for a minute,” he informed you matter-of-factly, and you gave an affirming hum, only briefly glancing at him to catch a glimpse of first-aid materials before looking away again. Mumbling some words under his breath, he grazed his fingertips over the swollen flesh, the leather of his gloves barely touching your skin. It was silent for a while and your foot prickled until he withdrew his touch.

“You are lucky. Nothing is broken, however, one of the ligaments is partially torn,” Lucifer explained plainly. “You will have to stay in bed and rest for at least a week.”

“A week?!” you exclaimed indignantly, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him. “You can’t be serious! What about RAD? I have a presentation in two days!”

He huffed in annoyance and shot you a glare, taking out bandages.

“You have two options: either you will stay in bed voluntarily or I will have you tied to it. So, what shall it be, hm?”

Without offering a response, you sank back into the bed.

“Good. I’m glad you’re finally being reasonable,” he grumbled and started wrapping your ankle up carefully.

Turning your head away from him, you clenched your jaw tightly when the pain that he had dulled earlier with whatever spell he had used resurfaced temporarily. Lucifer heaved a faint sigh as he took note of your stubborn stillness and your tense posture. As soon as he was done, he put a cold compress on your ankle and sat on the bed next to you, the mattress sinking under his weight. He spoke your name; you didn’t respond.

“Come on now,” he whispered, his voice much gentler now, and he stroked a hand over your hair, “I am simply looking out for you, you know that, right? You are far too reckless with your health.”

“You’re one to talk,” you retorted, and pouted, but you turned your gaze back towards him, observing his softened expression as he hovered over you.

“Don’t deflect,” he chuckled, and cupped your cheek, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I will make up for it, alright? I am going to keep you company. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

“Fine…” you breathed.

“That’s my good human,” Lucifer cooed, tilting your face up to brush his lips against yours. “Now, rest.”

[ladythornofrivia]

Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part One)

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: modern!reader woke up in Westeros after getting drunk.

pair: aemond x reader

warnings & disclaimer: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant but is secretly a softie, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works but is a Aemond stan, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, jealousy, stalking, virginity loss, obsession, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Pro-Green, Reader is a green supporter. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader).

a/n: it’s official! It’s here! I hope you enjoy my fanfic series of ‘Kingdom of Fire and Blood’.

Chapter One: The Dark Uproar

In a realm of dragons and knights,

There lays with conquer and fear, from scorching summer through bleak winters, through life of air and fire and ashes.

In a realm of nobility and law, in the halls of mountain and sea,

the green star has shed upon the dark, cloudless sky, wedged upon the shrouded waters of Westeros.

The green star has emerged.

“Seize her! Don’t let her get away!” the man pointed at you dashing away from the scenery.

It’s a dream. You were sure that it’s a dream. Dreams occurred in a blurry vision, not by transparency. Dreams are often—and easily—forgotten once awake after the newborn daylight arises.

In a midst of pursuit, you retraced back your steps. You went at your friend’s celebration, then eat and watched anime— you didn’t have much vigor to spare for removing your makeup due to sleepiness. The last thing you ever did was you resting on your warm bed without a change of clothing, now dry and shivering, laying down on a half-parched sand, half-asleep while unsure of what’s happening before your arrival. You were unconscious deeply in your sleep you weren’t aware of the commotion you have caused, awoken by the young knight, who found you in the brink of nightfall—who fled and carried you—travelled within distance for three days.

Under a huffed breath, legs and feet numbed as you carried yourself away to stray paths where band of guards weren’t able to trace you accurately. You’re much lighter and faster with sprinting; due to their armor, they couldn’t move they so desire. Even more so when some guards have horses with them. Or hounds barking with thirst for a good gnaw on your youthful flesh.

Until now, you’re steadfast with rush. Harsh wind blasted in your earholes at the stallion’s speed.

Your mind is raced with previous encounter, mind occupied with millions of panic inquiries.

~ before the chase ~

Previously, with your skin and bones beneath your tight crop top shirt and tennis skirt quivering at a spine-tingling weather, despite the lack of storming wind, you have no idea where to begin on what to say to the young knight but offering him a small yet timid smile to lessen the intensity of cumbersome fate that’s forcefully thrusted upon you, oblivious and frightened, shaking like a grumpy feline that despises water or anything that touches the feline.

Upon the yearnings of a weeping locked inside your heaving chest, of begging and wanting to go home was futile, estranged within a foreign land. As the vexed fate of anxiety clambered into your heart, the staggering breaths and rasps in your voice and your loud thoughts has been noticed by a young man in fancy armor, bestowing you with a relieved grin etched on his weary features. You’re certain that Halloween is over.

“You have awaken,” he said with a brightened grin, though you weren’t focused on the sound of his voice, but saw his lips shifted.

Noticing the young man’s eyes, you were positive that no one wouldn’t rescue a stranger such as yourself. Groaning, you leaned your back against over the bulkiness of a tumbled tree. Fire flickered and crackled like bones snapped to pieces.

“Can you hear me, my lady?” he asked, alarmed yet almost as quiet; he didn’t wish to see you alert under his aid.

“My lady,” you repeated, lifting your heavy-numbing head, confused as you were shaking with your eyes sealed with bursting pink stars flowing in your black vision, ears, head and heart pounded against you wakened state. Sighing, you resumed with, “How long have I been unconscious?”

“For three days,” he said, the soft outline of his lips curled upward, as if he was relieved to see you alive and well. Your eyes examined him, spotting the clean armor and a long sword carried in his sheath.

“What happened?”

“I saw you lying unconscious, so I have to come and save you, hoping that you’re alive.”

Everything was bizarre at this point.

“Save me?” you asked the boy, subconscious, coughing out the thick, salted water, clutching your chest tight, pounding for the leftover to drain.

“Yes, my lady,” the young man said with a kind smile, but his glassy eyes beamed against your frightful ones, covered in soot, despite being drenched. “I was sent by my father for a further alliance with another house, but as soon as I left the castle, I found lying you unconscious in the midst of the ocean. I have swam my way to rescue you.”

“Where did you find me exactly? I’m all wet,” you commented, lips curled in disgust your clothes are caked in black sand and puddle.

“I found you by the shores, and took you in quick before anyone could search on the grounds.”

Your head was pounding.

“Shores?”

“At Blackwater Bay,” he explained.

Blackwater Bay, you thought as your fingernails scraped onto your wet scalp. That name sounds familiar.

The back of your head was pounding. “Are we still at Blackwater Bay?”

“We travelled within three days while you were in your subconscious state. A fewer miles ahead and you’re already in the kingdom.”

Then the skies filled with an animalistic roar, screeching like nails on a chalkboard.

Your ears covered and shoulder blades flinched at the long, grating sound.

Your shoulders flinched as you said, “What the hell is that?”

The young man still grinned, remaining silenced from your projected inquiry.

“They’re still frightened of the sound,” is all he said. “Of the light.”

You eyed on him with perplexed expression resting on your features.

“What light?” you wondered. “What did you mean when you ‘they’re still frightened of the sound’?”

“Dragons,” the young man said, eyes twinkled. “You came down here with the light, and that’s what’s causing the uproar.”

You found his cryptic statement alarmingly bizarre due to his faint enthusiasm.

“We’re reaching close to our destination,” he said, but you still don’t comprehend.

Bewildered, before you could ask another, the clanging sounds of metal and flickering flames on a torch and countless heavy stomps dashed on its way to your direction.

“Allow me to escort you to safety. These guards are brutal than ravage beasts,” he said to you. “I can’t let a young maiden die in vain.”

Your breath held in shortly.

“Which way should I go? Is there a safe spot for me to hide?”

“Take the nearest path down on a pebbled road and hide. From there, you’ll see the narrow passage, one where no one uses. Traitors and spies lurking about the lower grounds.” and kept heading The young man pushed you, guided you and instructed you to conceal behind the large and sharp boulder, while your legs shaken, air colder than ice. However, another realization dawned upon your wake. You have nowhere to go. Not in this foreign land.

Thoughts conjured and slice your numb mind open. Death is near me; I’ll be killed if I don’t have something with me.

“Where am I heading to?”

“Somewhere far where they can’t reach you or trace your steps. You’re heading to a place where the crown’s might is still strong.”

You paused in your tracks. Wait, that can’t be right.

The rumbled noise made it’s passage close to your location, causing for your heart and his sprung with immense fear.

Both of you reached in time as he hoisted your body up on the saddle. Before whipping the reins on the horse, the young man gave you the dagger with a symbol on his shining armor. The same sigil the knight has on his armor—or so it appears. “You’ll be in safer hands if you carry something with you.”

“If we meet again, I’ll return this blade back to you.”

His eyes gazed into yours with a sad smile.

“Still, I don’t even know your name.”

He grasped your hand shortly. He smiled. “Ser Remon Blackwood.”

The pounded hooves reached a louder noise, getting near to your direction.

“Thank you, Ser Blackwood,” you said.

Remon Blackwood had his hand reached out to yours. “You share kindness like no other. Not like the people in the realm with conquering dragons. It’s an honor to meet you, my lady,” he said, giving you a one last smile.

“Dragons?” you questioned in shock.

He gave a hard slap on the horse’s front leg, as he watched his given horse galloped with you giving one last look onto the despairing knight with a somber smile.

Your eyes darted forward, leaving your ears perceiving the traced sounds of sword clashed and rang, forest filled with raged shouts.

Afar, a young knight plea for mercy, then a long-produced sounds of swords slipped through cracked armor and bones, blood shed and slimed over the forest ground.

Then nothing; only the solid ripples of the heavy hooves and a rushed wind from a great stallion’s speed deafened onto your ears.

The good knight is dead.

And the nightfall became colder.

~ present ~

The horse nearly reached to a wide-ranged road when five of the men continued to pursuit you, eyes preyed on you at the back of your head, drilling and contain in unyielding desire of violence.

“Kill the bitch!” one man shouted.

Looking over to your shoulder, on your left, you saw the man on the right drew out a bow, and sent the arrow down at your back. But you managed to duck in time. With an irritated huff, the man sent another blow with the second arrow. You ducked your head once more, gazing back, then forth, then back again.

Heart pounding in your chest; the distance between them began to shrink.

“For fuck’s sake,” the first man bellowed, wrinkles on his forehead protruded, veins on his neck were visible. “Sent the arrow flying down on that bitch’s neck, you good for nothing prick!”

The second man’s face went pale. “I’m trying, sire.”

“Try harder, you useless fucktwad!”

Clutched fingers against the writhed reins grew tired, the steadiness in your breath increased tenfold in suffocation, heart rate escalated twice as strong—feeling hot and cold all at once. Cold sweat plastered to your clutched hands as you whipped the reins harder, indicating a sign for the stallion advance farther. The pace began to slow; you whipped the reins, but no to avail.

“Please, hurry,” you begged, head leaning against the horse’s ear, holding onto your dear life as death still awaits for you.

The man reload with the third arrow. His aim targeted to your face. For a second, he went still with his aim, but immediately shot at the back of the horse’s leg. The back of the horse’s limbs tripped and flipped in mid-air, sent you flying forward with a loud clash on the forest ground that nearly shattered your back and ribcage. Ears rang and eyes shut with gritted teeth droned a sharp hiss from your lips as the men dismounted down and marched their towered over you crumpled form.

Immediately, you gathered your shattered form and fled with your hidden in plain sight. The limp on your leg made a painfully deliberate pace as you attempt to go farther while the men with cloaks and big swords, following you, wearing a yellow and crooked teeth on their lips, sniggering at your flee. And by the time you reached at the centered road, nearly to the exit, your path has been blocked by two more men, who you unaware of the extra company. One man grabbed a fistful of your hair and dragged you down. Drawing the dagger out, your hand brought down on his foot, then his knee, then his thigh—never minding the hysterical noise. Loosening the grip on your head, while on your knees, with a support of your foot, you spun around and stabbed a knee from another man.

You couldn’t scream or cry for help anymore. After all, you’re drowsy from ocean water, still wet and lost, in an unwonted void of labyrinth.

“What shall we do of this little cunt?” the man with a thin beard said.

“We’re going to make a use of her, bore into her with my seed and carry the filthy bastard inside her,” the second man with a short, uneven bowl cut suggested confidently. “After that, I’ll eat her flesh.”

“Stupid cunt can’t even fend for herself,” the third man, who was shorter than you said, cackling. “Let’s all take turns then. Whoever makes her scream the hardest, will get to keep her as a toy.”

One man undo his armor on the half-bottom, the clanging armor bumped in haste rhythm, as all the men who towered over your sicken stature, shed their trousers out.

Before one could pull the long cock out, with a knife in your hand, given by the young knight, you sliced his cock apart, left him wailing like an infant, blood splattered like waterfall. The men hovered you with their grubby hands, but you dodged—rolled back and took a hard swing at the man on your left, chopped his hand off. With the knife on your hand, it felt more like a short sword.

Another man has struck.

The bulky man in the middle plunged a full swing on your belly. Yelping, your arms encompassed over your flesh as the man plunged another blow with his hardened boot. His eyes gaze over the blade and punted it over to the side, then stomped over your belly and breasts in repeated motion until he grows tired. Once his foot has grown fatigue, he grabbed your thighs and spread them apart.

“No…” you said, pleading and crying. “Please don’t!”

The man dragged your panties and your tennis skirt down in barbarous motion. “Stay still and be a good wench,” he said, muddy fingers traced over your skin. You bit his fingers, drawing hot blood.

Enraged, his hands strangled you. With quick thinking, you knee slammed against his balls and kicked his face, crawling away before retrieving the dagger back, the man stomped over your left wrist, your mouth opened, but no sound came except the twinge of pain searing in your bones.

“You should’ve listen and stay still like a dog,” the man sneering, pulling your hair back again. The blurriness in your eyes worsened.

With your bones and limbs have been shattered, the hope in you began to fade. No hopes of a savior or luck stayed in hand with your despair.

His boot lunched another blow struck against your face, only to be bled through your nose, your body is broken and immovable, you couldn’t find yourself speaking, or cry for aid. Nothing good ever comes.

Except you’re alive. In fact, you were letting your guard down—pretending to be dead, abiding for the enemy to make a hasty error. The squint on your right eye left a little gap, seeing the man, kneeling down on you as he took off his trousers merrily. But as he splayed his cock out in the cold air, you managed the seize the dagger, tackled him and slashed his throat, while alive, the dagger impaled him through one of his eyes, then nose, then cheek—spare vigor imploded under a last sheer of your quick anger. The man’s face and mouth flowed with warm blood, choking and plopped down back on the surface with a thunderous thud.

From there, you stood once more and limped your way through the exit from the forest’s road in so little steps.

Only remains are the trees billowed and rustled and swayed through a gentle, cool breeze, and with you exhaling with a cautious breath you held in your chest and limbs worn out and limped as your vision drown into darkness.

~~~

Ser Criston Cole accompanied the band of men through the forest, as for they ought to repose for a short while. Sundowns became long, and the dragons in the heavens unyielded through an unforgiving climate.

The dragons don’t bear the coldness of wintry-like air. In the old days of Valyria, centuries before the time of Viserys’s reign, none of the great dragons and its people survived the Doom of Valyria, and within the errored times, from moving Essos to Westeros, dragons hatched into a total of eighteen—mighty and proud and carnivorous and bloodthirsty, though tamed through the influence of their rightful owners—heirlooms and foundation of companionship and trust between those who have the blood of a Valyria and connections through history. For instance, Vhagar is the second largest dragon compare to the other dragon riders owned. Dragons are obedient when those who dialect in Valyrian tongue, if not some. Some takes a special gift to have certain trust with a dragon, and dragon shares it’s mutual respect to the owner.

But it can’t say the same to the recent owners. The Blackwater Bay boomed nearby the Dragonstone. And during the nightly hours, the dragons were deeply asleep, though fully awakened by the quiet whiplash of what it appears to be none other than the small green light yet brightly shot downward from the vast of great, empty sky. Two nights ago, Prince Daemon tried to appease his dragon, Caraxes, the red scaly beast, but it’s clear enough to sent the prince with hesitation. Prince Daemon reached Caraxes with his hand for reassurance but Caraxes nearly snapped Prince Daemon’s hand in half. Criston Cole has neither seen Prince Daemon or Caraxes in the verge of calamity. Prince Daemon, a rogue prince who tends be as brute yet reckless and composed has been caught off guard.

The dragons have startled the men—knights and royals alike completely—peasants, too. The green starry light has fallen into the thundering waves, almost as if it was the end of Westeros. The booming wave from Blackwater Bay still lingers the aftermath effect. None slept through the night. They were returning to King’s Landing from meeting the lord from the north nearby the Blackwater Bay. But Prince Daemon, as always, fled away without considering so much of a wait for the others.

Under the gentle moonlight floating from the clouds, Ser Criston and his men galloped through the forest with their horses, hooves stomped over the twigs and dead leaves and the steeped grounds. By the time they reached into the monumental of pointed, red structures and gold and white in the city, Criston Cole couldn’t wait to repose and serve the Greens, mainly Queen Alicent, King Viserys’s second wife.

The stallion neighed loudly as it thrown its front hooves up in the air. Criston Cole’s heart leapt, somewhat appeasing his steed as the men behind him halted without a warning, causing others to nearly fall.

“What in the Seven Hells…” the man beside Criston Cole, took upon the glance at the fallen men in the midst of their exit.

Criston took the man’s torch and investigated the scenery. The fallen men all have bled from their knees to their open crotches. Hardness of their cock had flung out from a sharp blade. Criston winced at the sudden imagery flashed through his head.

“What could’ve done this…” a scrawny man said, perturbed.

“It must’ve been the work of a demon,” another man commented.

Criston moved onward, his legs carried him far and examined the view before him long before he reached to a figure, laying down. Rushing to her side, he noticed that her attire was far strangely and strikingly unique and bright compare what other women in the court wore. Turning her over, Criston settled his palm over her visage, pushing the long locks aside.

“My lady,” he muttered, still calm. While carrying the torch, he removed his glove with his teeth and touched her face. It was warm. Then he traced his hand below on the center of her chest.

Her heart in fact, still beating. He heaved with relief and called out to his men.

“This girl is alive! We must take her back to King’s Landing!” He passed the torch to the man beside him, who was following Criston without Criston noticed, and ripped his cloak off and wrapped the cloak around you and carried your unconscious body back to the men. Instructing the man to carry you while mounted on his horse and retrieved you back, placing you at the front.

“What of the Targaryens?” the man asked, somewhat scared.

Criston gave a sharp glare.

His fellow comrades, knowing Criston’s reputation, has not said a word, and followed Criston back to the realm where dragons reign.

Taglist: @liannafae

@ aemondswifffeeeyyy - all rights reserved

[stsgluver]

synopsis. gojo satoru always wins.

wc. 880

tags. gojo x reader, fluff, spoilers for 236, possible spelling mistakes I have not proofread this (do I ever?)

a/n. currently clearing out all my old wips. i've already written this in a different version I think but idc bc if i write about him coming home enough times he will eventually do it. my next few works are probs going to be my rich boy!gojo drafts

there was a brief moment when the world stilled. the air was squeezed from your lungs as everything around you slowly began to spin and you weren’t sure the last time you had slept – had it been that long that the hallucinations were finally starting to kick in?

“oh my god.” those were the only words you could utter in your state of disbelief. you couldn’t close your eyes: you couldn’t risk him disappearing. if you were brave enough, you’d reach out to trace the new scars carved into his porcelain skin.

“you can’t say that, you know how my ego is,” gojo looked as gorgeous as ever, arm raised as he leant against the doorframe of his apartment. the same apartment you’d set up camp in nineteen days ago and had only left when yuuji brought you some food. you’d lost too much to process and you were a shell of the person gojo had kissed goodbye to before he left for shibuya. there were deep purple bags under your eyes, your hair was loosely tied back in a messy bun that probably hadn’t been properly washed or brushed in several days and your clothes were probably just gojo’s – you’d been desperate for some sense of familiarity. 

he looked like he hadn’t just been sealed away in another realm. the only evidence of a struggle were his new scars that seemed to decorate every inch of available skin, beyond that he looked excited to be alive, his fitted clothes clinging to him. his cursed energy was terrifyingly immense and you knew him well enough to know he was still riding off of a high that came with fighting for him. 

you were scared to ask who had been the opponent – never would the world’s strongest sorcerer be injured and not cause equal amounts of harm in return. he had a title to uphold after all, something to prove.

“not even a hello?” he shook his head, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he tsked you. he was so casual in his mannerisms, playing it all off as though he hadn’t spent what felt like an eternity counting down the seconds so that he could see you again. “you can’t have forgotten me that quickly.” he was practically whining now, desperate for the love and warmth you gave him but not daring to cross the threshold and smother you. 

you weren’t a sorcerer and though you understood some of his world, there was so much more that you didn’t. gojo would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared that one day it would be too overwhelming for you and you’d leave him like everyone else had. 

so he did what he did best: masked his insecurities with a sarcastic humour that held no bite: “don’t tell me there’s another man in the house.”

you smiled, and blinked, and you were suddenly here again; in the moment with him and not a thousand miles away wondering what the hell he’d been through. a lone tear slipped down your cheek and gojo ached to wipe it away.

“are you… are you real?” your voice was still shaky and if it wasn’t for the complete silence, you doubted that he would’ve been able to hear you. 

but he did, and then his arm is up against the doorframe again and he was gesturing to his physique as he complimented himself, “super powerful, mega rich and dashingly handsome? i know how perfect i may seem but i’m very real.” he winked and suddenly it was like you remembered that you have free will, practically jumping into his arms.

gojo wasn’t phased as he tucked you tightly into his body, his cursed technique completely dropped for the first time in what felt like forever. his body breathed a sigh of relief as his muscles ached.

“you’re such a jackass,” you lifted up your head to rest against his chest, eyes shining with tears that didn't fall.

gojo nodded slowly, brushing back the loose strands of your hair as he stared at you adoringly, “you love me.”

“mhmm,” you hummed, taking a step back from his longing arms to look up at him through your lashes. “y’know,” you traced a finger across the material on his chest, “you could make it up to me by closing your eyes.” his breath hitched ever so slightly under your touch. you leant in so that your lips almost touched his ear, “i need to kick my boytoy out. things could get kinda awkward if you two saw each other.”

it would be easier to list the things gojo wouldn’t do for you. he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, even going as far as to hold a hand over them. “how pretty is he on a scale of 1-10?”

there was a pause before you responded, as you took in every inch of the man that stood before you. a god in a mortal’s body. one that lived and breathed and worshipped you. “he’s gorgeous,” you whispered, breathless simply from his existence alone. and then he’s smiling and laughing and picking you up, spinning you in a circle and telling you how much he loves you and for a few brief seconds he’s just satoru and you’re just his.

[sailoryooons]

Incubus yoongi x reader

Go wild with smut maybe theres fluff and angst too! Love your writing so much

☾ Pairing: Incubus!Yoongi x archdevil!Reader

☾ Summary: 

Sunder (sun·​der) transitive verb : to break apart or in two : to separate by or as if by violence or by intervening time or space Sunder (sun·​der) intransitive verb : to become parted, disunited, or severed

☾ Word Count: 5,297

☾ Genre: Smut, Forbidden Romance, Angst, Fated Lovers

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Vague worldbuilding - this takes place in a Hell setting so.. Lots of talk of literal hell, implied violence and war, themes of classism/species racism, hint of political scheming, depiction of servants who are chained/collared, implications of sex work/incubi being bread specifically for sex work, honestly Yoongi and reader kinda give co-dependant vibes, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, a little bit of overstim, cum eating if you squitn, multiple orgasms, bleeding/scratching/biting, possessive themes… um I don’t know the smut scene is more PrOsEy than straight-up smut. 

☾ Published: Sunday, April 7 2024

☾ A/N: We are using Forgotten Realms (dnd) lore because I was randomly inspired to do so. You need zero knowledge of Forgotten Realms or dnd lore to read this - there is vague world building and references to a plot on the side that I imagine Yoongi and reader are a part of but that does not happen in this little one shot. I just did it for the tension and because I’m out of control. 100% change I got some dnd lore wrong - don’t care, I kinda made it my own in parts as needed!!! Thank you!!! 

☾ A/N 2: Dear anon, I don’t have a clue what this is, but it was inspired by a very specific scene in the movie Troy when Paris (Orlando Bloom) sneaks up to Helen’s (Diane Kruger) room while the Greeks and Trojans are downstairs partying and he’s like hehe let’s bang it out. That’s it. I really hope you like this because sometimes I fill requests and I'm like ..... that probably was not what they had in mind and yet here I am, delivering whatever ??? this is ??

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾Filled Requests ☾ Masterlist  Milestone Request Event ☾ Ask

Note: I don't use my tag list for requests!

A pair of dark eyes in the shadows around the party catches your attention as you listen to Archdevil Belial's drone about his victory in Phlegethos. The fiend’s words fall on deaf ears as your gaze narrows to a deadly point on the man lingering in the shadows across the room, keeping away from the revelry with a single chalice in his hand.

And he’s staring at you. 

You feel your muscles constrict as you flick your gaze away, your heart rate picking up speed as you try and focus on Belial again. It isn’t a story you care to hear about - he’s been droning about his defeat of the Kelemvor worshipers on the fiery planes of Phlegethos. Hardly a battle as much as a skirmish outside of the city gates that demanded his attention. 

Archdevil Belial is none the wiser that the creature he really desires to kill is lurking at the edge of the party, burning eyes on you as he cocks his head and glances toward the empty staircase that leads toward the living quarters. 

There’s a twitch of irritation in your stomach as Yoongi turns and vanishes into the shadows. He is good at being seen only when he wants to, which works in his favor when he enters the hall of his greatest enemies, all in one room because of war meetings against the very fiend who now slips upstairs to your bedroom. 

It was only a matter of time before Yoongi showed up - despite the level of stupidity it takes to show up in the hall of your sworn enemy. Yoongi likes to show off though. He likes to remind his enemies - and himself - that he is not so easily kept out of places that he wants to be. 

Especially if those places he’s being kept from have you inside of them. 

“Thank you for the conversation, Lord Belial,” you interrupt. The devil looks at you with his mouth open, eyes blazing as you interrupt him to dismiss yourself. You feel a small twist of satisfaction. “I must retire for the evening. I am returning home tomorrow before starting my campaign through the realms to ensure my father’s army are being… led properly.”

Belial’s face twitches in irritation. You’re above his station - though not too far - and decorum is everything in matters of spoken insult. “Yes,” he agrees. “It is important for our… figureheads to inspire. The Whip of Asmodeus paints a threatening picture, to be sure. It is hard to be of influence on the battlefield - we do appreciate your efforts off the field.” 

A laugh like cutting glass bubbles from your lips. “You honor me.” You feel the ice in your mouth when you dip your head politely, pretending to be unbothered by the implication that you’re nothing but an empty threat. “I will see you in a tenday, Lord Belial, when I come to inspire in Phlegethos.”

With a curt turn, you cut through the party toward the stone dias. Those in attendance part for you like water parting around a sharp boulder, hurrying to get out of your way. Figurehead or real threat doesn’t matter - you’re the daughter of their lord and by rights their lady. 

Your father sits on his throne of twisted bone and fire ahead of the party, crimson eyes drinking in all that happens from his seat of power. Yet he has missed something incredibly important that now lingers upstairs waiting for you. The thought makes your lips twitch in a smirk as you ascend the stairs to where Asmodeus sits, a giddy tingle in your belly. 

A beautiful incubus boy sits next to the throne on the floor, a gold collar around his neck with a glittering chain that leads to Asdmodeous’ hand. The incubus looks at your father with adoration, gold eyes burning. Mouth agape. Breath catching. 

You don’t know how much of it is performance. It’s always hard to tell with the lower level fiends what is real and what is an act. It’s part of the dangerous game they play, and thought you’re more accustomed to their kind - especially the one lurking in your room - you’re still unsure how to tell the difference with this one.

You catch the scent of honey and vanilla as you step nearer, though the incubus doesn’t look at you. You immediately feel the ebbing power of allure from the creature, battering your senses just being so close. Asmodeus seems unaffected by the battering power of lust radiating from the incubus, but you see the two guards behind him glance toward the creature on the floor. 

You grit your teeth and ignore the twist in your gut, trying not to be irritated. Only one man has power over you this way. It isn’t the incubus’ fault that he’s doing what he was trained to do, but the sudden pitch in your stomach and dizziness you feel around him unsettles you. 

“I am returning to my chambers, Father,” you murmur, bowing deeply. “I have grown wear of Belial’s peacocking.” 

Behind him are two massive Orthons, no less than eight feet in height and wide like a troll. Their horns are curling and battle-scarred, ugly tusks showing from thick, fat lips. The beasts are hellish weapons from wars passed, now assigned to the personal guard of your father. You note that they also did not notice the shadowy incubus slipping into their party and up the stairwell.

It almost makes you tsk. Even for a creature as skilled and powerful as Yoongi, slipping past an entire party full of the most powerful infernals in the realms is impressive. He is, of course, more than just an incubus now, but still. The sheer magnitude of doing it successfully is not lost on you - and makes you worried for his sanity. 

“Sleep well,” Admodeous voice rumbles, his voice like stones grinding together. “Tomorrow, you return to Malbolge and ready to set out on your campaign.” His fiery eyes turn to you and you feel the weight of the burning Nine Hells press against you. “They will feel the crack of the Whip of Asmodeous and know that we are mighty. 

“It will be done.”

“She is as pretty as My Lord is,” the incubus boy purrs from where he sits at the foot of the throne. You glance at him, realizing that his golden gaze has broken away from your father and turned to you. Your stomach twists in equal parts anger, guilt, and disgust as you feel the lick of his power. “The House of Asmodeus is as beautiful as they are powerful.”

Again, it’s hard to discern if the incubus is performing or if he means it. Asmodeus pulls the chain hard, yanking incubus toward him. You hear his neck pop, though it doesn’t break as the creature wimpers at the sudden show of violence. “Do not speak to her, worm. You are nothing. She is the Heir Apparent and Princess of the Nine Hells. You are fodder.” 

The incubus cowers, and ducks his head away from you, curling in on himself. The sensual allure to him lessens distinctly, the energy souring. You feel your fingers twitch as you think of Yoongi. It is not difficult to guess that Asmodeous’ newfound desire to humiliate and dissipate incubi and succubi are inspired by his hatred and inability to rid himself of Yoongi’s stain. 

Swallowing thickly, you bow once more, slipping backward off the dias and toward the stairs that lead upward. No one guards them - there are supposed to be no enemies at this party - and shadow falls over them, the torches flickering as though watching you ascend.

Music and voices follow you up the stairs, the soft click of your shoes against the carved stone louder in the growing silence as you navigate to your bedrooms. The staircase winds and the sounds drift further away from you until it’s only the crackling of occasional sconces and your steps.

Two heavy doors in the west wing of the Citadel belong to your bedroom. The crackling energy of the arcana buzzing along them acting as a lock makes your skin tingle. You mutter the password and feel the pop of magic as it vanishes, allowing you to push heavily against one of the doors to grind it open. 

The room is both yours and not. It was your room for most of your life growing up under the ruler of the Nine Hells, opulent and dark, full of old possessions and heavy, draping curtains to keep out the smoke and ruin, rich art painted by careful hands with red and purple splashed across canvas. 

Now, it feels like a room that belonged to someone else entirely. You’re no longer the vicious little thing that thought would sit on the throne in Nessus one day. You’re no longer the unthinking weapon that Asmodeous uses to maintain order and public punishment. 

A large bed stands on a lifted dais, covered in silks and piled high with pillows. They lay undisturbed as you close the door behind you and mutter the password again, feeling the static of magic seal them shut behind you. It would take a small army to batter through them, thankfully. 

Your eyes scour the room. Embers burn in a smoldering fireplace, offering little light in the dimness of the bedroom. A large sitting area stretches to the right with leather chairs and velvet chaises, tables covered in untouched books and scrolls. 

To the left is an open study, a heavy wooden desk in the middle of the room backed with bookshelf-covered walls and heavy chests locked with tombs inside. You see the cover of a journal flipped open, the only sign that Yoongi had been lingering in your study snooping. 

Your mouth twitches at the corner as you look away from it. Yoongi leaving something out of place is only ever on purpose, a confirmation to you that yes - his visit has double meaning. You might be the primary reason the incubus and favored chosen warrior of a death god has snuck into his enemy’s home, but you’re not the only reason. Of course he is looking for any extra information he can use against his enemies. 

It stings a little more than you’d like. 

Stepping further into the room, you swivel your gaze back and forth, looking for a sign of the slippery man himself. A master of shadows, Yoongi is only seen when he wants to be. Strange, for a fiend whose very nature is to be seen and devoured, to give and to receive, to lure and enjoy. Most of his life has been spent in spectacle, and now he spends it in the shadows. 

Warm breath brushes against the back of your neck, making your skin prickle. “I like this dress.” 

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Yoongi’s callused fingers brush up your arm. It’s a ghost of touch but it makes your eyelids flutter shut, warmth thrumming in your stomach immediately. Unlike the incubus downstairs, you don’t feel a magnetic pull that is arcane here. You just feel the pull to Yoongi - a desire that is your own and fueled by nothing else. 

He has no reason to use his charm here. It makes you shiver as you lean backward into him, eager to feel the solidness of his chest and smell the sweet wine on his breath. 

“You always say that,” he purrs, the words low and scratchy. His other hand comes up to brush his fingers up and down your other arm, pulling you toward him full. You melt, fading into him faster than you should. “When will you learn that I will go wherever you are?” 

“Even if it means your own demise? You’re in the Citadel of Asmodeus.” 

“He’s killed me before.” Yoongi’s touch is more solid now, hands exploring your waist and curves, squeezing your flesh, pressing you against his waist. You rest the back of your head against his neck, inhaling cedarwood and sage. “I’m not so easily destroyed.” 

“Don’t.” 

You don’t want to recall the many times Yoongi has been wrenched away from you. Each time a little closer to permanence than the last. Time and time again, he has been ripped from your hands as your father attempts to destroy the fate linking you, to burn it until there is no tether there. 

“You’ve been good,” Yoongi notes. His hand goes to the silk strings on the side of your dress, pulling them undone. “He truly thinks you no longer think of me? That he has succeeded where he has failed a dozen times before?” 

“Yes.”

“His arrogance knows no bounds. He’ll think he’s a god, soon enough.”

You turn your head to the side, brushing your mouth against Yoongi’s. His lips are warm and taste of wine, urging your tongue to swipe across his bottom lip for a taste. “Is he not?” you ask against his mouth, fighting the need to shiver as one side of your dress falls open. “He rules the Nine Hells absolutely.” 

“Oh come off it,” He laughs. “You and I both know that isn’t true, otherwise he wouldn’t be in a civil war. Plus… I have recently acquired Avernus and Dis.” 

You straighten and turn around sharply to look at him, brows furrowing. For a moment, you forget what it is he’s said to shock you. You’re hypnotized by eyes dark enough that they reflect the stars when in the mortal world, a mouth that is soft and sensuous, a gentle, round nose that is opposed to the way he can turn it up at someone in a sneer. A faded scar over one eye - one of many that he's received over the years.

Yoongi is beautiful the way the moon is, distant and cold, but with a glow of softness that is often underestimated. 

You had made that mistake before. A long time ago, incubi and the lower creatures of the Nine Hells hadn’t been a blip on your radar. They were nothing to a princess of the Nine Hells, someone whose entire purpose for existing would be to one day step into ruling over all nine of the realms crushed in your father’s fist. 

Now, you know better. You’d been a silly, arrogant girl then, head filled with dreams of ruling over the dread cities and bringing the dukes and duchesses to heel. You’d never considered that perhaps your existence was more for appearances and leverage than anything else. 

A puppet. 

Belial, was, unfortunately, quite right about that. 

“What do you mean you have Avernus and Dis?”

“The skirmish in Phlegethos was a distraction. The dukes and duchess’ have been so frenzied about making sure they don’t have any disruptions in their rule that Belial scrambled to deal with his, turning his eye away from the others. Mammon… well you know Mammon. He is not a concern, for now. He cares little who holds Avernus and Dis.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I had help with Dis.”

That sours your stomach. “Bel.” 

“He has no love for Zariel. And he’s from Dis.”

“He’s a traitor. You’d do well not to trust him. Who knows when he’ll turn on you if promised something.”

“The Nine Hells are full of traitors.” Yoongi’s deft fingers undo the other side of your dress. “Including me. You think I would not sell out every single one of my fighters for you, hmm?” Yoongi presses a wet kiss to your jaw. You lean your head back to give him access to your throat. “You think I wouldn’t throw away being Kelemvor’s chosen and carrying his mantle for a chance to have you forever?” 

“You do have me.”

“Not in the way we are designed.” His voice is a growl as he bites at your throat, teeth scraping. You feel dizzy in his arms, but he holds you steadfast. “You were designed for me by the wheels of fate, and I for you. All of this - war, death, political scheming - it stands in our way and I would betray the god who gives me my many lives to cut to the chase in an instant.” 

The rage-laced words are an anger you’re familiar with. Two creatures born to exist for one another - more than fated mates. Your very existence tied to Yoongi’s is a matter of universal balance, two threads of fabric that must remain woven together, lest the realms collapse. 

Divine Scales. Two lives bound together that must remain in balance for the rest of the world to exist. You and Yoongi are not the only Divine Scales in the realms, but you’re perhaps one of the most difficult to balance in a world set on keeping you apart. 

You, the daughter of the Archduke of the Nine Hells. Yoongi, an incubus servant whose purpose was to lure, steal, and spy on behalf of Asmodeus. It was an unfit match that your father was set on destroying - his daughter an heir would not be tied to a lowly creature of lust and servitude. 

“Careful,” you murmur as Yoongi peels the fabric from your skin. The air is warm but you feel a shiver anyway, nipples pebbling at the temperature change. “Your god might not like to hear you say such things.”

“He is not my god,” Yoongi mutters. His eyes are hungry, burning with desire as he drinks you in, his fingers gripping the flesh at your hips. “He is a convenience. I need power to take control of the Nine Hells, he gives me power. You are the only being I worship. The only goddess I recognize.” Yoongi sinks to his knees and your stomach flips. He looks up at you, lips parted and pupils blown, eyes so dark you could spill into them and never find your way. “Let me prove my devotion. Let me worship the only divinity I’ve ever known.”

Yoongi’s words are a spell on you, and not because he’s in an incubus, created and bred to be alluring and lead mortals to the Hells to give up their souls. Yoongi’s words have power because he is Yoongi, a being who he designed to be your other half. Another being you love so entirely that you intend to sacrifice the realm you call home, that you actively betray the people you’ve known since you were a child in order to be with him. 

These snatches with him are so few and far between. He fights a war against your father and his archdevils while you unravel them from the inside. Two knives carving away at the system which fights to keep you apart. 

You forget about all of the atrocities committed and to come. You push away the anxiety that Yoongi is thwarting his power by coming to the seat of his enemy’s power, just because he can and because he wants you. 

Instead, you focus on the way his mouth leaves wet kisses across your thighs. Yoongi’s fingers press into the back of your legs, holding you to him as his tongue lavs at a small scar on your hip, his teeth nipping the flesh.

Your world falls away as his tongue and mouth suck at your skin. Heat gathers between your legs, feeling the wet ache in your folds as Yoongi purposefully avoids going toward the apex of your thighs, instead showering your inner thighs, calves, and hips with soft kisses. 

Strong hands pry your legs apart. You let him slide your foot over, widening your stance easily. You cannot recall a single person you have ever been pliable for. You are the Whip of Asmodeous, a sharp weapon made to force subservience and delve out punishment. 

You are no whip in Yoongi’s hands. You are silk, sliding through his fingers as his mouth presses closer and closer to your heart. To everyone else, you are a weapon. To Yoongi, you’re just you. A mind to adore, a body to worship. 

Your knees threaten to buckle when the first, slow swipe of his tongue runs up your drenched folds. Yoongi chuckles, the sound throaty. Gently, he lifts a leg and pulls it over his shoulder, providing a counterweight as you stand but also giving him access to your aching cunt, pressing his face close as he licks you from hole to throbbing clit again. 

“Yoongi,” you whisper, a hand shooting to his hair. Your fingers slide through soft, silk strands and twist, rooting him there. He groans in appreciation, focusing his tongue on slow, up-and-down licks, avoiding your clit as he works. “Fuck.” 

He hums, the feeling buzzing through your pussy as he closes his mouth over it, sucking gently. His mouth is wet and warm, tongue soft as it circles your aching bundle of nerves. Your legs feel gummy as you waver, holding onto him to keep yourself standing as much as you are to keep him in place.

Yoongi’s hunger can rarely be sated. He devours you, mouth eager as he sucks and licks at you, lips smacking loudly as he does. You barely register the obscene noise, canting your hips up into his mouth as the pleasure begins to build slowly. 

A hand presses into your ass, pressing you harder against the flat of his tongue. Yoongi opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, looking up at you with fucked out eyes as he urges you to fuck his face at your pace, to use him like a god would use a conduit. 

Yoongi is your conduit, and you are his. You vowed centuries ago to be his whip, a weapon at his command. He vowed to be your shield, your knife in the dark. 

The powers of the Hells would keep you apart. Beyond the impropriety that someone so lowborn could be fated for one of the highest powers among the infernals, the two of you together are too much of a threat. Too much power tied to one another, a divine match that cannot be broken.

Still, they try. 

The two of you have died before. Keeping you dead isn’t easy, though. Neither can truly die while the other lives and no one has quite managed to kill you both simultaneously - a familial crutch that Asmodeus cannot seem to overcome. 

You’d die every day to have this moment with Yoongi, your breath caught in your lungs, sweat beading on the small of your back, head tilted back as your heart beats so loud it's all you can hear. You feel every part of your body coil before there is a moment of white noise as your orgasm crests over, your cunt squeezing, your hand pulling his hair. 

Yoongi drinks you in like he cannot get enough. Gluttonous, ravenous man, pressing into your heat as he sucks. Your hands tug at his hair, the stimulation going from warm and fluid to sharp and biting. He grows a little when you pull his face back by the strands of his hair, a picture of madness with the lower half of his face covered in your slick, lips red and swollen, eyes unfocused. 

You pull and he stands, knocking you back as he does. You stumble the remaining footsteps to your bed, mouths connecting in a tangle of teeth, tongue, spit and cum. You taste yourself on him, sucking his tongue greedily into his mouth as your hands claw at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. 

He complies, letting you push the shirt off his shoulders as he climbs over you, pressing a knee between your legs as he traps your lips in a searing kiss again. Your lips feel bruised where you kiss, his mouth demanding. His hands claw at your hips, pulling you down into his knee, grinding your slick cunt against his leg.

You let out a breathy sound, both from the feeling of pleasure blooming between your legs once again and the warmth of his skin, your hands rubbing across his chest, seeking to chase the inferno within. Yoongi has always been warm, but something hotter burns in him now. Something divine, vicious, and powerful lurking beneath his skin, the unlikely power of a god of death lurking just beneath the surface. 

You know that Kelemvor, the God of Death and Lord of Judgement has chosen Yoongi as a conduit of power because Yoongi seeks the balance of the world - he is a part of the balance of the world. His very existence is paramount to a deity whose very nature is to maintain the scales. 

It doesn’t stop you from wanting to eat away at the divinity under Yoongi’s skin, to drive out the influence that isn’t yours, to assert your dominance over a god and remind him that Yoongi does not belong to Kelemvor, he is not an extension of death. He belongs to you and you alone. 

It is an irrational, violent bout of jealousy that overtakes you for a moment. Your nails rake down his chest a little too hard, leaving trails of blood beneath. You bit his bottom lip a little too hard, the taste of iron and salt spilling into your mouth with his tongue. 

Yoongi smirks against your scarlet mouth, pulling back to look down at you. He knows what it is you seek. Yoongi always knows. Your minds are not connected, but your souls are and there is little you can hide from him. “You cannot rip him out of me, no matter how much you want to.” 

“I will try.” 

“Good.” He leans down and bites hard on your collarbone, making you gasp. “I will tear Asmodeous’ influence from you in kind.” 

Your hands are less harsh as you undo the laces of his pants, pulling them down powerful thighs. Your viciousness cools in the shower of the whisper of his love against your ear and the scrap of his tongue against your skin. Every single part of you burns hotter than the deepest part of the Hells, driven there by him alone. 

You love him - such a simple word could convey it accurately, anyway.

It seems too small of a word, unable to fit the fountain of want, desire, trust, and yearning that spills out of you into such a small cup. You don’t know if love can truly hold everything you feel for him, if it conveys that there is nothing god, archdevil, or fate that would stop you from being here with Yoongi, getting to touch him, to taste him, to whisper into his mouth as he presses the head of his cock into your weeping entrance. 

“You’re mine,” you gasp, rolling your hips forward to meet the slow, powerful strokes of his cock. Yoongi cradles you to him, his hands gripping you tighter as he presses your bodies together, as though you could meld. “Mine mine mine.” 

“I’m yours,” he agrees, voice throaty and strained. “Who else could I belong to?” 

You have no answer. Stars dance behind your eyelids as you move to his rhythm. Yoongi’s skin is heated and sticky as he moves against you. You feel his heartbeat in exact time with yours, twin rhythms. Your arms wind around his shoulders, fingers twisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. You feel the muscle of his back and shoulder flex as he fucks you slowly, each stroke pointed and driving you to the edge again. 

Yoongi’s mouth brushes yours. You breathe in his air, unable to put anything else into words, thoughts consumed with him. With how he tastes, with how he smells, with how he feels. Nestled in the deepest part of you, you feel home. It is such a rare feeling, only discovered here like this, connected. 

It makes your breath catch, barely audible above Yoongi’s low groaning and the loud smack of skin against skin. Your heels dig into the bed, head pressing into the mattress as you throw your head back, unable to do anything but take what Yoongi is giving you. 

His pace quickens, slamming into your cunt with enough force to break you. But you do not break - you could never break with him. You squirm in his hold, babbling and panting and trying to breathe as he drives you to the edge of madness - and then you peak. 

A wild sound escapes you as you seize into him, muscles clenching, cunt spasming. Yoongi’s thrusts turn vicious, fucking you through your orgasm as you clench down on him with a vice grip. His fingers grip the back of your neck, pulling you toward his chest as he leans backward, your legs sliding as he seats you in his lap, fucking up into you. 

“Imagine thinking they could take you away from me,” Yoongi hisses. His thrusts are sloppy and hard, spearing you and sending you hurtling right toward the edge again. You submit to him, head lolling to the side as he takes you. “Imagine thinking that you could defy a prewritten fate that you are mine, that you are anything less than what was made for me.” 

A sob slips through your lips. You cannot think of a response, only able to cling to him as though to say yes. 

“They cannot take you away from me,” he growls. “I will destroy this world again and again if they try. They cannot sunder what is here, they cannot rip you away from me any more than you can rip the stars from the sky.” 

Just as you begin to teeter on the edge, Yoongi slams his hips home, clenching as he comes. “You cannot be anything else but mine.”

It sends you hurling over the edge again, so powerful that you forget where you are for a moment. It is intoxicating, this bliss that unfurls like the flowers of a petal. Nothing exists here but calm water and the scent and taste of Yoongi. There is no war here. No fight to keep you apart. No demands, no expectations. It’s just you and him. Like it was always meant to be. 

Slowly, awareness creeps back toward you. It is a lumbering, lazy thing. You only feel somewhat aware that you’re in a bed and that you feel the heat of Yoongi next to you, the press of his mouth against your shoulder. The aftereffects of sleeping with an incubus are not lost on you, even as a powerful infernal. 

Everything feels melted, like it could fall through your fingers like grains of sand. Perhaps you could float away if you tried, but Yoongi grounds you. The feeling of his hand on your hip and his mouth on your skin is the most solid thing that exists in this world in between, keeping you tethered to something real. Something substantial. 

When you blink away the sticky high of the post-orgasm daze, Yoongi is watching you with soft, round eyes. The burning desire is still there, but at the forefront is adoration. Worship. Love. Anything stronger than words can describe. 

“Are you okay?” he kisses your jaw before drawing back to examine your face. You nod, head heavy. “Too much?”

“No. Not with you. Never with you.” 

His mouth twitches like he’s unsure. You nestle closer to him, closing your eyes as you’re cupped in the safety of his presence. “With Avernus and Dis at your command, you can take Phlegethos,” you murmur. “Mammon will give you Minauros if you can do that.” 

“Hmm.” 

Your eyes flutter open, watching as Yoongi closes his. You can tell by the twitch in his mouth that he is thinking. “I will deliver you Phlegethos.” He cracks an eye open and looks at you, seeing the hunger that burns there. “Belial needs a good whip to put him in place.” 

“The Whip of Asmodeous?” 

“No.” You grin. “The Whip of Kelemvor’s Chosen.”