#imagine I knew how to title my fics lmao
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All About You, (18+)
♡ Pairing: Royal Knight/Bodyguard!Minho x Princess!Reader
♡ Genre: royal au, historical au, arranged marriage au (reader only), age gap, angst, kind of forbidden love? (maybe more than kind of), basically porn with plot
♡ Word Count: 7.5k
♡ Summary: You, the princess who ran away from the castle after finding out your father, the king, has finalized your arranged marriage. Minho, your royal knight and glorified bodyguard, tasked with bringing you back home at all costs. When found, you hit Minho with a very interesting proposition- for him to be the one you share all your "firsts" with, instead of your inevitable husband.
♡ Warnings: age gap !! reader is ~23 while minho is in his 40s, please don't read if this makes you uncomfortable!, uneven power dynamics, outdated traditions and views on women to suit the setting, brief reference to death by guillotine, and death in general, mentions of injury and swordfighting
♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): lowkey corruption kink, loss of virginity (reader), petnames (princess (mostly as a title), good girl), slight sub + dom dynamics, soft dom minho, submissive reader, a lot of kissing (should be expected from me atp), nipple play, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), slight overstim, unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, creampie
♡ Notes: at this point i am determined to write a royal, historical au fic for every member, and my newest offering to you is minho <3 i was literally possessed writing this like once the idea hit my brain i had to get it out asap lmao you can also read the story on my ao3 here, and if you're interested you can also check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams
♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.
Fuck. Minho was absolutely fucked. In recent years, he had one job, and one job only, and that was to take care of the princess. Make sure she’s safe, escort her to where she needs to be and watch over her at all times- that’s all. Not always an easy job, but one of vital importance that Minho took with utmost seriousness. In the 3 years it’s been since becoming your royal knight and glorified bodyguard, he never messed up this critically.
You always had a rebellious streak and challenged authority, everyone in the castle knew that. And part of Minho’s job, apart from keeping you safe, was keeping you in check- and the king made it extremely clear that failing to do so was not an option. So he lost track of the amount of times he uttered the words “Princess, please think rationally,” or “Please consider your responsibility to the kingdom, don’t do this,” in a near desperate attempt to get you to listen to reason.
And today, he fucked up the worst he ever had. He knew you were upset tonight, but he was under the impression he successfully calmed you down, and that you wouldn’t do anything rash. He turned his back to you, thinking the storm had been quelled, and that you’d listen to your father, even if doing so felt like pulling teeth. He underestimated however, just how deep your sadness and anger truly ran, and the very moment you saw an opening, you took it.
You fled from the castle with blind determination, nowhere to go and with little of value in your hands, fueled purely by the desire to escape your unfair circumstances, and live your own life by your own means. You may not believe it, but Minho understood, and felt for you- he really did. But that didn’t change what his duty was, and even if it made you hate him, he had to do his job to the best of his ability.
So now here he was, roaming the streets looking for you, the hours passing in a blur. You must’ve done a good job of concealing your identity, because no one he asked had seen a young woman matching your description, and as the minutes ticked by, and sunset turned to midnight, he was at a complete loss of what to do. He made record time combing the entire bustling town, stopping into places full to the brim with people in the hopes he’d catch a glimpse of you in the crowd, and yet there seemed to be no trace of you anywhere.
It was easy for someone to hide their presence in a crowd, or in the rowdy environment of a tavern, and you were more than intelligent enough to blend into a crowd and divert attention away from yourself. It was entirely possible that Minho had seen you at some point, and simply didn’t realize it, though he liked to believe he’d recognize you anywhere, no matter what you wore. Minho scowled, clenching his teeth as he scanned the dark horizon of the treeline; should he check the outer walls of the town for a clue, or double back and check the streets again?
He doubts you made it out of the town easily, considering you likely had no money on your person and little experience with the realities of the world. You were intelligent, yes, but sheltered; he could easily imagine you quickly getting in over your head, thinking you could make it to the next town without issue, only to end up lost and in need of help, with no one for miles to hear your desperate cries.
Fuck. If he couldn’t find you, his head would most certainly be meeting the cold steel of a guillotine. He had no family who would mourn his loss, but still, he wasn’t ready to face his mortality. And the king, despite being someone he could call a close friend, would spare no mercy if he failed to keep his one and only daughter safe. But really, there was more to it than just the threat of death that kept him searching for you. Believe it or not, he genuinely wanted you safe and well, and he'd do anything to ensure you made it back home, even if it made you curse him for the rest of his days.
As if God himself heard his prayers and decided to grant him a miracle, Minho sees you- there, on the outskirts of town, holding your cold hands up to your face and letting your breath warm them. It’s dark, the street barely even illuminated enough to discern your recognizable features, but he knows without a doubt that it's you standing there in the cold street, because truly, he knows you anywhere.
By the time you realize you’ve been spotted and recognized, it’s already much too late to flee. Minho approached you with utmost haste, reaching out and grabbing your arm, lest you make the foolish decision to try to escape again. His hold, while not rough enough to hurt you, is firm, and it only takes one attempt at pulling your arm from his hold to know this is it; your escape attempt has failed, and you’ll be dragged back to the castle and reprimanded for your “temper tantrum.”
Your father never listens to you, no matter how hard you try to make him understand and see your point of view. Maybe if you were born a boy, your opinions would be important to him, and he’d see you are more than an object to pawn off to whatever man gave him the most political power. “Princess-” “I’m not going home,” you interject before he even has a chance, though you already know it’s in vain. There is no avoiding returning to your glorified prison now that Sir Minho has you in his grasp.
He sighs, but his face changes to one of sympathy, his grip on your arm loosening ever so slightly. “Can we at least go to an inn room? It’s not safe for a young lady to be on the streets at night,” he reasons with you, as gently as he can manage. Normally Minho is quite stern with you, but you get the impression that he feels being stern isn’t the right approach tonight. You’re known for expressing yourself very vocally, even when doing so is extremely ill-advised, and he is well aware of how opinionated and fiery you are.
But treating this display as anything other than a genuine act of desperation, a culmination of years of perceived disrespect and conformity, would be another critical error- one he can’t afford to make. So he will be firm, yes, but gentle in his approach. You frown as you look at him; you’re stubborn by nature, and part of you wants to fight against him until the bitter end, but he’s not wrong about the streets being unsafe for you at night. You know he won’t let you escape again come morning, but that’ll have to be a problem for later; for right now, you really should heed his advice and go to an inn for the night.
“Fine,” you concede, much to Minho’s relief. He could’ve forced you to go with him if he really needed to, but he’d rather avoid doing something so unpleasant. He leads you to a nearby tavern, which is still bustling with activity even at the late hour. He keeps you close as he pushes through the crowd of rowdy drunks to the dual innkeep-bartender, hoping that there is still a room available. The man departs, coming back with a key dangling in hand, “You’re in luck. Last room’s all yours.”
Minho thanks the man and pulls out his satchel to pay him, leaving a few extra coins as a tip before stashing it back in his pocket, along with the key he was given, and the two of you go up the stairs together. “There’s only one bed,” you comment as you step inside the room, though Minho doesn’t seem to care much about that fact. “That’s fine, don’t plan on sleeping anyways,” he says as he removes his leather scabbard from his back, resting it against the back of the chair in the corner of the room.
You frown as you sit on the bed and watch him; he must’ve been in a hurry when he received word you fled from the castle, as he wasn’t wearing any of his armor, strictly in casual wear you’d very rarely seen him in. Probably for the best, you think, because if anyone saw a royal knight desperately searching the streets, multiple alarms would be raised. He lights the fireplace, hoping to quickly spread some heat throughout the cold room, before he sits in the chair, crossing his arms and watching you carefully.
Deserved, you suppose. How is he supposed to trust you’re not going to flee at the first available moment just as before? You certainly don’t make his job easy for him; he can’t take his eyes off you for a second. The silence between you lingers for some time, the crackling of the fire the only sound either of you hear, apart from the muffled patrons enjoying their drinks downstairs. Minho, despite his relaxed posture, looks like he’d be ready to jump up at a moment's notice should he need to.
You sigh; should you just try to sleep? It’d feel awkward and uncomfortable to try to fall asleep with someone's eyes boring holes into you, but you really didn’t give him much of a choice. “Do you want to tell me why you ran away from the castle?” Minho asks suddenly, breaking the tempered silence between you. “You already know the answer to that,” you respond, crossing your own arms now.
“Is marrying Sir Jin really so bad?” he asks, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Yes, obviously. I don’t want to. Not that you or my father care about me or anything I think.” Minho’s brow furrows, the frown on his face growing. “Princess, you know that’s not true. I do care about you.” “Do you? I haven’t been able to tell in the slightest,” you counter a bit harshly, “and you could help me if you wanted to, you know. I’d be fine out there if I was with you.”
Okay, maybe you’re not being fair to Minho right now. You do know he cares, but realistically, what is he supposed to do? If he disobeyed your fathers orders, he’d be lucky if his only punishment was a swift death. He was assigned to you because your father trusts him to do the right thing and follow orders dutifully, a trust that is usually not misplaced. But he has to admit, the more and more time he spends with you, the more he feels for you.
Minho never knew your father, the king, to be an unreasonable or cruel man, but in your eyes, he might as well be the devil himself. And maybe he is cruel- because how do you strip someone of their freedom and choices for your own gain, and not see the harm it causes, the wrong in it? You are more than a pawn, more than a subject, more than his daughter- you are a person. A person with thoughts, feelings, and opinions as real as any mans, who did not deserve to be treated lesser than for the simple crime of being born a girl.
But what is Minho if not an upholder of the status quo? He was just a single man, and even if he recognized how unfairly you were treated in comparison to the golden child that was your elder brother, what was he supposed to do? He always performed his tasks dutifully and without question, and it wasn’t until he met you that he began to struggle with what he should do, and what he wants to do.
And maybe he could get you out of this town, help you live a quiet, modest life somewhere new, away from the watchful eye of your father. Where he could be your protector, same as now, but without the guilt, burden, or threats. You know you shouldn’t take your frustrations about your life out on Minho, but he’s really all you have. You trust him with your life, and he’s shown you multiple times that he cares about you beyond the duty he has to you, or to your father. He's your only confidant, the only person in the world you can rely on.
Your eyes linger on the scar across his nose- he got it protecting you, the other man’s sword barely missing his eyes and cutting just across his face, and it was only one of many scars he obtained in his service to you. He’d pick you up and run with you in his arms when you were injured, he’d fight off attackers without breaking a sweat, sustain injury after injury all to make sure you were safe. You’d watch his back, always stunned and mesmerized at the ease at which he cut down your enemies, as if they were nothing but paper.
When he’d turn back to you, breathing heavy and sweat only just starting to trickle on his brow, his eyes would turn from the harshest winter chill to the gentle warmth of a spring morning. He was quiet, stern, but his care ran far deeper than one would think just by looking at him, and all you had to do to see the true depth of his feelings was look in his eyes. So you knew it was unfair to accuse him of not caring about you, to expect him to go above and beyond for you, to ask that he go against your father to give you what you want, but you were just so sad, frustrated, angry, that you couldn’t stop yourself.
“Maybe you’ll grow to love him if you give him a chance,” Minho suggests; you both know that’s never going to happen, but what else can he say? He never married, and had no children, dedicated to his duty as he was; he had no real advice to offer someone when it came to love, romance, and the like, but he imagined it wasn’t impossible to fall in love if you just met Sir Jin with an open mind.
But as stated, that’s never going to happen. You’re stubborn to a fault, and once you’ve decided something, there’s no changing it. The best Minho can ever manage to do is get you to reconsider, but even then, you’re still likely to go about things the way you originally wanted to, with no regard for consequences or keeping up appearances. You’re a fiery woman, there was no doubt about it, and you don’t let go of things easily.
“The mere thought of giving that man all my firsts makes me sick, it’s vile,” you scrunch up your nose, making your distaste for the man very clear. Minho doesn’t even think you’ve actually met the man yet, but you’ve already decided you hate him, that you don’t want to marry him, and so you’ll be firmly stuck in your opinion no matter what anyone says.
“Maybe this isn’t advice I should be giving you, but.. You don’t necessarily have to. To give him your firsts, or love him. Find someone you do love, even if you have to keep it a secret, and hold him with all you’ve got. It still wouldn’t be ideal, of course, but.. Well, it’d be something, at least.” Really, Minho is supposed to encourage you to be an obedient daughter and listen to your father without question, but he knows you well enough to know that’s a fool's errand.
You’re never going to listen, never going to be obedient, never going to stop being opinionated. So what’s the next, most realistic piece of advice he can give? Lie, of course. Make your father and inevitable husband believe you’re a good, obedient wife and daughter, and then go live the life you really want behind their backs. It's dishonest as all hell, and there would be consequences if you got caught, but if you’re going to be miserable no matter what you do, you might as well try, right? It’s what Minho would do if he were you, anyways.
“What about you?” you ask and Minho raises a brow in question. “What about me?” he asks, and what you respond with makes him feel like the air has been punched out of his lungs. “What if I gave my firsts to you?” Did he hear you right? There must be some mistake with his ears, there’s absolutely no way you said what he thinks you did. “You.. what?” Surely you can’t be serious about this. You’re the princess, and he’s just the man who happens to be your guard, a man who is your fathers age at that.
But the way you look at him, he can tell you’re not joking in the slightest. “Princess, I couldn’t possibly accept that,” Minho says sternly, his arms no longer crossed but instead resting on the arms of the chair, hands beginning to grip tightly so he can ground himself and try to make sense of this insane situation. “Why not? I’d be happier if I gave it to someone like you. I trust you,” you say so nonchalantly it makes his head reel. What the fuck is happening right now?
Minho was the ideal man, at least in your opinion. He was handsome, mature, realistic and practical, knew how to reel you in without disregarding the root of what you feel or being disrespectful to you. He never dismissed how you felt, made you feel over emotional or like a fool who overreacts; he’d ask you to see reason, sure, urge you to think more before acting, but he never, never made you feel like your feelings were invalid. And he genuinely cared about you, and you liked him, were attracted to him, so if the opportunity presented itself then.. Why not take the chance?
Fuck. Minho was absolutely fucked. You were just freshly 20 when Minho first met you and became your guard, and hard as he tried to never see you beyond the platonic, he’s always viewed you as an attractive young woman. He liked your fiery spirit, liked how you had the bravery and gall to challenge authority, a skill that in recent months he felt he was sorely lacking. Your attitude was refreshing, and despite your circumstances, you never acted like a damsel in need of his help.
In a different life, in another world, maybe you two could have met as equals, not painfully stuck to the rules of an unfair, unforgiving reality. You’d be each other's foil, you, the impassioned dreamer with as many thoughts and ideas as there were stars in the sky, and he the realist, who didn’t dim your light but tempered it into a steady, sustainable flame. You’d take him out on adventures, out of the strict box of his comfort zone, and he’d ground you more firmly to reality, never discouraging your dreams but making sure you took the necessary steps in the right way, responsibly, matching one another perfectly, complementary and meant for each other.
But that’s not your reality, and you both know it. There would never be any coming back from this if you go through with it, and there’s no ideal, happy future for you two to share. “I’m not so disillusioned to think this would be anything other than sex for you,” you continue, and he swallows, mind still racing impossibly, “but it’d be much more meaningful for me with you than some bastard I don’t like in the slightest.”
You’re wrong. So wrong, and you don’t even know it. It would never be “just sex” with you. You mean much, much more to him than you even realize. “You won’t regret asking a man like me? There’d be no taking it back once it’s done,” Minho can’t help but ask, rationality and reason desperately trying to gain control.
Despite what your father may believe, you’re a grown woman capable of making your own decisions. And this is a decision you make with full knowledge of what it means for you, more than willing to accept whatever consequences may arise for committing such a sin. In an ideal world, you’d be allowed to love who you wish, live where you wish, do what you wish.
But this isn’t an ideal world, and if there is only one thing you can ever be granted in this life that feels as if it isn’t even your own, it would be this- to have one night, just one night, where you can be the person you want to be, with Minho by your side. “You’re free to reject me if you’re not attracted to me, but.. My only regret would have been not trying. So I ask, are you not attracted to me?”
He looks you over carefully, grip on the armrests tightening. Admitting that he’s attracted to you may as well be a death sentence. But he can’t lie to you, completely at your mercy. Fuck the king, it’s you he’s really loyal to. All he’s ever done, all he ever will do, it’s always for you. He’s always tried to act in your best interest, to do the right thing, to keep you safe and protected. But does keeping you safe even matter if you’re miserable?
“I am,” Minho swallows, answering honestly despite his better judgment, “You have no idea how attracted to you I am.” “So why hesitate?” you ask, fingers trail down your lap, over your knees, to where the very bottom of your dress lies. He watches you, eyes darting from your hands back to your face. You’re watching him too, carefully, considering his every reaction before you make your next move, impressively calculated.
You take the hem of your dress in your hands, pulling it up leisurely, getting it halfway up your thighs, and Minho is in front of you in an instant, his hands grabbing your wrists and stopping you from lifting it any further. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Princess,” he breathes, voice low and strained; he can’t lose control of his desires, but fuck, you’re making it so hard. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with the same fiery determination you always have, but there’s more there than just that this time. Desire, want, need- all for him.
Fuck it. He’s going to get burned, but maybe it’s worth it. You’ll be his funeral pyre, engulfing him in your flame until all that remains are the ashes of the man he was supposed to be. And what a beautiful way to end his life it will be, lost between your thighs, feeling your nails dig and claw at his skin. He lets go of your wrists, one of his hands coming to cup your face, thumb tracing over your bottom lip.
“Has anyone ever kissed you, Princess?” he asks and you give a slight shake of the head, breathing a soft “No..” He hums, and there’s a twisted sort of pleasure he derives from knowing he’ll be your first in every conceivable way. You’re not “innocent,” he knows you’re not, but there’s something about being your first kiss, your first cock, your first everything that makes him crazy.
“And you want me to be the first one to kiss you?” he follows up with another question, corners of his mouth threatening to twist into a smile when you nod, a soft, honest “yes” leaving your lips effortlessly. He leans down towards you, keeping your head tilted up so he can easily meet your lips. He does so softly, treating you with care. His lips are softer than you expected, and the feeling of them against your own fills you with butterflies.
He carefully tilts you back, and you let your body fall back onto the mattress, head hitting the surprisingly soft pillows. Minho crawls over you, spreading your legs apart just enough to get between them, your dress now hiked all the way up your thighs. He’s hovering over you, looking down at you with so much love and lust and that it leaves you speechless. “I’ll need you to listen to me tonight. Can you do that for me?” he asks, pressing light kisses to your jaw, under your ear, your neck.
You can, because it’s Minho. He’d never hurt you, never try to control you, never make you feel lesser than. So you can listen to him, because you trust him with your care; he’ll take good care of you, you know he will. He smiles when you nod, and you see him smile so rarely that it makes your heart skip a beat; his role always requires him to be so stern and straight faced, that seeing him smile down at you like this is enough to melt you into a puddle.
“You’re a good girl when you want to be, hmm?” he hums against your neck, resuming his trail of kisses against your skin, and you can’t explain why, but the words and tone he says them in makes your stomach flip. If you were in a different world, and didn’t have to return home to the castle tomorrow, he’d take his time marking your neck, filling it with pretty shades of blue, purple, and red, sinking his teeth into your soft, supple skin.
He just knows you’d look so pretty like that, and the way you react when his breath tickles your skin and his lips linger, tells him you’d like it too. His fingers trail down your body, finding the hem of your dress and pulling it up over your chest. You lift your back off the bed when he separates from your neck, pulling your dress off the rest of the way and discarding it to the floor. He kisses you as he fiddles with the straps of your bra, effortlessly unhooking it in the back and pulling it down your arms and off your body.
He may have never married, but he’s no stranger to being with and pleasuring women. And he’ll make sure he makes this a night you’ll always remember for all the right reasons. Capturing your lips in another kiss, his hands take in your now bare breasts, gently kneading and squeezing. You try to squeeze your legs together, but his place between your thighs stops the act from happening, and he chuckles against your lips when he realizes what you’re doing.
“Be patient, Princess, I’ll take good care of you,” he whispers before kissing you again, and you let out a small whine, not knowing exactly what you want but knowing you want something. You gasp when he takes your nipples between your fingers and pinches them, not too hard of course, but enough to give him the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your body shudders, you feel dizzy with pleasure and excitement, and the feeling of his tongue circling yours is impossibly intoxicating.
One of his hands travels down, over your stomach, coming between your bodies to feel your heat over your panties. He’s barely even begun and you’re already soaking the fabric, your eager anticipation for more of his touch palpable beyond all else. He nips at your bottom lip, gently tugging it between his teeth before soothing the sting with kitten licks, his hand slipping inside your panties to feel how slick you’ve gotten directly.
Your body jolts when his fingers run between your folds, and he barely has to move them at all to get his fingers completely coated in your juices. He pulls back to look at you, taking in the sight of your flushed face and swollen lips, pretty and perfect. You’re panting, breathless, overwhelmed in the best way possible. You keen when his fingers rub over your clit in circles, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you lift your head from the pillows to watch.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks, suppressing a grin when you whine and quickly nod your head. “Want more, want you,” you mutter, the most timid you’ve ever been in regards to a man. He coos, giving you a sweet kiss as he continues his stimulation to your sensitive spot. “Remember what I said? Patience, Princess, you’ll get what you want. We can’t rush and have you getting hurt, can we?”
You pout as you concede, and God, he finds that so cute; he’s never seen you actually act shy and pouty before, and it makes him want to give you the entire world. He’ll give you everything you want, anything you ask for, but he’ll have to remember to tease you first so he can see that cute expression on your face before he gives in to your whims. “I’ll make sure you’re nice and ready for my cock, so just be a good girl and follow my lead until then. You can do that for me easily, can’t you?”
Another shy nod, another adorable flushed look that makes his cock throb in his trousers. It was a little intimidating for you, knowing how experienced Minho must be due to his age, and feeling like you must fall short in comparison to other women, women who knew what they were doing, but really, that was just your own insecurity talking. He didn’t mind at all that you were inexperienced; in fact, it excited him for reasons he didn’t entirely understand.
Maybe it was the knowledge that he was the first to touch your skin, or maybe that someone as determined and fiery as you are is allowing yourself to concede control, to let him be in charge of your pleasure, trusting him to bring you to utmost bliss. What bigger display of trust could you ever show him? Your glassy, pleading eyes, begging him for more but still waiting for it just as he asked- you’re too good for him. He’s going to ruin you.
He takes his fingers away, and you have to physically stop yourself from whining at the lack of contact, lest he remind you again about “being patient.” “Open your mouth for me,” Minho requests, and though you are a bit confused, you do as he asks immediately, obeying without question. Fuck, that’s hot; the image of you, mouth open, tongue slightly sticking out and waiting to receive whatever he gives you is something he never wants to forget.
Minho slides two of his fingers into your mouth, instructing you to lick, to get his fingers nice and wet. Truthfully, you were more than lubricated enough to take his fingers without this step, but he couldn’t resist the urge to see you this way. He pushes his fingers in your mouth down to the knuckle, and you persist with coating them in your saliva even as you gag and tears prick the corners of your eyes.
He showers you with praise, slipping his fingers out of your mouth when he feels satisfied with the work you’ve done on them, kissing your cheeks, feeling the heat of your face on his lips. Slipping his hand back inside your panties, he presses the tips of his wet fingers to your hole, and you instinctively suck in a breath, body unconsciously tensing from the anticipation. “You have to relax, Princess, it won’t feel good if you’re tense,” he explains sweetly, shaking his head when you mutter a soft apology.
“Don’t be sorry, not for that. Just focus on me, hmm? On this,” he whispers, his lips lingering on yours in a deep, impassioned kiss. His fingers stay completely still until he feels your body start to release its tension, heeding his advice to focus more on his kisses than the motion of his fingers. He keeps kissing you even as the first of his fingers finally starts to push inside you, and you moan into his mouth, hot pleasure licking your skin.
He moves his finger in and out slowly, making sure you’re well adjusted before he pushes in another one, hooking his fingers to find that delicious sweet spot he knows will have you crying his name in no time. You gasp loudly when he finds it, your hands twisting the sheets beneath you between your fingers, your entire body trembling. It feels so good you almost can’t breathe, and when he picks up his pace, hitting your spot over and over as he brings his thumb to your clit, you know you won’t last long at all.
“M-Minho, I’m- I’m gonna-” you try to warn him, but the words die in your throat, the pleasure too overwhelming to continue to try and form a sentence. He simply hums, continuing his motions until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, sharp, shuddery gasps and moans tumbling from your lips as your orgasm takes you. “That’s it, just let go, just like that, I’ve got you,” he praises, pressing kisses to your hot skin, helping you ride out your high.
Before you can even fully recollect your breath and get your racing heart back under control, he’s pushing a third finger inside, the trembling in your body intensifying from the addition. “You need more to get ready for me,” he tells you, and in your fucked out state all you can do is nod, taking his word as gospel truth, “need to stretch you good to make sure my cock fits.” All you can do is lay there and take the onslaught of pleasure, unable to think of about anything other than how full and good his fingers make you feel.
You don’t even register that he’s moved your down your body and tugged your panties to the side until his tongue is meeting your clit, swirling around it in expertly practiced circles, making you desperately cry out his name. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging harshly as your hips buck up to keep feeling the delicious sensation his tongue provides you. He flattens his tongue and lets you grind against it as you want, the motions of his fingers not stuttering or ceasing despite the movement of your hips.
You feel the familiar heat pooling your stomach, another orgasm approaching quickly, the sounds you release turning into desperate whines and whimpers as you chase the feeling. It only takes a few more rolls of your hips and thrusts of his fingers to have you releasing all over his face, your juices gushing around his fingers. He sits up and pulls his fingers out when your body falls limp, chest heaving and ears ringing as you try to recover from the mind-blowing experience you just had.
Your eyes are closed, and you can feel his weight shift, can hear the soft clink of his belt unbuckling, followed by the rustling of clothes. You open your eyes to see Minho’s cock is now out, his hand lazily pumping it and spreading the pre-cum that accumulated and dripped over his time focusing on you. You reach a hand out to touch it, to replace his hand with your own, but he grabs your hand before you can, instead making you intertwine your fingers.
“Tonight’s all about you, Princess. Don’t worry about taking care of me,” he says, kissing the back of your hand and then holding it down right above your head; you’re not quite pinned, easily able to snake your hand out of his hold if you wanted to, but you have to admit, you like the feeling of his hand keeping yours held down. He rubs his cock between your folds before he lines himself up with your entrance, though you didn’t miss the subtle smirk on his face when you whined from the feeling of his tip rubbing against your clit.
“Squeeze my hand if you need to,” Minho tells you before taking your free hand and bringing it up to his shoulder, “and hold onto me.” Your heart squeezes in your chest; the hidden romantic in you yearns to tell him you love him, to thank him for taking such good care of you, to express how you never want this night to end, but you know that would be a mistake. Neither of you can afford to let your emotions spill out, so you swallow them down the best you can, deciding to just live in this moment, to experience it for all that it is and all that it means for you.
The initial push is slow, and thanks to his diligent preparation, there is little physical pain or discomfort you experience from the stretch of his cock. A slight sting, sure, but nothing you can’t easily handle, and it’s barely even recognizable when compared to the pleasant fullness you feel. So when you squeeze his hand, and your eyes well with tears, it’s not because you are pained; it’s because you finally have something you want, a happiness you thought would forever elude you.
He takes his free hand and wipes away the tears from your eyes, a soft look of concern on his face. “Hurts?” he asks, but you shake your head quickly. “Feels good, I just.. I..” you struggle with the words, knowing you can’t express how you actually feel even if you felt you could. “I know. You don’t have to say it, I know,” Minho speaks to you softly, and the kiss he gives you very nearly makes you sob.
There’s still a few inches left before he’s fully inside you, and he pushes the remainder in slowly as he continues to kiss you, his free hand now rubbing soothing circles on your hip with his thumb. Minho does well at maintaining composure, staying firmly in control of himself and his body despite the way your walls squeeze and suck him in, despite the way you whimper when you feel him throb, or cry out against his lips when his tip kisses your deepest spots.
“That’s a good girl, taking all I give you, doing so well,” he praises you some more, and you love when he tells you how good you’re doing if the way you clench around him is any indicator. “Fuck, Princess-” he groans when he finally starts to move, pulling out and pressing back in much more slowly than he normally would, but the wet friction you provide him is delicious. “Minho, I-” you start, interrupted by a sharp gasp when he finds your sweet spot with his cock.
He looks at you as he stills his hips, patiently waiting for you to continue in case what you have to say is important, or a request for him to stop. You swallow, face heating up but determined to get out what you want to say. “J-Just this once, I don’t want to be the princess. Call me by name, please-” Oh, that’s what you want? He can do that, easily; he’s already groaned your name countless times in the privacy of his room, stroking his cock to the thought of you.
The sound of your name falling from his lips as he resumes the thrust of his hips has you clenching hard, stars erupting in your vision as he picks up his pace, beginning to quickly and mercilessly hit your spot, over and over again. He takes one of your legs and props it up over his shoulder, allowing more of his cock to fill you up, the creaking of the bed and the sound of skin slapping beginning to overpower the noise from downstairs.
Taking his other hand away from yours, you’ll have to forgive him, he licks his fingers and then brings them to your clit, wanting nothing more than to see and feel you release on his cock. It only takes a few more thrusts and circles from his fingers to have you crying out his name as you cum, fingers digging into the sheets beneath you as your body shakes and legs tremble. But Minho hasn’t cum yet, so he’s not quite done with you, not that you mind in the slightest; you’ll let him chase his pleasure as long as he wishes, even if it leaves you a drooling, fucked out mess in the end.
He pulls out of you, just long enough to sit against the headboard, and then he’s pulling you on top of him, guiding you to sink back down on his cock and sit fully in his lap. The new position has you rolling your eyes to the back of your head, Minho guiding the movement of your hips with his hands as he thrusts up into you. He’s quite literally doing all the work, but that’s perfectly fine; this night is supposed to be about you, after all, and he doesn’t want you to lift a pretty little finger. Just let him use you a little until he cums, that’s all he needs.
You’re panting against his neck, head laid on his shoulder and nails digging into the skin of his back beneath his shoulder blades. The sting of your nails in his skin is just how he imagined it to be, and his head is falling back against the headboard, low grunts and groans of your name leaving freely as his cock throbs and twitches, getting closer and closer to his release. He uses one of his hands to grab your face and lift it up to his, crashing his lips to yours in a desperate, impassioned display of love and lust.
A few more snaps of his hips and you feel his cum spurting inside you in long, thick ropes, the sensation sending you forward into yet another orgasm of your own, your desperate sounds muffled only by Minho’s mouth on yours. Your body collapses against his when the moment slows to a stop, both of your chests heaving and breaths heavy as you lie against him, his arms wrapped around you snuggly and keeping you upright against his chest.
You can hear the quick, erratic beating of his heart as he catches his breath, looking up at him to see his eyes closed and sweat trailing down his brow towards his cheek. He looks beautiful like this, you think; you hope he thought the same of you. Even as his cock starts to soften, neither of you move, and though your legs protest and beg to be stretched out, you refuse to leave your spot on Minho’s lap.
“Are you alright, Princess?” he asks once he’s collected himself, pushing your hair from your face and wiping the sweat from your brow. “Mhm, just want to stay like this,” you reply, and Minho smiles softly, rubbing over your shoulders and down your back in a sweet gesture of comfort. You’re silent like this for some time, just simply enjoying the feeling of him, the sound of the crackling fire, the warmth he and this room provides you.
“Does my happiness really have to end here?” you can’t help but quietly ask, and Minho is quiet for a moment, carefully considering before he speaks. In a different world, in a different time, in a different place, maybe the two of you are meant to be. There’s comfort in imagining yourself there, truly happy with Minho, letting him care for you while not snuffing out the flame that is your pride, ambition, and spirit.
It’s not meant to be, you both know that to be true. To be with each other required great risk, sacrifice, hardship. But again he has to wonder, is being safe worth the cost of happiness? Would you even truly be “alive” if your every moment was spent miserably? He doesn’t want to see the very core of what makes you you be snuffed out by selfish, idiotic men and their expectations of what you should be.
You’re much younger than him, and it would be impossible for him to be there for you for the rest of your life, but he can be for the rest of his, at least. “Maybe not,” he answers, unsure of what the future holds for the two of you, but not entirely ready to give up so easily. He could accept his fate, accept that love is something out of his reach, but it’s your happiness on the line that makes him want to fight for it.
There’s a lot he could lose by helping you escape this life you feel trapped in, but he’d rather see you happy than wasting your days away in the castle, subservient to a man you loathe. Your love isn’t meant to be, but that’s okay; he’ll help you all the same. He’s loyal to you, and only you, he’s decided- so if you make your future husband, your father, the entire kingdom your enemy, then they’ll be his enemy too. And it’ll all be worth it just to see you smile for a little bit longer.
#skz x reader#lee know x reader#lee minho x reader#skz smut#lee know smut#lee minho smut#skz imagines#skz scenarios#not me posting a fic again literally 4 days after my last one i am serious when i say i was possessed to write this#also not posting between the hours of 4-7am for once that is a win for me !!#mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune
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Backstage Baby (Jake Kiszka x Groupie!Reader)
SMUT. 18+ ONLY! MDNI!!!!!
PAIRING: Jake Kiszka x F!Reader
WORDS: 4k
WARNINGS: Dom!Jake. BASICALLY PWP. rough unprotected sex, edging, daddy kink, light choking (blink and you’ll miss it), mix of praise and degradation, nicknames (baby, princess, good girl, slut), my obsession with jake’s silver medallion, ending with flirtatious fluffy aftercare.
A/N: i’ve been writing band rpf for years, but this is my first gvf fic! ever since seeing them in boston on 9/15, i have literally been walking around in a daze, daydreaming about going backstage with jake……. and this is the result lmfao. title inspired by B-Side Baby by Adam Ant. i’m always looking for more gvf friends to discuss ideas with….. and also just cry and lose my mind with LMAO. anyway— i hope you enjoy! XO, li
••••••••••••••••••••
No matter how many times you saw Jake up there, he still made you breathless.
That furrowed concentration on his brow as his expert fingers flew across the strings… his hair falling across his shoulders… the way he would rock and grind against his guitar, glowing under the lights as sweat dripped down his forehead, his chest bare and slick from perspiration…
You didn’t really ever plan on becoming a groupie. The effect that Jake had on you had been intense enough long before you started following Greta Van Fleet around the country, before you’d even once thought you’d ever be in a room with him smaller than a stadium. But you hadn’t expected anything like the way things had actually gone. They had always said real life was stranger than fiction, but you had never thought its twists and turns could be this earth-shattering.
It had started with the eye contact. The first few times it happened, you couldn’t be sure if you were imagining things, your head perhaps fuzzy from the thrill of numerous front-row nights in a row… but when Jake crouched down and leaned towards you mid-solo, his eyes meeting yours with a jolt of electricity, a wicked smirk on his face, you realized with a heart-stopping shudder that no, you hadn’t been imagining his eyes on you.
Those looks would intensify as the tour continued. He’d always somehow find you in the front row, letting his cool and confident gaze rest on you as he played, just long enough to leave you squeezing your thighs together involuntarily. One night, you had been approached by a stagehand, who simply passed you a note with directions to an afterparty, and even though the note had no signature, something deep down told you exactly who it had been from.
That was your first night with Jake, and you had left the next morning with aching legs that felt like jelly. Since then, every night had been fucking cinematic.
Tonight was no exception. It had been damn near impossible to take your eyes off of Jake before you’d even had any opportunity to speak to him, but now, knowing exactly what he was able to do to your body, how fucking incredible he could make you feel… seeing him like that onstage made you positively throb throughout the show, taking all of your energy just to keep your composure.
As the concert winded down, you slipped out of the pit up front, making your way to the backstage entrance. The security guards, who recognized you by now— still an odd feeling — let you in. You headed towards where you now knew the band would be coming down once they left the stage, your heart already pounding with anticipation, heat already beginning to pool between your thighs. You took a deep breath, tugging on the hem of your top, which you had intentionally chosen due to its short length: you loved the way it highlighted the curves of your waist and hips, and hoped Jake would too.
And, as always, once they emerged, it seemed as though everything was happening at once– pulling out earpieces, handing off instruments and passing equipment along – but your eyes were only on Jake, and, you realized with a shudder that wracked your entire body, his were on you.
Once his guitar had been handed off, Jake wasted no time in heading right towards you, grabbing your wrist, and leading you down the hall. He didn’t need to say anything; you knew exactly where he was taking you, and you instantly felt a wave of overwhelming desire wash over your every inch. It was truly absurd how little he had to do to turn you on.
//
He pulled you into his dressing room, and immediately pushed your back up against the closing door. Jake’s large hands pinned your shoulders against it, a soft clicking sound occurring as the door locked automatically. His lips collided sloppily with yours, kissing you with a hunger that sent your head spinning, sparks of heat igniting deep within your core.
When he finally pulled back, grazing your bottom lip with his teeth as he did so, a shiver went down your spine, and it took you far longer than intended to regain composure and open your eyes. When you did, his heavy-lidded dark eyes were on you, pupils blown wide with desire. The dominance behind his expression was enough to cause an involuntary whimper to escape you, the sound of which brought out a smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“So needy today… What a dirty girl,” he said, his tone dripping with authority, making your knees immediately weaken. His eyes never left yours as he continued teasing, knowing by now what it did to you. He leaned in, making sure you got his next few words right in your ear. “You wanna get fucked tonight? Hm?” His voice was low and seductive, leaving one hand on your shoulder to keep you pinned to the wall, while his other one stroked first down your arm, then back up, your skin lighting up under his touch. As his body pressed up against yours, you could feel him, rock-hard and throbbing against your thigh, the sensation almost overwhelming as you found yourself nodding your head as hard as you could, already difficult to find the words.
That wasn’t enough, though, not for Jake. The hand that had been stroking up and down your bare arms moved abruptly to your jaw, holding it firmly in place so his gaze was locked on yours. “I asked you a question, princess.” Your lower lip trembled desperately as Jake tilted his head ever so slightly, his expression and tone just the right amount of patronizing as his hips began to roll at a slow but steady pace against you, breathing out, “You want this cock?”
“Yes, fuck,” you managed, already feeling lightheaded at just his words and close proximity.
“There you go,” he chuckled condescendingly at the sound of you using your words for the first time. He continued to rock up against your thigh, letting the hand on your jaw slide to your throat, but not lingering there too long, not giving you yet what he knew you wanted— just staying long enough to drag his long fingers down the sensitive skin of your neck, as if examining every inch of you. What a fucking tease.
“Jake, please,” you found yourself begging, taking your free hand and gripping the lapel of his black jacket— all he was wearing over his tanned, sweaty torso, which had been making your head spin all night— “I’m so fucking hot for you. So fucking wet for you. I want you so bad, please…”
The sound of your desperation made a low sound somewhere between a chuckle and a growl rumble in Jake’s throat, and if your panties weren’t soaked through already, that alone would have been enough to get you there.
Your begging had satisfied him, for now. Jake finally released his grip, freeing you from your position pinned up against the door, only to lead you over to the white leather couch in the corner of the room. Before having you sit, however, there were two things that needed to be done. First of all, he shrugged his black jacket off from his shoulders, throwing it to the floor behind him, leaving him standing before you in nothing but those sinfully tight pants and that silver necklace that drove you wild. Through your lightheadedness, you could tell how horny he was, too— his pants left almost nothing to the imagination, and the sight of the achingly large bulge straining against the tight black fabric was making your head swim, to say nothing of the heat between your thighs.
That was when he lowered himself just enough that his lips were in line with the top button of your jeans, and you felt all breath leave your body as he looked wickedly up at you. Going slowly enough to make you squirm, but not so slowly that you’d protest, Jake unzipped your bell bottoms. His gaze never left yours as he pulled them down your legs, revealing inch after inch of your skin to him, his tongue flicking out across his own bottom lip hungrily as he watched himself undress you— this gorgeous present, all his to unwrap.
As you had anticipated, your light pink panties were so soaked they had been rendered essentially useless as a means of covering you up, and the feeling of Jake’s eyes devouring the sight of your pussy through them were only making you wetter.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathed out, his eyes glancing up to meet yours for a moment before looking right back down at the burning heat between your legs. After a second or two of him just looking intently— as if committing the sight to memory— he spoke, saying, “Drives me fucking crazy…” as one of his hands found its way to the inside of your calf, stroking slowly up, further and further, “...how fucking wet you get for me, before I’ve even touched you. Goddamn.”
“Jake, please,” you begged again, your voice cracking a bit as you spread your legs to give him easier access to your inner thigh, his long fingers stroking and massaging you only centimeters from where you needed his touch the most. “I need your fingers… I need them… please.”
Your final “please” had such an undertone of neediness, desperation, it must’ve been exactly what Jake had been looking for-– and immediately, your eyes rolled back into your head as his long middle finger began to stroke deliciously up and down your clothed slit. He started at your entrance to gather your wetness through your panties, then slid upwards and flattened his fingertip out, letting the pad of the digit trace tight circles over your throbbing clit. Immediately upon the contact with your sensitive bundle of nerves, you cried out, clapping a hand over your own mouth as you, in a cloud of arousal, watched Jake play with your pussy from his position between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he kept up his steady, rhythmic circular motions.
Time seemed to stop for what could have been seconds or minutes as Jake massaged your clit and teased your entrance through your dripping panties, and it was only when your eyes were watering and whimpers were falling from your lips that he pulled his hand back, the loss of contact making you let out an involuntary whine.
But once his fingers hooked around the waistband of your panties, you realized he wasn’t teasing any longer— he was escalating. The thought made you shudder as he tugged the soaked scrap of fabric down your legs, Jake’s face flushed with heat, that gorgeous hair of his falling across his shoulders and sticking to his forehead.
Once your panties were off, he tossed them to the side, standing up and leaving you trembling on the leather couch as his hands moved down to his own waistband, his eyes meeting yours and his tongue once again swiping across his bottom lip hungrily. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him as he moved to pull his pants down— which, at this point, were pornographically tight— and, Jesus Christ, he looked angelic as they came off. His skin was glowing with sweat, and warm light from the dressing room’s lamps was glinting off the silver medallion around his neck. When he took his cock out, you let out yet another involuntary whimper.
Hard and thick, the tip already glistening with his arousal, just the sight of it made your mouth water. He wrapped his hand around his length, beginning to pump it up and down just slightly as he lowered himself onto the couch next to you, watching with blown-out pupils as you pulled your crop top over your head, revealing to Jake that you hadn’t worn a bra underneath it, your tits bouncing free. The realization made him growl under his breath between strokes of his cock, groaning, “Fuck… you do that for me?” Your nod made him groan all over again, rasping out, “Mmmm… you’re such a dirty girl… C’mere.”
The simple command was all you needed, giving into your desire and practically pushing yourself against his slick, toned body. The feeling of his hot skin against yours alone made you moan out loud as Jake’s hands found your hips, pulling you into his lap. Once you were straddling him, you were so close to his cock that you felt entirely lightheaded, knowing that if you rocked forward, your clit would get the most incredible friction rubbing up against his length…
But you didn’t have to do anything yourself. Before you could organize your thoughts, Jake was kissing you again, messy and filthy, his tongue and teeth everywhere, his mouth moving sloppily from your lips to your neck and back again, and suddenly you hadn’t any thoughts left at all beyond Jake, his hands, his body, and the feeling of his cold silver medallion pressing up against the skin of your breasts— grazing your nipple, making you gasp into his mouth, eliciting a dark chuckle form the man beneath you.
One of his hands took yours and guided it to his cock, and when your fingers wrapped around the velvety skin of his length the both of you shuddered in unison. Jake’s mouth immediately dropped open from the pleasure, murmuring another, “Fuck, princess,” his other hand slipping between your legs to start toying with your clit again. It didn’t take long for your legs to start to tremble. You were aching for him to fill you up.
You both worked each other like this for a minute or two, eyes growing more half-lidded and cheeks flushing ever pinker as you built up to the main event. Finally, after what seemed an achingly long time, Jake finally spoke, words coming in between his heavy panting that was making your whole body tremble.
“You want it, baby? You want this cock right now? You want Daddy to fuck you like the cute little slut you are?”
You moaned so desperately you hardly recognized your own voice. He always knew exactly when to bring things up a notch, and how. You were nodding your head before you could even speak, finally finding the words to beg, “Please, Daddy. I need it, I need your cock,” staring at him with lust-blown doe eyes.
Jake let out a true growl this time, and sat back further, spreading his legs wide, his cock thick and hard and waiting, your wetness all over his thigh from where you had been straddling him. When he spoke again, his voice was low and authoritative. “Then sit on this fucking dick.”
The sound that left your lips in response to his words was something beyond desperation. With trembling thighs, you positioned yourself over Jake as he gave his cock another couple strokes, lining himself up at your entrance, and saying lowly, hotly, “Look at me.”
You obliged without even having to think, and with your eyes on each other, taking in every little change in expression, you started lowering yourself onto him. Slowly but surely, you felt every single inch of his hard cock stretching you out, and as you took all of him as deep as possible, you made sure to keep your eyes right on his as your mouth fell open. He loved to see what he was doing to you.
He only waited a moment, giving you enough time to grab onto his shoulders for leverage, but not enough time to catch your breath, before his hands found your hips. His fingernails dug into your skin, something sexy, dangerous, and dark in his eyes that you instantly recognized. Oh. There would be no working slowly into things tonight. Tonight, Jake was entirely in control.
Roughly, quickly, he lifted you by the hips, before pushing you right back down onto his cock, making you cry out in ecstasy. It was only a moment before he lifted you right back up again, then shoving you back down onto him, giving you no rest from the sudden and overwhelming pleasure. His sense of timing, perfected from years of playing guitar, was more obvious than ever as he started to build up a rhythm that was dizzying in its relentless repetition. The way he was filling you up felt so fucking good, and it only intensified when Jake began to fuck up into you while pressing you down onto him, getting deeper and deeper with every thrust. You couldn’t hold back anymore, starting to moan out his name as he fucked you.
“Fuck, that’s good,” Jake groaned out, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead onto his chest, “Such a good girl… taking my cock so fucking well. Goddamn. So fuckin’ filthy.”
“Fuck, fuck, thank you, Daddy,” you were moaning, broken sounds falling nonstop from your lips as Jake slammed his cock into you, but when your eyes threatened to roll back into your head, he once again took your jaw in his large hand, forcing your gaze to stay on his.
“I told you to keep your fucking eyes on me when I fuck you.”
You whimpered, biting your lip, Jake’s relentless pounding hitting you right where it felt the best, the angle at which he was fucking you giving him perfect access to your sweet spot.
“I’m sorry, Daddy, fuck, fuck, don’t stop!” you begged, the combination of his cock filling you up and that low, sexy voice of his right in your ear completely emptying your mind of any other thoughts besides how fucking good he was making you feel.
Jake was speeding up now, and it was getting harder and harder for you to keep your eyes on him with the pleasure building so intensely within you. You knew you were close, and his labored gasps and breathless growls made it clear that he wasn’t far behind.
“Fuck, baby… that perfect pussy… she’s gripping me so fuckin’ tight,” he was groaning against you, and you were nodding desperately and moaning out obscenities, tears forming in your eyes from the unyielding ecstasy. One of your arms was still around his shoulders, while the other had a white-knuckled grip on his silver necklace as you rolled your hips in time with his thrusts.
He must’ve been able to tell you were close by the way your thighs began to shake, the way your moans turned into desperate, tiny whimpers, because you didn’t even have to say a word before Jake sucked his pointer and middle fingers into his mouth, getting them nice and slick before lowering them to trace tight circles onto your clit.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
It was all so much; so deliciously overstimulating— Jake’s cock deep in your pussy, his fingers working your clit just right, his dark eyes looking at you so intently that even the act of him simply watching you as you fell apart felt so fantastically filthy and sinful.
“Does my little slut wanna cum?” Jake growled through gritted teeth, still thrusting up into you as he managed one of those patronizing smirks that drove you wild, “Not yet. Not until I say so.”
You let out a desperate whine, whimpering weakly, “Jake— fuck, please, Daddy.” Every word took all of your focus and energy to stammer out, with Jake surrounding what felt like every inch of your body, from his cock pumping in and out of you, to his fingers on your clit, and the heat of his skin against yours.
“Be a good girl now,” he continued between grunts, fucking you deep and hard, his lust-blown eyes never once leaving yours, “I’m gonna count down. Then… and only then… you cum on my fucking cock.”
You managed to make the only sound you could— a whimper that sounded so pathetic and slutty you hardly recognized your own voice. Trying to find words now would be hopeless. It was all so much. It felt so fucking good. Tears began to spill from your eyes as Jake’s thick cock slammed against your g-spot over and over again, in perfect time with his calloused fingers relentlessly circling your clit.
He chuckled condescendingly. You could tell— he knew you were too fucked out to answer him.
“Here we go, princess… five…”
You were trembling, moments away from the edge, utilizing every bit of energy you had left to hold off the orgasm that threatened to overtake you any second.
“Four… three…”
You could barely breathe. Every sensation, every feeling, was layered on top of one other. The pressure on your clit. Jake’s eyes, watching you unravel. The feeling of his cock swelling inside of you as he pounded into your cunt. His other hand still gripping your hip for leverage, surely leaving bruises in the shape of his fingerprints.
“Two…”
He leaned right in, giving you a look so fucking intense and hungry that you felt yourself go lightheaded, that heat building, building… so close, so fucking close… he just had to say…
“One. Cum for me. Fucking cum.”
The moment the command left his lips, it was all over. The white-hot coil within you snapped, and your body was overtaken with bliss, shaking uncontrollably as you clenched down onto him, the feeling of your release all around him making Jake groan out a pornographic, “Oh, fuck.”
He kept up his pace as he fucked you and worked your clit through your orgasm, repeatedly biting his lower lip in concentration as he groaned out, “That’s it, baby, give it to me, soak my fucking cock.” The pleasure was dizzying, damn near overwhelming, and through your haze it was impossible to tell for just how long he helped prolong your climax while chasing his own.
With a delicious moan and a string of obscenities, Jake pulled out of your cunt just in time, thrusting into his hand and covering your stomach in his cum. Even through your post-orgasmic haze, the sight of him cumming all over you was so incredibly filthy you found yourself whimpering all over again, watching him through glazed-over eyes as he rode out his high.
When you both finally collapsed onto each other, panting, covered in sweat and cum, Jake groaned out a breathless, “Holy fuck,” before taking his hand and running it through your hair. There was a tenderness in his gaze and a softness in his tone as he asked, “Are you okay, baby?”
You nodded, slowly but surely coming back down to Earth. When you managed a dazed grin, he chuckled a little, smirking affectionately. He leaned in to press a kiss to your lips— this one far more gentle, but no less passionate. When Jake pulled back, he breathed out, “That was so fucking hot, baby… goddamn. You’re something else.”
You felt a blush creep up in your cheeks as he stroked your hair, then your back, his tender touches grounding you as you caught your breath against his chest. It was only after a good long while, once the stickiness on your stomachs became too much to bear, that he helped you to your feet, your thighs already feeling a familiar ache, knees still wobbling a bit. By now, you had found your words, and you thanked him, giggling shyly despite yourself.
He wrapped a plush towel around you, cleaning you up as best as he could, grabbing another towel for himself. It was after this, though, that he spoke.
“Come back to the hotel with me tonight.”
His words took you by surprise. Yes, you’d been to his hotel rooms before— but generally, you’d head there in order to fuck, not after it already had taken place. He must’ve been able to read your expression, because he continued, “I wanna take care of you, baby. It’s the least I can do… there’s a jacuzzi, we can get a nice bath going for you… and there’s a king-sized bed…”
And… you were blushing again. Of course.
You chewed on your bottom lip with nervous excitement, your heart already starting to beat faster. “Jake… that sounds perfect.” He smiled at you, looking utterly radiant, and you felt butterflies in your stomach all over again as he put his arm around you. “C’mon, gorgeous… let’s get you some of my clothes to put on. I’ve got a sweatshirt in here somewhere…”
As you melted into his touch, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. The night was only just beginning.
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A/N: thank you so so much for reading!! i would absolutely love to hear your thoughts either in the notes or through tumblr DMs. my ask box is always open for filthy thoughts, and i’m always looking for more gvf friends to discuss with 🥰 i’m also starting a taglist for any new fics i post, so be sure to let me know if you want to be added! XO, li
#jake kiszka#jake kiszka x reader#jake kiszka smut#greta van smut#greta van fleet fic#greta van fleet x reader#li speaks#my fanfics#when i tell you i accidentally stayed up until 3am TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW writing this…. i am not well. someone lock me up#writing tag
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Taken
Summary: It was just meant to be a quick trip into the waking world, just to locate a certain nightmare for your husband. But instead of going home when you found the nightmare, you were trapped in a mortals basement. - Dream x Reader
Warnings: Brief description of Jessamy dying, some swearing, and general sadness for the first lil chunk. I believe that’s it?? Don’t come at me for the lame title I’m bad at making those up I’ll get better I promise. Rip to the possible grammar and spacing errors I missed.
A/N: I’ve had this in my drafts for a hot minute, and i’ve re-read it so much it’s annoying. This was not meant to be over 2k but here we are. I really need to find cute little dividers to put in my fics lmao II Gif not mine credit to the creator - I do not consent to my work being reposted to other sites, I only post my writing here, but likes and reblogs are appreciated!
~
“He is my creation, I insist-”
“You have better things to do than chase around a rogue nightmare my love.”
Morpheus sighed, you could see he was having an internal conflict. You knew the dangers of the waking world just as well as he did. But you liked to think you could handle said dangers without your husband lurking behind you. You climbed up the steps to his throne stopping just before you bumped into his knees.
“Let me go track Corinthian down, then I’ll pop back here and fill you in. Might even be able to sweet talk him into coming back, I’ve been told I have quite the charm.” ending your plea with a smile.
You could see the slight eye roll you were given, didn’t change the fact Morpheus smirked the tiniest bit. “Please don’t try to confront him, I like to keep him far from you.” he mumbled, standing up from his throne.
You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around Morpheus, he copied your actions immediately. Moving his head down to speak into your ear, “Promise me you’ll be safe my love.”
You leaned back just enough to meet his eyes, “I promise, if it makes you feel better send Jessamy to keep an eye on me.”
That was the last time you saw Morpheus, and that moment played over and over in your head.
~ ~ ~ ~
“So which one have I got then?”
“You my friend have the King of Dreams wife locked up in your basement”
“What will she get me?”
“Not much I’m afraid, but do yourself a favor and make sure the sigils on the floor keep her powerless. The last thing you want is for her to zap back home and send her husband rampaging into your home.” Corinthian stopped pacing the room. Adjusting his glasses before continuing, “Do yourself a favor and take that wedding ring of hers, that’s the closest you’ll get to any of Dreams power.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Soon your captor was stalking around you like a lion watching his prey. You felt sick, exposed, whatever other word fits that bill, you felt it. Listening to this man, who introduced himself as Roderick, rambles about how if you give him what he wants you can go free. Your eyes simply follow him around the room not saying a single word. As he left he thanked you for the gift, holding out your beloved wedding ring that now hung from a chain.
And so the rather uncomfortable days went on, as you sat contorted into a position that protected a bit of your modesty, feeling the anguish settle in your chest. Only being able to imagine what Morpheus was feeling. You did find a bit of solace when you had the women guards watching you. Their eyes stayed on their books, and when they looked at you the looks were filled with confusion.. and occasionally sadness.
Roderick came back to visit you again, but this time he got a reaction from you. Not that it mattered much to him, he just wanted you to cooperate.
“All you have to do is summon your Morpheus-”
“Don’t you dare speak his name,” you snapped startling him. The first words you’d spoken to him dripped with venom.
Tears welled in your eyes at the thought of Morpheus. Eventually left alone again you let the tears flow, choking back sobs. You could have wept forever if you wanted, but you collected yourself and returned to the stoic state you had adopted since being captured.
~ ~ ~ ~
Hearing the flap of bird wings had your head snapping up towards the door, you watched Jessamy slip between the bars and flutter about your prison. You shifted to sit up more as she pecked at the glass, you smiled for the first time in years. Hope ignited in your chest, because if she sees you, Dream sees you.
“Jessamy, oh sweet bird look at you.” your voice broke, from being overwhelmed and not being used for years. Her pecking became more frantic as your hand reached up to touch the glass.
Then a loud boom had you staring at blood, your eyes slowly moving down to the corpse of you and your husband's beloved raven. The anger in your eyes was enough to send a brief look of terror across Alex’s, while Roderick stood by the door with no reaction. As they left you be, you would have given anything to be able to grieve without people watching you. To scream, cry, wail, anything would have done. Instead you just wept silently, making yourself as small as you possibly could inside your cage.
~ ~ ~ ~
You had seen Roderick die, and his son grow old. Yet he still begged for what he had no business, trying to bargain with you. He sat in his wheelchair damning you to hell when you glared and uttered a soft, “I owe you nothing.”
Maybe you would decay here. Eventually turn to dust and be forgotten by time, any fate is better than sitting in silence for the rest of this universe's existence. Your eyes closed, even if you slept you never dreamed, thanks to whatever chalk markings kept you here and hidden from The Dreaming. You made peace with the silence long ago, it was more comforting than suffocating now.
Your ongoing silence was disrupted by someone approaching the basement, not having the energy to deal with another berating you kept your eyes closed. As you listened to the guards approach the door and utter sounds of confusion you were intrigued. Opening your eyes as you heard two loud thuds, and for a moment you didn't believe your eyes. Morpheus was standing right in front of you, looking down at the chalk markings before wiping them away with his foot. He stepped forward putting his hand on the glass separating you. The sob that slipped out sounded like it should’ve come from a wounded animal, not the queen of The Dreaming.
Soon the glass was shattered and you were collapsing into his arms, broken sobs leaving your lips as you clung to him. The first thing out of your mouth nearly broke Morpheus, “I-I’m so sorry oh I’m an idiot, it’s all my fault. They shot her right in front of me and I knew you were watching it too and- oh god-.”
He hugged you impossibly close, shushing you gently, “Let me take you home my love.”
Sand whipped around you and when you opened your eyes you were back in your shared bedroom. You were home. Silently thanking Morpheus for ensuring you were clothed when you both appeared. So many things you wanted to say but nothing but choked sobs were coming out of your mouth. But it seemed like Morpheus understood everything you were trying to say as he held onto you.
Your sobs seemed never ending, their severity had gone down and now you just held onto Morpheus as if he himself would turn into sand and blow away. He made no effort to try and stop your tears, as he silently wept on his own. You pulled away gently, moving to cup his face in your hands, which he welcomed. Wiping his tears and taking a shaky breath, “I’m so sorry,” you whispered.
This time it was Morpheus’s turn to move his hands to your face, his face holding a look of disbelief. “You are apologizing for being taken against your will? When it is I who should be sorry, begging on my knees for your forgiveness.” You attempted to shake your head, but he continued before you could protest.
“I should have found you sooner, it never occurred to me that someone could steal you away from me. I will never let that happen again.”
You leaned forward into him, hiding your head in the crook of his neck. He held onto you in silence for as long as you wanted. Your tears had stopped and when you leaned back, just enough to look around your shared bedroom, head turning in all directions. Not a single thing had changed in over a century, it was just as the day you left it.
“I could not bear the thought of changing much throughout the palace,” Morpheus murmured as if he read your mind, “To change anything would have been erasing your presence here.. That and I knew you would scold me the day you came back had anything been changed without your consent.” At that you let a soft laugh out accompanied by a smile. A smile Morpheus had missed so much, his fingers gently tilted your head towards him as he leaned towards you. Stopping only inches from your lips, giving you a moment to say no should you not want to go any further.
You closed the small gap connecting your lips to his, a pathetic whimper escaping into his mouth. Had you not been so enamored by feeling his lips for the first time in over a century, you’d have felt embarrassed by that sound. Even with all that time apart your bodies still knew each other just the same. Mouths moving slowly and gently against one another, as if one of you would shatter with too rough of movement. Your hands had made their way up the back of Morpheus’s neck, ever so gently winding your fingers through his hair. As gentle as that motion was, it was still enough to pull a soft moan from the back of his throat. The kiss became more intense, pulling yourself impossibly closer to your lover, as if trying to fuse your bodies together for the rest of eternity.
It was Morpheus who pulled away first, a slight smile gracing his lips as you both caught your breath. “As much as I would love to spend the next several hours with you in this room, you have a realm that has missed you so.” Knowing he was right you copied his small smile planting a final soft kiss on his lips before asking, “Do I look presentable? Minus the dark circles around my eyes.”
To which he responded, “You look perfect my love.”
His hand slid down and laced his fingers with yours, “Before I forget,” he mumbled as something slipped onto your finger, “I believe this belongs to you, my queen.”
Looking down at your hand you saw your wedding ring back where it’s meant to be. A feeling of contentment washed over you being reunited with it.
~ ~ ~ ~
Morpheus held out his arm as you both descended down the stairs, you took it gladly needing all the support you could get. Turns out being sat in a glass prison for a century makes you feel like a baby deer in terms of walking. “Shall we stop by the library first?” he proposed, to which you agreed immediately. The thought of seeing Lucienne and Mervyn made your heart soar, which was clear in your footsteps as they sped up. Taking in the palace, still the exact same as Morpheus said, although it seemed a bit unwelcoming.
“I will be the first to admit,” your husband began hesitantly, “When it was evident you were missing… the palace grew colder. Which may have been the result of my demeanor.”
Your heart ached for him then, simply squeezing his arm as you rounded the corner and got into the library. As you both walked through some shelves you heard the loud booming of laughter, clearly from Mervyn. Finally making it into the main area, you saw the table he was sitting at, with a raven you’d never seen before.
“Perfect timing my lord, there’s a few books I’d-” Lucienne’s voice died in her throat as she emerged from a corner of the library. Dropping the book in her hand, speaking in a whisper, “My Lady?”
You nodded and darted towards her, yanking her into a hug, which she welcomed. Occupied by the reunion with her you missed Mervyn’s head snapping in your direction with a gasp. You separated and it was apparent you were both fighting back tears.
“I-It’s been-”
“Too long?”
“Too long indeed my lady, oh how we’ve missed you” sniffling as she spoke, you could feel the urge to ask questions radiate off her. But she knew you’d explain everything to her in time.
Soon you were being pulled into another hug by the beloved pumpkin head, to which you let out a giggle. “Good to have you back ma’am, I missed my gossip buddy.” This was the most you had smiled in a long time. “I’m sure we have a lot to catch up on.” “Boy do we! The minute you’re free I'll start the catch up!”
Finally your eyes landed on the raven who was awkwardly hopping from foot to foot on the table beside you. You bent down slightly, just enough to not absolutely tower over the poor bird. “And who is this little bird?” You queried softly, feeling the apprehension in the room. Morpheus didn’t intend for you to meet him right away. After what you witnessed with Jessamy, he was going to put this off for as long as possible.
The raven cleared his throat before speaking, “M-My name is um, Matthew, caw! It’s Matthew ma’am.” he avoided eye contact like it would anger you. Hearing Lucienne validate his existence for your husband's safety made you you smile, holding out your hand for Matthew. He hesitantly hopped into your palm as you stood up, gently running a finger over his head.
“Welcome to the family Matthew, I owe you a lot for keeping my husband in one piece for part of my absence,” your tone warm and soft, causing a visible relaxation in the raven and the room, “After all, I know how stubborn he can be.” Laughter echoed through the library as you finished that sentence. He dipped his head as you let him hop back onto the table, and soon you were on Morpheus’s arm again walking around the realm, feeling the joy slip back into every crevice in your presence.
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Darry taking care of you after getting your wisdom teeth removed would entail;
tags/warnings: [no warnings really besides Darry being a little shit and also being completely in love with you, cringe dialogue ahead, established relationship, fem reader, he’s in college in the film so it’s not really college AU! But]. genre: 🧸fluff
a/n:this is kind of a random starting point lmao, I’m slowly wading back into writing but alas, I fear I’m a bit too discombobulated and unfocused to write out an entire fic so here are some headcannons to work through the writers block and also because we all deserve a Darry, i think 🧋⌨️
* If he had access to you right afterwards he’d definitely be recording you.
* “How’re you feeling baby?” He’d snicker while eying you through the Lens of his cam-recorder , waiting for you to say something stupid having not realized that those failarmy videos tend to be outliers and you were most likely just gonna be tired.
* He’d also probably try and tell you weird lies to see if your sense of reality was off enough for you to bite.
* “Hey babe? Holy shit- is David from the lost boys outside the car window?”
* He’d insist on being your designated driver and would pay very close attention to whatever discharge instructions you were given so he knew how to best care for you.
* Dude has the absolute biggest soft spot for you, seeing you all loopy would just trigger it even more .
* “Aww, c’mere sweetheart, you okay?” He’d ask softly , wrapping his arms around you to steady you.
* After asking five more times how you were doing in the car, he’d ask you if you wanted anything on the way home as though you truly had a choice; a milkshake would be mandatorily bought.
* He’d cancel anything just to make sure he could say with you. Classes, work; he even asked his strictest professor for time off.
* “An excused absence? For what, exactly?“
* “My girlfriends getting her wisdom teeth taken out, I just need to make sure she gets home okay and everything.”
* He always feels his heart swell a little anytime he refers to you as his girlfriend to anyone else.
* As corny as it is it just forces him to re-conceptualize the fact that the two of you are together and it hits him all over again.
* even using the title with his grumpy physics professor gives him a weird sense of pride.
* In general darry is a very attentive lover.
* He’s a sensitive person and along with that comes a certain level of intuitiveness , he can often read the room to see how he can make you more comfortable, to think of anything you need etc.
* if you’re missing classes and there’s things you can’t access online he’ll be sure to get them for you.
* you want a bag of Cheetos? An iced coffee? It’s yours, doesn’t matter what time of day or night, darry is an absolute simp and would get it for you though depending on his mood he may get a little whiny (as though it hadn’t been his intent to get it for you the entire time. )
* So as you can imagine, the above applies even more so if you’re sick or need to be taken care of.
* Trish, who sees her brother as immature and selfish (albeit, in an endearingly annoying kid brother way) would be flabbergasted once she witnessed how tentative her brother is around you.
* She’d never admit it to him directly but it’d make her proud to see how much he’d matured though she’d probably tell you as much, jokingly asking what you did to straighten him out.
* He’ll literally get you anything you’d ever want or need and would stay with you throughout the period of your recovery.
* Even things that you deemed as gross or embarrassing wouldn’t deter him from wanting to be at your side.
* “Darry, don’t look!” You slurred around the gauze you were attempting to pull from your mouth, looking up at his reflection appearing behind you. He scoffed, holding you against him by your hips as his eyes met yours in the mirror . “What?“
* “I don’t want you to see me like this it’s gross”
* “You getting shy on me?” He’d snake his arms around you at that, laughing into your hair.
* “Relax, sweetheart. Only embarrassing thing is you can’t kiss me, fuckin loser.”
* But make no mistake, he’d 100% be teasing you the whole time.
* If your lips and chin are numb at first he’s gonna constantly tell you that you’re drooling on him since you can’t tell whether it’s true or not.
* “Shut up, man.” He laughed as you elbowed him lightly once your the back of your hand came back from your chin dry.
* Darry is pretty clingy so this is ideal for him (well, minus you being in pain), he’s happy to have an excuse just to spend time with you.
* He wouldn’t even playfully banter about which movie you should put on, he’d let you have full reign over the remote .
* He’d also make sure you had the appropriate snacks that wouldn’t exacerbate your condition as well.
* “Shit, uh…what do old people with no teeth eat? Ice cream, yeah?”
* “what the fuck Darry”
* You guys don’t fight a lot but playful banter is a staple, just like it was before the two of you started dating .
* Since he knows you better than anyone else, both as a lover and as a friend, he’d gauge how facetious to get with you and would be much gentler if need be, his banter would be for the benefit of your amusement rather than to engage in the usual back and forth you’d grown accustomed to.
* Especially seeing as how your capabilities for speech would be limited.
* (He would tease you a little on that though, for sure)
* He’s touch starved, you can’t tell me otherwise and would just completely bask in your company as he spooned you on the couch or where ever the two of you happened to be.
* He’s pretty gentle by nature but he’d make sure to be extra careful with how he held you, making sure not to put pressure against your face when you laid against him.
* Would let you wear his clothes if you wanted, might steal one of your t-shirts to make you laugh.
* “What? You gonna call me a poser because I don’t listen to…” He trails off, stifling a laugh and pulling the fabric from his midriff to make out the writing on whichever one of your band shirts he’d grabbed.
* Stroking your hair from your face as he looks at you, teasing you for having “chipmunk cheeks” from the swelling while simultaneously touching you with the most tenderness you’d ever been Handled with.
* “Y’know, you look cute this like this”
* “Hm?”
* “Quiet, for once.”
He’d literally squeal as you dangled a gross bloody tissue at him in mock reprimand of his comment.
* Even softer than usual, calling you all the most sentimental pet names he has for you (and the sillier ones as well of course, that can’t be helped )
* Sweetheart, baby, pretty girl, princess etc.
* He’s definitely the type to verbalize it often, but his actions are blatant testimony to how much he loves you.
#darry jenner x reader#darry Jenner#jeepers creepers 2001#jeepers creepers#Justin long#imagines#headcannons#darry jenner headcannons#darry jenner imagine#darry jenner fluff#🧸#jeepers creepers headcannons#jeepers creepers imagine
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Betta Presents...
WIP WEDNESDAY!!
Welcome to my first take on wip wednesday, where yall get a snippet of a current original fic im brewing up! I thought it would be a cool way to give yall content without stressing myself out with needing it to be finished content. (i work slow asf lmao)
Anyways. here is the wip of my upcoming two part fic, titled
"The Death Of A Sorcerer; A Requiem Of A Princess"
___________
Cedric stared up at the ceiling of his cell, watching the little beads of water that slipped through the cracks in the stone above drip onto the hard brick of the floor below. Rats scurried in and out of the rusted iron jail bars to his left, carrying the untouched food he cast aside earlier back to their dens.
The tiny cell he occupied had no windows of any sort; the only light available to him was the dying embers of the torches mounted in the hallway, leading out of the cell block. The sorcerer shifts uncomfortably on the hard, freezing cold slab fixed to the wall of his prison, feeling the pins and needles wrack his thighs from sitting idly so long.
Cedric shivers, trying to pull his robe tighter against himself. It was a fruitless task, he knew- his stiffened fingers could attest, from clenching the fabric so taut for hours on end.
Though Cedric hasn't moved more than a few inches since his imprisonment the day prior, his exhaustion lingered down to the marrow of his bones. The sorcerer's mind had provided him no rest since being dragged away in chains- although, he was usually accustomed to racing thoughts that took away his sleep.
But not like this.
Cedric was normally used to the usual spiraling thoughts of "what if" when it came to his magic, his reputation, his worth as a person. Followed by the self hatred when he became a self fulfilling prophecy, and those what ifs became reality.
That was why he threw everything, everything he had into his evil dreams, wasn't it? To escape the purgatory that he was forced to call his reality. To force the hand of fate to deal him a better card. It seemed like his own blind faith, alongside his lofty ambitions, (desperation, in disguise, truly) was just another folly, and he was played for a fool.
Although, Cedric would be lying if he hadn't imagined the possibility of his evil dreams being a failure. The dream was born from him, after all- it was already doomed from conception.
At least, that's what Cedric had initially thought.
Shaking his head, he thinks back to the moment he hesitated to take over Enchancia. Sofia's bright blue eyes, pleading. The tip of his wand pointed towards her, the Medusa stone gleaming with every ounce of misguided resentment harbored from his life thus far. None of it which was Sofia's fault.
In fact, his sights were aimed at the little girl who gave him everything- which Cedric realized far, far too late. Only when Cedric had stood on the precipice of no return, did he find what he was truly looking for; not a crown, not a throne, not revenge.
A friend.
Cedric laughs humorlessly, the echo bouncing off the dampened stone walls. He tilted his chin up, the back of his head bumping into the wall as he contemplated.
How ironic. My greatest failure was also one of the best decisions I ever made.
Cedric takes in a shaky breath, feeling panic at his own demise writhe from the pit of his stomach.
"Probably the only good decision I've ever made." Cedric muttered grimly, digging his heels into the floor. Memories come crashing back into his mind, too quickly to rewind. But one instant remained.
Roland's decree was burned into Cedric's head, his authoritative voice cold and final:
"You will face the guillotine by sunrise tomorrow, Cedric. I sincerely hope you will accept your death with a little more grace, and dignity, than what you've shown me today."
The sorcerer slowly lays down on the bench as the words fade from his mind, feeling restless as his panic flared up again. His back meets the cold slab that hungrily leeched more of his body heat, and he winced in discomfort.
Cedric knew there was no chance of him getting any sleep tonight. He was too restless, and the wheels in his mind kept turning with its relentless pace about what led him to the dungeons at all.
But frankly, he was spent from regretting things that cannot be undone nor forgiven for. He was also painfully bored of staring at the same four stone walls, tracing the grout between each rock aimlessly.
Cedric's eyelids flutter shut, his chest feeling heavy.
Tomorrow, I will die.
Cedric huffs out a slow, resigned sigh.
All the better, Cedric thought, feeIing the back of his eyes burn with unshed tears.
I don't think I can live with the weight of my sins any longer.
#wip wednesday#cedricthesorceror#sophia the first#cedric the sorcerer#cedric sofia the first#current wip#my wips#stf fanfic#uhhh oops sorry yall this one is a doozy
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jfc I think I’m driving myself insane/pos. I genuinely cannot wait for the turtles to find out about Tommy’s absolutely f’ed up past life and just be like ‘oh what bullshit is this!? >:(‘
Also, I think I have an idea of how you’re going to do the ✨Trauma Reveal✨ and if I’m right I am SO excited!! (I’d be excited either way)
Another thing I’m really excited to potentially see (don’t know if you’ll touch on this exact thing) is how different their world’s morals are!
Rise being a kids show, means that most of the villains are pretty one dimensional and, unless they’re actually important, tend to never really be treated seriously or ever get treated like actual people (unless there’s a redemption arc planned, like Barry).
But with the SMP, because all of the characters are written by individual real people and are treated like people, all of the ‘villains’ are actually just really bad(or good) people with enough questionable motives to earn them the title of ‘Villain’. (Minus JSchlatt and Dream ofc. They’re genuinely just evil)
I can totally imagine Tommy getting stressed or upset about the turtles labeling these characters as ‘villains’, and somewhat frantically trying to explain to them how morally gray people can really get. Because for Tommy, all the villains he’s seen were people he actually knew and could’ve been good friends with. My point is, Rise’s version of a Villain is vastly different from the SMP’s version of a Villain and I find that incredibly interesting, just in case you couldn’t tell ;)
Analogy over, that was way too many words but i started typing and couldn’t stop. Hope the writing is going well! Can’t wait :D
Raahhhh so many people would be added to their 'to punt' list (if only they weren't a universe away, lmao).
I'm gonna be honest, my current plan for how they find out about his past is slightly batshit and entirely evil (in the sense that I will be very mean to Tommy). We draw closer to that fic every day and I'm very excited about that fact.
Yeah, that's deffo one of those things where if it comes up it comes up, but I don't have any particular plans for it. I like to think he'd enjoy hanging out with Hypno and Warren (bullying. He would enjoy bullying Warren), they're rather flamboyant in their crime, I imagine Tommy's theatre kid ass would appreciate that.
But yeah, If I remember correctly, c!Tommy's of the mindset that most people aren't really evil or bad per se, they just make really bad choices sometimes. Like c!Wilbur. I remember c!Tommy once had a chat with Foolish about his stance on the concept of forgiveness and what he thought about Wil's past and current behaviour.
Never worry about using too many words, I happen to be a big fan of those things. Not gonna complain about that, it was very enjoyable to read :D
It was fighting me for a while, but I've finally found an approach that I'm happy with, so things are thankfully starting to go much smoother now o7
#TIITTV#We're also finally getting some Tommy and Splinter interactions#so that's exciting#I'm very curious about what your guess for the trauma reveal is#lmao 'reveal'#as if he's doing an even halfway decent job of concealing his lackluster mental health
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LiS True Colors fanfic (prologue)
Terrible title, I know lmao, but it doesn't have an actual title yet. I'm finally ready to start sharing my fanfics, this being the first one here.
The main idea was "what if Alex had Max's powers too?" because I wanted to write a time travel story, basically. It starts after the ending of the game, but not an official one, I guess? I kinda mixed two of them. The beggining of the fic will be more Alex/Steph but there are a lot of mentions of Alex/Ryan in this prologue too.
Last thing is that English is not my main language so sorry for any mistake! Here's something I drew for it:
You can read it on this google doc or under the cut: (1424 words)
Prologue
.
.
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Alex doesn't understand how doing exactly what she wanted can be so scary
Or
What if Alex had Max's powers?
---
The bus gave a sudden lurch, and Alex had to catch herself from falling off the seat. For that measly second, her mind returned to the real world, looking around. Beside her, Steph was going through the same thing, cursing under her breath as she returned to her previous position.
Then it ended.
Her attention immediately returned to the window, her cheek resting on her hand. Outside, the trees and mountains were farther apart. Different. Quite different from Haven Springs. The realization of that knocked her over again, making Alex swallow hard as she began to think about how her own decision hadn't made her as satisfied as she'd hoped.
Maybe it was because she didn't think it would happen so soon. I mean, Alex was never an optimistic person. Far from that. Because optimism never made her life easier. However, part of her had found small hopes just a few weeks ago, when she'd been on a bus much like this one: seeing Gabe again could be weird, but could also be good. She could find connections, comfort, and everything else she'd lacked before. She could make Haven Springs her home.
She would be lying if she said that things didn't turn out the way her more unrealistic self imagined.
And again, even that hadn't gotten her anywhere. For there she was, heading towards the opposite side of the country, just as she had started.
Alex sighed, burying her face in her hand.
"Look," Steph's voice made her reluctantly focus on something that was not her thoughts, "you might be the one among us who reads minds... Buuuuut something tells me you'd have a blue stain around you right now ... It's blue, right?
A second sigh came out of Alex's throat, but this time, she too turned her head and smiled slightly. A sad smile:
"I am really sorry. I think I'm kind of tired."
"But already?" Steph didn't seem convinced, "It's the first hours of our incredible journey! When we're in Pennsylvania you won't even be able to stand up then!"
There was a certain good humor in her voice, which Alex appreciated. She was already tired of all the disguised judgments she had received in the last few days in that city.
"You're really used to traveling, huh!?"
"I prefer to believe that I wasn't born for only one city!" Steph closed her eyes in a dramatic pose, pointing at herself.
It was lovely. Alex's smile rose a few inches, until she noticed the blue stain start to appear around the other one. It was small and lasted a few seconds. Alex even tried to avoid reading Steph's thoughts, but it was almost involuntary: as none so far made me feel like I should.
"I'm with you on this one!" Alex laughed awkwardly.
She knew her thoughts would take over again. So she didn't even turn her face to the window. Instead, she slowly laid down on Steph's shoulder, giving the other woman enough time to stop her if she wanted to. But of course Steph didn't move a muscle, just resting her head on Alex's.
The contact was still awkward. Something she knew she would need more time to get used to. It was just one of the many consequences of growing up with little affection. She now avoided and begged for it in equal measure. It was like that when she hugged Gabe for the first time after meeting him again: awkward, out of place and strangely nice.
She felt her brother's affection in unusual ways, being when she discovered that he had bought a guitar as a gift, days before she arrived; or when everyone in town spoke to her with a certain familiarity during her first week there. "Gabe couldn't stop talking about you!", Ryan confessed one afternoon that he spent at her apartment, "He guaranteed that everyone would love you! He said that you could form a band with Steph. That you wouldn't even complain about watching the boring documentaries I liked. Scary how right he was... And now I understand why he thought that...".
Every time she talked about Gabe with Ryan, she felt a warm feeling in her chest, in a way she knew she wouldn't feel with anyone else. The two understood each other and expressed their love for Gabe through each other as well. It made that anything but real, as if they were just two old friends reminiscing about stories and would soon see Gabe again.
Affection for Alex often took that form: being able to pretend everything was fine with someone else.
At that very moment, Alex had her legs on top of Ryan's. He gently placed his hand on her knee, lightly caressing the area. Something so small and ordinary and…weird. She didn't know if she liked it, and it made her uneasy.
She wanted something real and different from the feelings she'd stolen from someone else. And she knew reality was always a little scary, so she seemed to be on the right path.
It intensified when she handed him the rose at the festival, her heart beating a mile a second. Even worse when she kissed him for the first time, the gold and purple mingled in him as well as her. She was close enough to feel everything that went through his mind. It was always a mixed bag, just like it was with Alex. Confused. Scary. New. Comfortable.
Maybe all that fear wasn't so bad after all.
Purple certainly followed her through the rest of that short relationship.
She saw how Ryan was paralyzed as she confronted his father. Or when he himself yelled at her, telling her to stop it.
Ryan didn't believe her.
It wasn't the anger she was so used to that washed over him as he refused her touch, almost as if he was disgusted with her. Or when he started avoiding her for the next few days, his guilt prevented him from even getting close.
No. It wasn't anger. Or sadness.
It was fear.
Now Alex couldn't help but think of everything from the start. At all the other times that emotion was present.
Maybe it wasn't as normal as she wanted to believe it was.
"It's like this in the beginning!" Steph's voice again brought her back to the real world.
Alex needed a few seconds to even understand what was said:
"Huh?"
"This weird bus adrenaline! It's always kind of sad, at least it was like that for me too" She said while practically rubbing her face against Alex's, "But let me tell you a secret: Salem will never be the best part! We have many places to visit even before there!"
"Is that talk about 'the true treasure are the friends you made along the way?"
Steph lightly punched her arm, even though she was laughing:
"I'm serious, okay? The good part is that we'll never know if Salem will really be our final stop. Maybe we'll walk into a hotel in the middle of nowhere in Ohio and decide that's where we belong."
"Is that what happened when you stopped in Haven Springs?"
"No..." She admitted, "But that hope always wanted to get me out of there."
Alex still appreciated how much the other tried to cheer her up, so she decided to shrug her shoulders, giving up:
"Who knows, right? We might not even stop anywhere! Let's just keep traveling. We just need to get temporary jobs to buy a van."
"Then we can make a short list: ‘places to visit before death'! We will travel the country!"
"And then we'll go down to Latin America. Somewhere has to be our place."
"Or no place will ever be our place!"
"You make it look like a good thing." She chuckled.
"You understand me, Alex."
That simple sentence cut the conversation short. Alex lifted her head from her shoulder, then made eye contact with Steph. She had said the last sentence simply, as if she was joking. However, the way she was looking at Alex now, it was as if she had confessed to something much bigger, which she had been keeping inside for a long time.
The color purple washed over Steph.
Alex smiled.
Maybe she wasn't so wrong about affection and love.
#my writing#life is strange true colors#alex chen#steph gingrich#ryan lucan#at this point I don't even know if it's good or not#I only know that writing the next scene is being hard already so I decided to make the first scene a prologue#it's ridiculous how nervous I am about sharing this
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hiii. really love the intrigue and plot of Pieces! i know you wrote the note about personalization of power word kill forevers ago but i think about it every now and then. its such a cool bit of flavor.
i was wondering; do you have any mind palace lore about how pwk is different for every wizard? or even anything about how rosalie learning it was like? im so curious as to what it entailed to make her sick afterwards
love all the d&d thought going into this fic x
Hi anon!
Thank you for the question!! When playing D&D, I like when people get asked what their 'word' is when they use spells with word in the title (healing word, word of radiance, etc) so Power Word Kill was an extension of that trope - this often means that the Word is not my choice but someone else's! (Although I have now chosen words for high ranking mages in my game as a result of this ask!)
As for specifically in this fic, I often imagine incredibly high level spells are high/inaccessible because they are highly abstract and theoretical and require studying, not just copying or transcription. So I imagine it looking like someone basically doing the magical equivalent a long math problem, and then the word offering itself as the answer once you understand that spell on an intrinsic level, like a mathematical proof.
In the case of a lot of spells, you'd know you've gotten the right answer because you know... it would work. But unless you're just going around murdering people in trial and error, Power Word Kill would only feel right once you knew you'd gotten it right. In the case of Rose, I think doing a really long math problem to kill something and knowing that's what you're doing, and then getting the word Inferiu and knowing exactly where that comes from.... you'd know you'd gotten it right immediately. But you also weren't expecting that answer or that specificity, it would probably make you feel really shitty.
(Also I'm just such a fan of that fanfic trope where people throw up for emotional reasons lmao, it's what YA literature raised me to vibe with).
#asks#anons#wip: pieces still stuck in your teeth#when we talk about [redacted] i will go into spellcraft worldbuilding more but tl;dr some spells are public domain some arent#and the murder spell very much isnt lmao
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𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 Who knew that a pentagram birthmark would be the source of Imperator's pain and biggest secret?
𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 Pentagram.
𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩(𝐬) Past Sister Imperator x Papa Emeritus Nihil, Cardinal Copia/Papa Emeritus IV x GN!Reader.
𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 Suggestive at the start but no actual smut, Imperator slapping Nihil, Nihil is an asshole, Copia is oblivious about who his parents really are but reader kinda figures it out, open ending because it's fun getting others to think about what could happen.
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1252 words.
𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 My final Ghosttober 2022 fic! Time sure does fly, huh? Been catching up on JJBA on Netflix which is part of what gave me the idea for this fic. Also please don't ask for a part 2 because it's not gonna happen lmao I'm bad at commitment huh? I don't think I used gendered terms or anything for reader but please let me know if I've missed any! Oh, and by the way HAPPY EARLY HALLOWEEN BABES!!
Imperator first sees Nihil’s birthmark the morning after their first night together. His back is turned to her as he sleeps, the sister rubbing her eyes as she wakes up. He’s snoring loudly but she doesn’t mind. It means that he’s real and he’s there and she didn’t just imagine the wonderful night they spent together. The way he kissed her, touched her, made her see Satanas himself from how many climaxes he drew from her, none of it was a dream. The man that lies before her, Papa Emeritus Nihil, had fallen into her bed just as she’d fantasised about for so long now.
He spots the peculiar birthmark on his left shoulder and hums with a smile. This is the first time she’s ever seen a pentagram as a birthmark, but the odd sight doesn’t faze her. To Imperator, all it means is that he and his bloodline are chosen, and Nihil is the one she’s been looking for. Her instinct about him wasn’t wrong.
As her pink-tinged fingertips delicately trail over the birthmark, her new lover begins to stir. She quickly withdraws her hand and watches him turn over to face her. His mismatched eyes flutter open, and he grunts as he pulls her body up against his. He’s already half hard, much to Imperator’s delight.
“Why don’t we continue what we started last night, hm?” he asks, voice gritty with sleep.
The sister connects their lips and rolls the two of them so that he’s on his back and she’s straddling him, her tongue exploring his mouth while his hands massage circles into her hips.
***
Imperator’s palm stings as the slap echoes through the empty room.
“How could you say something so cruel?” Her tone is venomous as she glares at him.
“Someone needs to talk some sense into you. You cannot keep it,” he replies, his own voice level and betraying no emotion along with his face. He looks like he couldn’t care less about the news or her. The only thing that’s changed in his appearance is that his papal paint has been smeared by her striking him.
She clenches her fists by her sides. “You don’t get to dictate what happens with my body. You may be Papa, but I could dispose of you easily if I so wished. Or have you forgotten what happened to the mother of your other children?”
Nihil grabs Imperator by the back of her habit and starts dragging her towards his office door. “Get. Rid. I won’t be responsible for raising another man’s child just because you couldn’t keep your legs closed.”
“You’re a fucking asshole,” she spits as she shoves him away from her, leaving him taken aback at her strength as he tries not to fall over. “You cheat on me, go around kissing and fucking other women, and then you accuse me of being unable to keep my legs shut? You’re pathetic. You’re not worthy of the title of Papa.”
He narrows his eyes at her but doesn’t get the chance to retort. Imperator slams the door as she leaves, caressing her pregnant stomach as tears streak down her face. She doesn’t want things to end like this, but she can’t allow her love for him cloud her judgement. Her mother raised her alone, she could raise her son or daughter in the same way. She didn’t need Nihil or his help.
That didn’t make the separation hurt any less.
***
Of all the places to raise her son, the abbey was the last place Imperator would’ve chosen. She had turned up on their doorstep a month ago in labour, nowhere else to turn and nobody to help. She’s been desperate and her Dark Lord had guided her to the place she once called her home. The sisters had been surprised, but immediately brought her in and took her to the medical bay to assist her in giving birth. It was as she screamed and gave a final push that Nihil turned up, panicked and fearful. In her daze, Imperator had hoped that perhaps this was her former lover stepping up to the plate after realising that he was wrong, but the moment she awoke after giving birth he was gone again.
She hates the way the sisters throw her sympathetic looks in the corridors.
The new mother is currently bathing her baby boy in a plastic tub that one of the sisters had procured for her. As she gently moves him so she can wash his back, the little pentagram birthmark on the back of his left shoulder brings a tear to her eye. She knew from the moment the pregnancy test came back positive that her child would be Nihil’s but having that little symbol of confirmation meant more to her than anything else. He cared little for the boy, believing wholeheartedly that there’s no way they could be related, but that’s okay. She and Lucifer know and that’s all that matters.
***
You’re massaging Copia’s shoulders after a long, stressful day of being Papa. He melts into your touch, your fingers divine against his skin and sore muscles. You pepper kisses across the expanse of his shoulders when you’re done, wrapping your arms around his torso as you kneel behind him. Your teeth graze against his birthmark and he shudders.
“Tesoro, you tease me,” he moaned, making you smile.
“You know how much I adore your birthmark. Perfect for such a devoted Papa,” you reply. He kisses you when he turns his head to look at you, cupping the back of your head and moving so that you’re laying down and he’s hovering over you.
“Sister says the same,” he says, referring to Imperator.
You frown at him. “Are you saying she’s seen you… naked?”
He laughs, a sound that sends warmth through your chest. “Not in the way you mean it. She raised me from the moment I was born. My mother died during childbirth, she tells me.”
“Oh, shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to –”
“No, no!” He rests on his side beside you and pulls you into his embrace, caressing your face as his mismatched eyes meet yours. “You didn’t know. I don’t talk about it a lot. There is never a good time to tell someone that you don’t know who either of your parents are.”
Your fingers comb through the hairs on his chest. “Maybe one day we’ll be able to find your parents. Do you know anything about them?”
Copia shakes his head. “Ah, I do not. I used to think when I was a boy that perhaps Papa Nihil was my father, but Sister has since told me otherwise.”
“What? Why did you think that?”
He shrugs, a wistful look on his face. “Well, Terzo also had the same birthmark. I think his brothers did too. I asked Sister about it, but she said it’s a birthmark that a lot of families who have sworn themselves to our Dark Lord have. Perhaps my father is from another abbey. Maybe he is a papa in another abbey.”
When Copia has finally fallen asleep a while later, the first time he’s fallen into a deep sleep in what feels like weeks, you slip out of bed and dress yourself in the clothes he’d peeled off your body earlier and quietly leave his room to find Sister Imperator’s chambers.
Your Papa may not have connected the dots, but you know it can’t be long until it finally clicks.
#ghosttober#ghosttober 2022#sister imperator#papa emeritus nihil#sister imperator x papa nihil#cardinal copia#papa emeritus iv#cardinal copia x reader#cardinal copia x gn!reader#papa emeritus iv x reader#papa emeritus iv x gn!reader#the band ghost#fanfic#my fanfic#mine#tw: domestic abuse#tw: abuse
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About "in another life (and in this one as well)"
https://archiveofourown.org/works/39941298/chapters/100016535
Title: in another life (and in this one as well)
Author: tibuki
Relevant tags ig: zolu, timetravel, fluff
A cute time travel post-wano ZoLu fic! Real good, definitely a delectable read for any ZoLu fans. Maybe more so for main Zoro fans, because it's kinda Zoro-centric.
Let me start by saying I ADORE time travel fics. The possibilities they generate for angst are just *chef's kiss*. However, this is not an angsty fic, it's fluffy with the right dose of shenanigans for a 3.9K word work. Also, this is all my own subjective opinion, with no ill intentions to anyone, so please keep that in mind.
Now, spoilers for the fic and the Wano Arc ahead, BEWARE.
The way that old!Zoro knew from the start not to say anything because Luffy wouldn't want a boring adventure is SO on point! Robin deducing THEY got married because Nami officiated the wedding IS such a Robin thing to do, I love her so much.
AND JEALOUS YOUNG!LUFFY AAAHHH. I know we all know Zoro is DEVOTED to the man, but I really like it when people also show Luffy's possessiveness and adoration for Zoro. We do forget sometimes that Luffy WENT SEARCHING FOR HIS SWORDSMAN, ahh, I love them.
Oh! And jealous Sanji? Absolutely perfect. He CANNOT understand for the life of him why someone would choose anyone, LET ALONE ZORO, over Hancock. And to be fair, he has a point! Anyone not interested in men would absolutely pick Hancock over Zoro. Maybe even people interested in men would pick Hancock over Zoro. But this is not about any person. This is about Luffy and Zoro, and how it's always been just them!
It's just, really nice. Young!Luffy saying "ah, all right, you can keep it then!" EXCUSE ME?! This man was GOING TO TAKE OLD!ZORO'S RING?!!! What a petty thing to do, I love it. AND THE KNUCKLE KISS. THAT'S SO TERRIBLY DEVASTATING. IT'S SUPER EFFECTIVE!!!! Young!Luffy's brain just shortcircuited right then and there, beautiful.
AND THE SCAR MOMENT!!! Can I get more appreciation for scar moments in ZoLu Fics? Like, you guys, scars work so different in the OP canon. We know these people have been stabbed, punched, and went through basically every hell imaginable and the number of scars canon to them is actually really low!!! Like, Zoro's got 4 (1 each foot, the chest, and the eye) and Luffy's got 2 (under the eye and chest). I like the theory that scars only appear when it's an emotionally cathartic moment, when some BIG FEELINGS happen.
So old!Zoro having a burn scar over his heart, matching with Luffy, can only mean so many things, you know? He is, once again, willing to lay down his life in exchange for Luffy's, and looks like it could've been on instinct, not something old!Zoro actually planned for. All the same though, 'cause THE MOMENT young!Luffy sees the scar Zoro Knows he's not going to like it. And the implication of Luffy killing Akainu in the future? Incredible, great!
Also, before I forget, and it was a short scene, merely a few dialogues, but I adore when people get Zoro's Conqueror's Haki to show. Like, honestly? I think about both Luffy and Zoro being Conquerors a lot, but the fic is not about that, so I won't delve too much into it. But the reaction of crew, as if they didn't expect him to have it? It just shows how much the crew (and a lot of the fans, let's be honest here) have internalized how down-bad Zoro is for Luffy, and so don't really see him as a leader.
The off-hand comments about Law are funny! Poor Law, stuck on a friendship with the Straw Hats that will transcend all their lifetimes, sucks to be you. They truly only do what they want, and Law's gotta deal with it, oh well! I just wanna know what Law was trying there? Like, man, how do you even fuck up a shambles that badly? Hold on, now that I think about it. It could've been just Zoro getting lost in the shambles. I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest. And Law has to sort it out on his own lmao.
And we'll, the end? The younger versions of them confessing and holding each other?!!! AHHHHHHH It's great, fantastic, awesome. I just really liked the way Luffy's mannerisms came through, I know it's difficult to get them right, so the author did a great job there!!! If I might say something I wasn't the biggest fan of, was young!Luffy's hesitance when talking about their feelings. I'm just nitpicking here, it just doesn't match the way I picture Luffy in my head, but Luffy IS a hard character to portray, in any media, so once again, great work author. It ended sweetly so no harm done.
Now, young!Zoro's reaction to the old!crew? Incredible! He's just SO CONFUSED, old!Luffy might be taller than him! Sanji finally let his hair grow and Usopp's got muscles!!! (let's go Sanji and Usopp's character growth being reflected in their appearance, looking like they are most comfortable with, truly loving themselves) (sorry I just love them as well). The time young!Zoro spent in the future seemed so little in comparison, but it's really entertaining nonetheless.
And finally, when both Zoros are on their respective times, the conversations they have are just- I love my dumb funny pirates. Luffy's may be a bit dumb but he's not stupid!! He knew how to get Zoro to kiss him!!! I love a sly Luffy, even if only he and I think he's being sly. In the end, they are both no-nonsense, so they share a kiss rather sooner than later. Adorable, sweet ZoLu kisses that are just perfect to tie up their side of the story.
And now, the very last scene of the fic, ANOTHER SCAR MOMENT WOOOOOOO. They wake up in their bed many years later and suddenly there's not a burn scar anymore in old!Zoro's chest, and old!Luffy's reaction is also peak Luffy reaction. The tenderness they share, almost afraid it's a dream, agh, my heart!!! The time travel is actually able to change the future so they get to prevent 1 bad thing, and get 1 good thing before. I see this as an absolute win.
All and all, it was a very good fic, would recommend if you like sweet ZoLu stuff. It is well-written and made for a good insomnia past-time.
Anyways, thanks for reading my ramblings about this. Please read the fanfic and then some more.
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[fic, wip] Let It Stand | chapter one
Let It Stand
Ikemen Prince | Chevalier Michel x Main Character (Emma) | T
ao3 link
Emma gets a new editor. This editor doesn’t like her that much.
A/N: Here it is! The Novelist AU Nobody Asked For. I confess that I know very little about the publishing industry; this was just written for fun. Originally this is supposed to be a one-shot, but I'm having a difficult time writing the second half, so I'm splitting this into three parts. I was gonna title this Stet as a pun, but I ultimately chose its definition lol. Emma's novels in this fic are Ikemen games lmao but it's been a while since I've played the alluded routes.
chapter one
“What do you mean my editor suddenly disappeared?”
There was silence at the other end of the line, punctuated by a heavy exhale then followed by a distant scream. Emma didn’t know who it was and why they did. She imagined that Sariel was in his office, and that there was probably some poor intern who bungled up the photocopying machine and was now facing Sariel’s slithery wrath. She silently prayed for the intern’s unfortunate soul.
“Not to worry,” Sariel’s baritone voice came back on. “We’re conducting an international manhunt right now, so it’s not going to be a problem—”
“Wait, international manhunt?!”
“—in the meantime, we’ll assign another editor to you as a substitute for Luke. We don’t want our schedules derailed just because one of our editors thought it nice to have an unannounced vacation.”
Emma was still stuck in ‘international manhunt’. “Excuse me, Sariel, what do you mean by ‘international manhunt’?”
Sariel’s voice was cheerful, which was an indication. “Expect an email from your new editor any time this week.” The line clicked.
Emma stared at her phone, willing for Sariel to materialize from the aether, just to explain what he meant by international manhunt. It sounded ominous—not for her, but for Luke. She hoped that wherever Luke was right now, he’s happy and enjoying life, because the moment Sariel found him it would be game over.
Outside the storeroom where Emma remained staring at her phone, the door chime jingled and Rio greeted the customers with bubbly energy. It’s a slow day, but the weather was nice. Emma thought about inviting Rio later to boba tea and telling him about Luke. Rio might be able to decode what Sariel was saying. She really couldn’t move on from ‘international manhunt’; it was going to drive her insane, she just knew.
“Emma!” Rio called. “Special order pickup!”
“Coming, coming!” Emma pocketed her phone and sighed. Work first, worry later.
✏︎
Emma was a reader first and writer second.
Her first book was about a girl who became a princess, and it stamped an indelible mark on six-year-old Emma’s mind—the magical transformation and the swell of true love. The climactic kiss between prince and princess after defeating the evil dragon. It was all so grand and exciting that she made her parents buy all the fairy tale books they could get, which filled half a wall in her room. Each book was an adventure, a journey, a window to all the things she couldn't experience and feel but wanted to someday.
In her teens she tried writing. At first: fanfiction. Exploring some untouched aspects in the stories she liked, Emma learned how to translate her imagination into words. It was a heady feeling—all the possibilities. After graduating from college she went on to original fiction, having enough encouragement from her readers and a few published stories here and there.
Rhodolite Press took her in with her debut novel, about an aspiring fashion designer who time traveled five hundred years into the past and met a haughty but competent feudal lord. It sold well—not to the point where it became a bestseller, but well enough that it ensured Emma the possibility of writing a second novel. Her readers, most of whom emigrated from her fanfic days, were solid and loyal, and she enjoyed interacting with them.
Luke was her editor, a towering teddy bear with the discipline of a lumpy bedsheet. If it weren’t for her literature degree, Emma would have floundered with an editor such as Luke. Though to be fair to him, while he forwent the technical aspects of fiction writing, Luke had impeccable intuition when it comes to storytelling. It would be nice if the warlord panicked over the main character so I can see that he’s already fallen for her, he had once said, after returning the original manuscript to her, pages clean and unmarked. It boggled Emma back then, expecting a thorough commentary of her characterization and narrative choices. But she noted Luke’s observation and revised the manuscript anyway. The second time they met, Luke was smiling and said, I really liked how he cried after he lost her. That was when Emma realized that she could work with this, with him.
And now, with Luke vanishing to who-knew-where, Emma was worried. Who could be her substitute editor? She hoped that they’d get along well. She’d adjust her work ethic, if need be.
✏︎
The email came on Wednesday, terse and to the point:
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
subject: Manuscript Editing
I’m taking over while Four-Eyes is looking for Jumbo. Read my comments. Send the revised version in two weeks.
CM
Emma blinked at the message. Then blinked again. Rubbed her eyes and blinked some more. The words didn’t change.
She opened the attachment; it was her draft manuscript littered with highlighted passages and comments. There’s less white and more color. Not a single page was spared from scrutiny.
She randomly picked one comment and it read: The mechanics of the portal is unexplained. If anybody can access that portal, how come only a few do that? Everybody would get curious about it, don’t you think.
Another one: The antagonist is weakly written. Motivation is vague; his goal is underwhelming. It does not match well against the motivation of the male lead.
And another: It is unclear whether this important scene happened within a dream or reality. How consequential is a dream in this world? And why is it brought up near the end of the story? There is no buildup at all. Review your world structure.
Emma read and read and read the comments. By the time she had reached the end of the document she’s ready to challenge C. Michel to a fistfight. The notes were less a review and more an execution. Was C. Michel a legitimate editor? Emma thought about the other writers who were assigned to this jerk.
She closed her laptop without replying. A walk to clear her mind was in order. It wouldn’t do her good if she replied right now, with her mood ready to erupt like a volcano. It wouldn’t be professional, and she’s also scared of Sariel anyway.
“Rio, I’m going for a coffee break,” she called out. With Rio’s affirmative, Emma donned a light jacket and went outside.
✏︎
Thirty minutes later and a white chocolate mocha on hand, Emma decided that C. Michel maybe had a point.
There were some parts, she felt, in her manuscript that required revising and restructuring. She wasn’t too keen on the world building aspect of this particular novel, but perhaps she had to flesh out the mythology and history in order to have a better grasp of the magic system embedded in the narrative.
If only C. Michel had been kinder with his words. They needed the editing more than hers.
The ringing of her phone jolted her out of her thoughts, and her brows raised when Sariel’s name appeared on the screen.
“Did you find Luke?”
“There had been a slight mistake,” Sariel said, which didn’t bode well for Emma.
“Um, what mistake?”
“Apparently somebody meddled with the names of editors available to handle you—” There was laughter in the background, and Sariel let out a resigned exhale. Emma could feel the exasperation coming through despite the mechanical filter of the speaker. “Chevalier isn’t supposed to be your editor.”
“Chevalier?” That’s what the C stood for?
“That’s right. Chevalier has enough work to last for ten years. I don’t want to saddle him with another task. I was actually thinking of asking Leon to guide you. He’s closer to Luke in approachability than to Chevalier.”
So. Chevalier was always like that, huh. Was it because he had a lot on his plate and the stress morphed him into a rude asshole?
Then Sariel said: “I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”
Emma didn’t know what possessed her—her smarted pride, perhaps, or the sheer number of Chevalier’s offensively incredible comments—to hastily say, “Wait, Sariel—”
There was a pause. “Hm?”
“If it’s all right with you—with Chevalier, if he agrees—then I’d like to stick with him as my editor.”
That pause became a deafening silence, as if the air was sucked out of the room. Emma could picture Sariel taking a moment to stare at his phone and confirm what he’d heard. She didn’t blame him.
“This is …” He hesitated. “This is quite a surprise. I’d like to ask why.”
Why, indeed.
Emma bit her lip and groped for the right words. “To be honest, I got upset with Chevalier’s feedback on my manuscript. He could have worded a lot of things differently. But when I finally understood what he was saying, it dawned on me that I truly wanted to improve my novel. I’m going to revise it according to his remarks. I think … I think I need that kind of guidance.”
She waited for Sariel’s response, tense amid the evaluative quiet. When Sariel finally said, “I see. I’ll talk to Chevalier about it,” Emma released a relieved sigh, before realizing that she voluntarily offered herself to a bossy snob.
“Are you sure about this?” Sariel asked, telepathically sensing Emma’s burgeoning regret.
“I—am,” she said, almost sounding like she swallowed something bitter. “Bring it on.”
That elicited a chuckle from Sariel. “Fine. I’ll call you when something comes up.”
“Right. Thank you.”
The moment she hung up, doubt filled her very core. What was she thinking—why would she willingly enter a tiger’s den? To hell with proving something—she didn’t need that level of stress in her life!
Emma frowned at her already-lukewarm drink. She’s beginning to anticipate a lot more coffee in her future.
✏︎
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
subject: Re: Manuscript Editing
Four-Eyes asked me if I’ll continue being your editor. All that time and energy I spent reviewing your work would be wasted if you pulled out. I have no patience for a blustering writer.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
subject: Re: Re: Manuscript Editing
Dear Mr. C. Michel,
I hope this email finds you well.
I have expressed to Mr. Sariel my desire to have you remain as my editor while the search for Luke is ongoing. I have found that your wisdom in editing is crucial for my growth as a writer, and thus seek your continuous guidance. I am currently revising the parts you pointed out in your comments and will do my utmost to send you the edited version on the date you’ve provided.
I look forward to our prosperous partnership. Have a nice day!
Sincerely,
Emma
✏︎
Rio offered to look into Chevalier Michel.
“He probably has a profile page on the website, but I’ll ask around for some further information if you want.”
He and Emma stayed in the bookstore after it closed for some inventory, with Emma crouching by the romance section and Rio starting with nonfiction. The fluorescent lights flickered, which nudged Emma into noting that they need to replace them soon.
“That’s sweet of you, Rio, but it feels weird to do it behind his back, you know?”
Rio paused midway in taking out a hardcover and shot Emma a funny look.
“It’s not weird at all! He should’ve introduced himself in the first place—he should’ve been professional about it!”
Rio had a point. If it were other people, acting the way Chevalier did would result in getting fired, but Chevalier had held on to his and, based on what Sariel had revealed, juggled more workload than other editors. Emma never recalled any dark undereye circles or stress lines maligning Luke’s carefree face, which meant that he took only what he could handle. Chevalier tackling work ‘to last for ten years’ would imply that he was competent at his job; plenty of people relied on him, and that included Sariel.
Rio had been tinkering with his phone while Emma agonized over Chevalier and job stability, and she was about to remind Rio to go back to work when he cried in triumph and rushed towards her, phone screen tilted in her direction.
“Look, I found him! Let’s see … it says …”
The sunny tone in Rio’s voice petered off and he suddenly went quiet. Emma craned her neck to see where his gaze was trained on and—oh.
“Oh, no,” Rio whispered.
“Oh, no,” Emma agreed.
On the screen was Rhodolite Press’s website, displaying the information page of one of its editors. A profile picture was affixed on the top-left of the page, and in that picture was the most beautiful man Emma had ever seen. Blond hair framing his ivory face, with eyes the color of the sky reflected on a placid lake, an aristocratic nose and steel-set lips embraced by a magnificent jaw. He was all elegant curves, sublime geometry. Emma was certain she would never meet another one as beautiful as him.
“Emma, you’re blushing!” Rio’s voice was frantic. “Don’t fall in love with him!”
He snatched his hand back and Chevalier’s radiant face disappeared before her. It was ridiculous for Rio to think that a pretty face would sway Emma quick and easy; she only had to remember his manuscript comments and her simmering ire for him would rekindle like it never went away.
“I won’t, Rio, don’t be silly.” She glanced at her inventory list; she doubted they’d finish work tonight. “What are his credentials?”
He read Chevalier’s profile overview aloud, and Emma felt her brows rise and her eyes widen.
“—best editor of 2018, 2019, and 2021. In just three years, he singlehandedly catapulted Rhodolite Press onto mainstream radar to the point that Obsidian Publishing expressed interest in acquiring them in the past. Edited consistently bestselling books. Hm, hm, graduated top of his class, has master’s degrees in publishing and comparative literature … O-Oh, Emma, I’m serious—don’t fall for him!”
“Honestly, Rio! Stop that. I’m not going to fall in love with him. He’s my editor who writes mean comments that drive me mad! How could I fall for him when he’s my primary source of stress?”
Rio seemed appeased by that, but a pout still lingered.
“Anyway, what else can you find? Are there any bad rumors about him?”
“Well …” Rio kept scrolling on his phone. “It says here that he started out as a writer and published a few books, but now he’s focused as an editor.”
“Oh? What books did he write?”
“No. No, Emma.” Rio pocketed his phone definitively and adopted a chastising tone. “We’re behind work and need to finish our inventory.”
The panic that settled over Rio had Emma laughing. It was cute, in a sisterly kind of way, that Rio—almost comically—was keeping up with the facade of an aspiring husband around Emma. It’s one way of easing her worries, and Rio knew that, so he wore that role like second skin. Sometimes, Emma wondered if Rio was serious about it because it felt at times that he was being too sincere.
“Fine, fine, let’s get back to work.” And because she couldn’t help it: “You know that I’ll just google him later, right?”
Rio’s wailing could be heard throughout the street that night.
✏︎
And Emma did. Google Chevalier Michel.
One novel, one nonfiction, and three translations (one on philosophy, one on politics, and one literary novel). Emma checked if the bookstore had copies of any of Chevalier’s books; there were none, and she found that his books were no longer reprinted, which was unfortunate. Fascinatingly enough, his books were published by Rhodolite during its pre-mainstream days.
His nonfiction book was interestingly a monograph about historical literature. It was most likely an expanded version of his master’s thesis, based on the back cover description. The summary of Chevalier’s novel, titled A Solitary Moon, launched Emma into an upright sitting position.
A Solitary Moon was about an art historian who fell in love with the woman in a painting and spent the rest of his life searching for her. It piqued Emma’s curiosity, more so because never in her entire exchange with Chevalier would she peg him as a romantic. How could a man like him—curt, gruff, and irritating—conceive, much less write, a love story?
The novel had a Goodreads page, with a couple of reviews dated some years ago. It had an aggregate of 4.6 out of five stars. Impressive.
Most reviews praised Chevalier’s prose and his talent for imagery. Some had high hopes for his writing career. Few lamented his stoic approach to emotions, but overall, the readers enjoyed his novel. Emma belatedly realized that her mouth hung open in shock.
There was one bizarre review that captured her attention, though:
My boy Chev wrote a novel! This is great! Have to give it 1 star though, just to even things out hahaha
It was from someone named Lulu SH, and it had three likes. Emma just chalked it up to the nature of the internet.
Now she wanted to read his novel. She wanted to know what the fuss was about, even if she’s late to it. She wasn’t certain if reading his novel would shed light on Chevalier, but there had to be something she could glean from it.
If the bookstore didn’t have any copies of the novel, maybe the public library did.
✏︎
He came in like a whirlwind of bad news.
Emma had a healthy, functioning radar for trouble; it helped her on a number of occasions when she had to bail Rio out from picking a fight with customers—not to mention those who’d bother her on the way to work.
When the door chime tinkled and a streak of purple flashed in her periphery, alarm bells rang inside her head, loud and frenzied. It confused Emma, who had no reason to suspect the color purple, so she tore her gaze away from the logbook and redirected her attention to the source of her sudden discomfort.
A handsome man stood in front of her wearing the most suspicious smile in the world.
“Finally we meet,” he declared.
Emma weighed her options: there was neither a bat nor a stick in proximity to her, so should the man make a move to harm her Emma had no weapon to bludgeon him with; her phone was tucked away beside the cash register, three shelves between her, but she’s a slow runner so the man could have caught her long before she could reach the counter; Rio was out on an errand and there were no other customers—she could stall for time until Rio returned, and they might have a greater chance of overpowering the man.
She chose to stall for time.
“I’m sorry,” she began, silently proud her voice didn’t tremble, “but should I know you?”
If anything, the man’s smile grew wider. “The Four-Eyed Fiend would say you shouldn’t, but I’ve always wanted to meet you. We have a mutual friend—ha—Chev, Rhodolite’s beloved editor. Let’s bond over him.”
‘Chev’? Did he mean—“Chevalier Michel?”
The man clapped his hands in delight. “Are you having a difficult time with him? He may be your temporary editor, but I can share with you some secrets to win him over. I know a café that makes excellent mille-feuille. We can talk about him there.”
His suspicious smile became winning as he talked, like he’s used to getting his way through life. He did give off an air of being spoiled, indulgent—his movements languid that bordered on sensual.
“No, thank you. You haven’t even told me your name.”
“I haven’t, have I?” His eyes narrowed in amusement and the alarm bells inside Emma’s head rang louder and louder. “My name is Clavis. I already know who you are, so you don’t have to introduce yourself to me. Now that we’re acquainted, off we go.”
He grabbed Emma’s wrist and panic set in. “Wait, Clavis, wait—Rio hasn’t returned yet! I can’t leave the store unmanned!”
Clavis paused, glancing around the bookstore and finding no other people. He released Emma and pondered over this development as if it was some national security problem, a hand migrating to his chin, humming in deep thought.
“Well, if we can’t go to the café …” Clavis began. Emma had a wishful thought that Clavis would drop his attempt to ‘befriend’ her and leave the store, never to return.
Of course, her wish went unheard.
“Then I’ll just have to bring the café here, hahaha!”
Emma blinked, wasn’t sure if she heard right. “I beg your pardon?”
✏︎
Rio returned to the shop forty-five minutes after Clavis arrived, but by then Clavis had already: 1) set up a makeshift coffee table and chairs for him and Emma; 2) filled said table with the most mouth-watering pastries and the most heavenly coffee Emma had tasted; 3) ordered somebody else to entertain customers as they passed by Clavis and Emma, shooting them curious glances as they did so; and 4) spoke about Chevalier like he was some walking encyclopedia of the guy, regaling Emma frame by frame of what Chevalier had done to a young but arrogant writer who took offense at Chevalier’s admittedly brusque manuscript comments and thought it wise to disparage the editor. Emma winced at the story; even if she hadn’t personally met Chevalier, she agreed that it was in character for him to flay people alive for something they’d foolishly done.
“Right, right?” Clavis laughed, and something in his laughter jogged a memory from Emma.
“Hey—you’re that guy! The one who Sariel said meddled with the list of my editors!”
Clavis grinned, rakish and gleeful. “How did you know?”
“I heard you laugh while I was talking to Sariel on the phone. You sounded like you enjoyed giving Sariel stress ulcer.”
“Haha, it’s all very exciting, isn’t it? You have me to thank for arranging Chev as your editor.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, Clavis.” For emphasis, Emma took a large bite of chocolate cake. It tasted divine. “He may have given me helpful feedback on my novel, but he could’ve been nicer about it.”
“Nice? A nice Chev? I can’t wrap my head around the idea of a nice Chev. The world would end before that happens.”
“Emma, what’s going on?! Who’s that guy with you?”
“Rio!” Emma was midway to standing before she thought the better of it; the pastries and the coffee called to her more strongly than she expected. “Clavis and I were just talking about, um, work. He’s from Rhodolite Press.”
Clavis did nothing to alleviate the suspicious look Rio tossed his way; in fact, he seemed to stoke it further by waving and wagging his fingers, as if to taunt Rio that he got to disrupt whatever normal day they should be having.
Rio tore his eyes away from Clavis and then did a double take. “Emma, who’s the guy behind the register?”
“As I was saying,” Clavis intervened, denying Emma a chance to answer, “I thought it would be fun to put your novel in Chev’s editing pile. I’m so glad you liked it!”
“‘Liked it’? He said that my protagonist was an idiot!”
“Haha! Classic Chev.”
Clearly Clavis was living in a different reality from her. He deliberately misinterpreted anything Emma said about her experience with Chevalier as her editor.
“He wanted me to delete a whole chapter! A whole chapter!”
Clavis nodded in sympathy—or in schadenfreude, because that seemed more consistent with his personality in the forty-five minutes Emma had known him.
“In another chapter, he said that I had the main character and the male lead fall in love with each other so quickly it didn’t seem realistic. But my goal was exactly that—the magic of love!” Somehow the cake on Emma’s plate disappeared; ranting about Chevalier took a lot of energy. She procured another slice of cake—cookies and cream this time. It was equally divine. “How would he write about love?” she continued, waving her fork like it was some metronome for haranguing. “I want to know. I can’t rely on his Goodreads reviews alone. I have to read his novel.”
As if magic words themselves, her last sentence froze both Clavis and Rio. Clavis, sensing blood, perked up in predatory glee, while Rio clicked his tongue in irritation.
“No—you really googled him, Emma!”
“You want to read Chev’s novel?”
Their piercing and expectant gazes discomfited Emma. She shifted on her seat and took a huge gulp of her coffee, which was tragically lukewarm now.
“Um,” she said, convincingly. “It stopped reprinting, if I recall correctly.”
“Well, Miss Writer, today is the best day of your life,” Clavis announced, his excitement vibrating out of him like a defcon 1 alarm. Emma debated whether to decline him outright or inch away from him until she’s outside the bookstore altogether. “First you’ve met me—a very handsome, very attractive man; and second you’re going to get Chev’s novel—courtesy of me! No need to thank me, of course. I already know that I’m kind as much as I’m handsome. Now, do you want an autographed copy? Because I can needle Chev into signing a book. Don’t be shy—say, ‘Yes, please, Master Clavis, you’re my hero!’”
“No thank you, Clavis. I can always go to the library to borrow a copy.”
It’s Clavis’s turn to click his tongue. “Tch. You’re no fun at all. But I’m still giving you one, because Chev has some extra copies in his office that I can pilf—ask for.”
“Were you about to say ‘pilfer’?”
“Of course not, you must’ve been mistaken,” Clavis said without missing a beat. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid I must leave you now. Busy man and all. Don’t miss me too much.”
He made a show of bowing with exaggerated flourish, like a circus ringmaster, and then strode towards the door, patting Rio’s shoulder along the way. The sound of the door shutting was a relief that had Emma heaving an exhausted sigh, and Rio took over Clavis’s place across the table.
“He paid for this, right?” Rio asked, as he hoarded all the bread. They were, unsurprisingly, soft and divine as well.
Emma sighed once more.
#fic#ikemen prince#ikepri#ikemen prince fic#ikepri fic#chevalier michel x emma#chevalier x emma#novelist au#stet fic
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♡ Pairing: Royal Knight!Bang Chan x Princess!Reader
♡ Genre: angst, fluff, royal au, historical au, knight x princess au, arranged marriage (for reader), forbidden love, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining (they are so oblivious)
♡ Word Count: 15.9k (oops lmao)
♡ Summary: Y/N, as princess of the kingdom, is destined to marry for politics and financial gain, but all she wants is to marry for love. Chan, her childhood friend turned royal knight, has to either come to terms with her inevitable marriage, or finally confess the feelings he's been harboring for years.
♡ Warnings: very brief minho x reader, extremely jealous chan, also lowkey possessive chan, (he's not in any toxic way at all but still), reader is implied to be plus size, old timey traditions and expectations of women to suit the setting, i think thats about it ??
♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): petnames (princess (mostly as a title), darling, my love) loss of virginity (both reader and chan are virgins), nipple play, fingering (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, overall very soft sex with some shyness and teasing sprinkled in, breeding kink if you squint
♡ Notes: you can also read the story on my a03 here and if you're interested, you can also check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams ! and thank you so much for all the love my works have gotten so far, i appreciate it sm !!
♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.
A sigh passes your lips as you stare out at the sprawling nature before you from up on your balcony. The sight of trees swaying in the wind, flowers blooming towards the sun, and animals skittering about on the earth below always helped to ease your troubled mind. You always found yourself here when the worries of life and your duty proved too much for you. As the kingdom’s heir to the throne, you weren't often afforded the luxury of leaving your castle, or dirtying your soles by prancing in the nearby forest.
Instead, you often had to settle for the next best thing- simply observing it. Normally that was enough for you, but on days like today, where you were constantly bombarded with responsibility and expectations, you wished you could flee into the forest and never look back. It would be difficult to flee your life, but surely it would be better than this. You were tired of feeling so stifled all the time.
"All that sighing isn't going to help, Princess," a familiar voice speaks from the doorway of your bedroom. "I know that," you frown, turning to look at your childhood friend turned royal knight with crossed arms and a glare on your face. You know Chan doesn’t mean to add to your frustration, and normally you wouldn’t snap at him over a comment made in jest, but you're really in no mood for it right now. You’ll apologize later when you’re less quick to anger, but you are currently too stuck in your feelings to respond kindly.
It'd been a week since you were informed of your inevitable marriage, and you still hadn’t come to terms with it to any degree. Your father, the current King, informed you that the eligible men who desired your hand would be arriving later in the month, and how you were expected to be on your best "womanly" behavior when meeting your suitors for the first time. You knew it would happen someday but you still loathed the idea of it.. It made you feel like an object, like a pawn to be used rather than a person with her own thoughts and feelings.
"My apologies Princess, but you've been really down these past few days. I thought you might enjoy some company," Chan explains with his perfectly rehearsed politeness that you haven't quite gotten used to hearing yet. "Stop calling me Princess when it's just the two of us, it's unnecessary," you complain while Chan looks at you with a playful smile.
"Very well, Princess," he teases in response, laughing when you scowl at him for it. Chan has been your knight for a little over a year now, and while you did enjoy having him around more often, the tone shift from friend to knight was jarring. There were times where you missed your old dynamic, when he'd speak to you with no pleasantries or titles (though it did often incur the wrath of your attendants for being 'disrespectful' to the princess.)
You never found him disrespectful however; you actually quite liked that he always spoke to you candidly and without pretenses. Even as a kid you'd noticed the way commoners treated you differently from everyone else, and you liked that Chan didn't. Though he was just a child like yourself at the time, and most likely did not realize the impact it had on you, you enjoyed being able to feel like a normal person.
He was often on the castle grounds due to his parents, his mother a maidservant and his father a horseman. And while he was never supposed to have met you due to the difference in station, you two often found yourselves in each other's path. You learned to ride horses together under his father's tutelage, he would accompany his mother around the castle as she cleaned various rooms, and he’d always wave to you with a goofy smile while you were studying (even if it ended in a scolding from the adults around him.)
You had quickly become fond of him, your only friend in an otherwise lonely world. You can remember fondly the days where he would distract you from your lessons by making silly gestures behind your tutors' backs, and how he’d gift you trinkets from outside the castle’s walls, such as cheap dolls and freshly picked flowers.
They were “plain” by royal standards, but you still loved them dearly, as they were things you had never had in your life until he brought them to you. He would even bring delicious pastries and fresh bread made by his mother, which had become your favorite things to eat simply because it was so different from everything else you were allowed to have.
Chan steps onto the balcony, taking his place next to you. He leans against the banister, staring out at the scenery that held your attention moments ago. "I don't want you to get married yet either," he admits after a brief moment of silence. You look at him, taking in the sullen expression on his face. You are initially surprised he looks so sad, allowing you to catch a glimpse at his usually hidden vulnerability.
You know very well that he, like anyone, is capable of feeling a depth of complex emotions, but he rarely shows you that side of himself. You spend so much of your days stressed or tired or daydreaming about being anything other than what you are, so he chooses not to burden you with any feelings he has. You've told him many times that he could, even encouraged him to share with you, but he always said he'd rather focus on making you feel better because that would make him feel better too.
“You don’t..?” you ask, though you wonder what you are even expecting to hear in response. He’s your best friend and he cares about your feelings, so obviously he doesn’t want to see you go through something you hate, obviously it saddens him to see a friend hurting. But despite yourself, you still hope for his feelings to go beyond that.
You want to hear him say he cares about your inevitable marriage not as a concerned best friend, but as a man. A man who loves you, a man who wants you, a man who would fight for your hand in marriage against all odds. It's foolish, you know this, but you can’t stop yourself but hoping for it.
Your heart ignores the logic your brain provides, disregarding that he'll never be allowed to marry you even if he did have romantic feelings for you and was willing to fight against tradition for you. It doesn't matter that he has devoted his life to protecting you, that he's extremely well read or gifted in combat, or that he grew up within the same castle walls that you have. He will always be "beneath you", his merits never good enough, all because he was born to commoners.
You always hated that. Why do the circumstances of someone's birth have to matter so much? Why does fate have to be decided based on what family you are born into? And you can still remember vividly the day you realized you cared for him as more than just the best friend you grew up with. When he stood before you, handsome in his weathered training armor and practice sword in hand, smiling proudly as he devoted his life to your care, your heart fluttered.
Chan worked hard to be your knight, practiced with his sword to the point of exhaustion, spent countless hours reading about affairs between nations and studying combat techniques, all to be the one who protects you. He dedicated his life to you, to being by your side through everything, even if it meant putting his personal affairs on hold.
There were times where you still didn’t understand why he sacrificed so much of his freedom for you. The life you lived was so stuffy and restricting, and he could do anything. He could do whatever he wanted with life, live anywhere in the world, choose from a myriad of careers, yet he chose to be stuck in the castle with you for the rest of his youth.
The day you turned 14, you confessed to him that you were dreading the day you both became adults because you knew your lives would take you different places. Even if he followed in his father’s footsteps and became the castle's horseman, you'd likely rarely, if ever, see him. It was something you thought about a lot, as you were often reminded by your elders of your responsibilities to the kingdom, but that day it was hitting you particularly hard.
That day sticks firmly in Chan's head as well; he can still remember the way tears pricked the corners of your eyes, the reality of getting older and the responsibilities that were soon to follow already bearing heavily on you. That was the day he decided he’d work hard to always be near you, as he never wanted to see you cry over his separation from you. If there was no reason for him to stay, he would make one. If it meant freedom and choice was taken from him, he was willing to let those things go. If it was for you, it would be worth it.
When you asked him why he decided to become a knight despite the sacrifice and responsibility it entailed, why he was willing to give up so much to stay in the castle with you, he simply smiled at you. “It’s where I am meant to be,” he replied, dimples lighting up his face in an expression so sweet it made your stomach flip.
You fell in love with him that day. Or maybe you always loved him, and that was the day you fully realized it. That intangible feeling that always lingered whenever you looked at him, that you couldn’t hold and understand but knew was there. It was love, all that time. You knew it then, and you still know it now. Chan is the only person you will ever love.
He spends the rest of the afternoon comforting you, as he always does when you are feeling unhappy and indignant. Giving you kind words or gentle, comforting silence when you need it, transitioning into his goofy side who makes jokes and does his best to make you laugh as soon as you show that you are feeling better.
And it does help, but in a way it also makes it worse. Because unbeknownst to him, he’s just reaffirming your love for him. For every gesture that endears you to him, it also makes your heart sink even further. And worse of all, you can’t even be upset about it- because he doesn’t know your feelings, he doesn’t know how his kindness feels akin to a knife in your gut.
And it’s likely he’ll never know. Because when can you tell him? How can you tell him? It’s not meant to be, and it never will be. For as long as you are royalty, he’ll never be allowed to love you, and you’ll never be allowed to love him. The sooner you accept it the better off you’ll be, but you don’t know if you ever can.
How do you make yourself stop loving someone so perfect? How do you put aside your feelings, how do you pretend that they never existed in the first place? You’re lost, you’re stuck, and you know nothing will change it. You suppose the best you can do is enjoy the little time you have remaining. Live in the moment with him instead of worrying so much about the future, because once it’s here you won’t be able to get this time back.
That’s why you smile for him, earnestly. You laugh with him the way you always do, you reminisce about your childhoods, you talk about all your favorite things instead of wallowing in what you hate. You don’t allow yourself to frown or cry until he’s gone for the night, the setting of the sun beckoning him out of your room and to his own.
You cry as you wash off the day's grime in the bath, you cry as you towel off in front of the mirror, and you cry as you lie in your bed, staring up at the ceiling as you think about all the joy you will never have. Because you will lose Chan before you ever even had him. Never being allowed to hold his hand, to kiss him, to lie with him.. Because he is your knight, and a princess isn’t supposed to fall in love with one.
It’d been over a month since your suitors first started arriving at the castle to meet you, settling into their guest rooms and (frustratingly) occupying your days. You were as respectful as you were expected to be, but you really didn’t put in any effort to get to know them more deeply. You just weren’t interested in any romantics with them.
If the situation were different, and these were men you were meeting with the prospect of friendship or strengthening ties between allied kingdoms platonically, you would be much more susceptible to the pleasantries. As it stands now, you can’t put yourself out there for them the way you are expected to.
Most of them seem nice enough, and for the ones with gentler personalities you do feel bad for your standoff-ish attitude, but showing your disinterest firmly is the best way to not give anyone false hopes. You know you won’t fall in love with any of them, and wouldn’t it be worse to lead them on by having no backbone?
Sure, you could be a bit nicer, but why would you be? They are all here with the intention to marry you, they all have a goal in mind- to win you over by any means necessary. Even if they had the purest of intentions, it wouldn’t sway you to change your mind so easily. At the end of the day, no matter who is here for a chance at genuine love and who is here for political gain, you are being treated like an object, and it’s something you detest with your entire being.
Leaving aside your feelings for Chan (which undeniably also plays a part in your disdain for your situation), you still wouldn’t enjoy this process. Maybe it was your own fault for idolizing fairytales and spending your free time daydreaming about what your perfect life would look like, but what can you say? You’re a hopeless romantic, even to a fault, it seems. Is it truly so bad for you to want genuine love with someone? A love that happens organically, unforced by any outside factors pushing for it?
And now here you are, letting your maids prepare your attire and dress for tonight’s ball, where you will be expected to mingle with and accept the advances of your suitors, even if it is performative in nature. You try your best not to scowl in disapproval when your maids talk excitedly about your “romances” and who they think is most handsome out of your suitors, and who they hope you will choose.
You wish you could scream out, “I choose none! I don’t want to marry any of them!” You’d gladly let these girls take their pick of the men who came for you. It seems that the fan favorite, as it were, is Sir Minho, the handsome son to Duke Lee in the western lands. Apart from being attractive, he’s well-mannered, compassionate with animals, and skilled in battles of wit.
If you were being truthful, he was an easy pick. He was easily the most desirable of every suitor, not just from a personal standpoint, but also from a political standpoint. Keeping relations with the west positive would lower chances of revolt or separation into their own independent nation. Yes, if you were smart and not at all stubborn, you would most certainly pick Minho. But stubborn you undeniably were; opinions firm and unbending, resistant to compromise or sacrifice.
And honestly, shouldn’t that be expected? Why wouldn’t the princess, who is capable of having everything she ever wanted, not be selfish when it comes to love? You like to think yourself a reasonable person, one who makes sound decisions and goes through life with a firm sense of rationality. However, when it comes to Chan, all rational thought and decision making seems to leave you, replaced solely by emotion.
Your heart overtakes you, arguing fiercely with your rational and intelligent brain, as if making the logical, sensible choice would be foolish despite the reality being the opposite. You let out a sigh, that your maids thankfully mistake as one of exhaustion. While you arguably had the easiest job in the room, just sitting around and letting others doll you up, it was still tiring in its own right.
Layers upon layers of petticoats, chemises, and skirts, tight garters to hold up your stockings, squeezing into a corset and then adding even more layers on top of that.. If the end result wasn’t so gorgeous, you’d absolutely hate this process. And god forbid you needed to use the bathroom at any point- that endeavor in itself was hellish.
After the grueling task of fitting you into your finest royal blue ensemble, your hair and makeup came next. You begged for it to be on the simpler side, as you would be occupied for hours tonight and really didn't want to worry about keeping it pristine the entire time, and they thankfully obliged the request. There’s a few moments of downtime when they are finished, which thankfully gives you time to breathe and prepare yourself mentally for the night’s festivities.
There is a knock on the door, which the maids closest to the door don’t hesitate to open. It’s Chan, of course, as it’s his job to come collect you whenever it’s necessary for you to leave your room. That’s another reason this night you’re upset about tonight- you wish you could walk together to the ballroom as a couple, instead of as a knight and princess. “It is time to go, Princess. The guests have begun arriving in the ballroom.” he says, keeping his gaze professional under the watchful eyes of the maids in the room.
But God, is that hard for him. You're so unbelievably beautiful it makes his heart feel like it's twisting in his chest. He’s lucky that no one in the room seemed to notice the way it stole his breath away, or the way his eyes lingered on you for far longer than they should have before he directed you to follow him out of the door.
You thank your maids for their help before you depart, and they all say some variation of “have fun!” as you leave the room. “Fun” is doubtful in this scenario, but you’ll certainly try to not be miserable, at least. Try being the keyword- you make no such promises of how things will actually play out.
You put on the best smile you can manage when you enter the room, letting various guests greet you, briefly indulging them in small talk before Chan helps you move your way past them. You take a seat next to your parents, with Chan standing just a few feet away- a respectable distance as to not intrude on the royal family, but close enough to reach you quickly if something went wrong.
As is to be expected, sticking close to your parents and away from the dancing doesn’t spare you from any attention. Those who are permitted to speak with the royal family appear to you in a near constant stream, with monotonous questions about how you’ve been and how you feel about your inevitable marriage in tow. God, the night has just begun and you’re already tired. Is it too early to retreat back to the safety of your room?
You take a quick glance around the ballroom, taking note of all the guests you have an obligation to talk to and who you could feasibly get away with staying away from. Unfortunately, it seems like your evening will be full of talking to people you don't want to deal with. You said you'd try to have a good time, but that didn't mean you had to right this second, did it? You're definitely staying at the table for as long as possible, even if it causes your guests to think of you disfavorably (and if you're lucky, it will.)
It's probably about two hours into the gathering when your parents seem to grow tired of you doing nothing but sitting with them at the head table. You can tell even before it happens that your mother and father have something to say about your silent protest. "Why aren't you out there, dear?" your mother asks, taking a gentler approach despite the obvious frown of displeasure on her face. Truthfully, she understands your sadness and feels for your plight, but she can’t allow you to wallow in it. You are very clearly sulking, proper manners ignored as you sit with crossed arms and a pout. “Don’t like to dance,” you lie, but everyone near you knows that isn’t true.
You normally loved dancing. You would attend your dance lessons enthusiastically, and later you would sneak Chan into the ballroom to teach him everything you learned. Although he loved music and followed rhythms easily on his own, his initial steps with you were always awkward. His excuse was that he was nervous to be dancing with the princess, but you would remind him that since being the princess never made him hesitate with you before, it shouldn’t matter now.
In all honesty, a majority of his nerves came from being afraid of making a mistake in front of you. Chan could normally dance very well, often being complimented and told he was a natural at it, but doing it with you made him especially nervous. What if you felt how sweaty his palms were becoming just from having you closer than usual? What if you could hear how loudly his heart was pounding? What if the nerves made him do the steps wrong?
He really liked you, and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself in your presence. Chan is often goofy, yes, but it was always willfully. He liked making you laugh and smile, but he didn’t want that side of him to be out in that moment. He found himself wanting you to see a different side of him, he wanted to impress you with how easily he picked up what you taught him, he wanted you to compliment him with your sweet voice.
To his own relief, Chan eventually managed to conquer his nerves, and he was able to pick up the steps and lead the dance without making an embarrassment of himself. Soon enough, the two of you would regularly spend hours in the ballroom together, dancing until late into the evening. With no band to play music for you, the both of you would take turns humming melodies, though you always preferred when Chan was the one doing it as his voice was so melodic and beautiful to you.
With your memories of each shared, secret dance so clear in your mind, how can you dance with any of these men and not think of Chan? How do you look at any of them and not compare their differences? How can you be with them without thinking about how you’d rather be with Chan instead? Even if they were lovely, even if they were without flaw, they weren’t who you wanted to be with.
You glance at Chan, who has to remain stone faced in these moments. Your parents are aware that you became friends with him well before he was inaugurated into knighthood, but they don’t realize to what extent. They don’t know about the countless hours spent together, how you’d disregard rules to be near him, or how you’d sneak him into spaces he normally wouldn’t be allowed in. He can’t make them aware of how close the two of you truly are by reacting, and you know this well, but you still can't help but seek him out in every moment.
Noticing you looking at him, Chan shoots you a small look of sympathy before your parents can notice, doing his best to ease you despite the restrictions. He knows you don’t want to do this, and that you hate being scolded and reminded of how “important” it is to have a “good” husband. “Good” meaning having power, or wealth, or a prestigious lineage in this case. You don’t want to care about formalities, traditions, or responsibilities. You don’t want to prioritize superficial qualities or be in a loveless marriage purely for alliance.
Is it really so terrible for you to just be in love with someone for who they are instead of what they have? You don’t care about what they have to offer or what legacies their families hold. You want to be with the person whose smile lights up your world. You want to be with the person who sacrificed so much just to stay within your realm. You want Chan.
“Your suitors would love to dance with you,” your father says, “You should at least try to get along with them, don’t be stubborn. You won’t grow to love any of them if you don’t try.” Chan watches your expression change, the mix of anger and sadness bubbling within you becoming increasingly more apparent. He wishes he could rush to your side and help, but he can't. So instead he stands in place, fists clenched in a vain effort to ground himself as he remains frozen to his spot.
“Of course father,” you say as you stand, biting your tongue so as to not make a scene in the middle of an extravagant ball. Despite your tumultuous feelings, you're not foolish enough to disrespect the king with an audience. “I need a moment, if you’ll allow it,” you say and your father nods, finding it a reasonable enough compromise.
You bow politely before you go despite how badly you wish you could storm out and give a bitter display of aggression. Chan moves to follow you, (which he would do even if it wasn't his job,) but your mother calls for him to wait a moment. “I’m aware my daughter is unhappy about this, but try to talk some sense into her for me, will you? I doubt she’ll listen to us, upset as she is. She may find it easier to listen to someone unattached to the situation.”
‘Unattached.’ If only she knew Chan was terribly, terribly attached to the situation- attached to you. “Of course, Your Majesty,” he answers politely, bowing before he steps away to follow your path out of the ballroom. It doesn’t take him long to find you despite his delay leaving; he knows you well enough to know where you prefer to be when upset.
You are outside, sitting on the steps leading to the garden, arms hugging your legs with your head against your knees. You feel trapped, and looking out at nature always helps (even if in this case said nature was still confined within the castle’s walls.) You lift your head when you hear Chan’s footsteps behind you, wiping stray tears from your eyes as he approaches. “Y/N..” he speaks softly, heart tugging at him painfully; he always hated seeing you cry.
He sits next to you, deciding comforting you was more important than worrying about who would see the two of you being close. If he gets in trouble, so be it; you need your friend right now, not your knight. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you carefully to his side. “I hate this,” you mumble with a trembling voice, burying your face in his shoulder.
Chan swallows, trying to find the words to say. He hates it too- unbearably so. Every time he pictures you being in love with someone else it makes him physically ill. He doesn’t want to think about how devastated he’ll be hearing you say ‘I love you’ to another man, how excruciating it will be for him to watch from the sidelines while you build a future with someone he can never be.
He knows his heart will crumble when he sees you make your eternal vows to someone else, so beautiful and demure and forever out of his reach. He made his promise to be your knight for the remainder of his days knowing this is what it would entail, but fuck, it still hurts. Chan has always considered himself a strong and resilient person, and he felt like he could handle this inevitability, but maybe he was naive to think so.
Nothing could have prepared him for how painful the reality actually was. His mistake wasn’t falling in love with someone unattainable- his mistake was thinking he could survive the heartbreak. In all his life, he’ll never regret falling in love with you or becoming the knight you need, but he’s still human. A selfish human, who wants more than he can be granted, who wants to marry his beloved princess more than any treasure or title in the world.
Chan does his best to keep his breathing steady, not wanting to alert you that he was affected by this way more than a friend or knight should be. He thinks about what your father said to you shortly before you left the ballroom. ‘You won’t grow to love any of them if you don’t try.’
As much as he hated to admit it, your father had a point. And he could see why your mother wanted him to make you understand, but did he really have it in him to follow her request? Could he encourage you to try to fall in love with someone else knowing how it’d tear him apart? It’s the last thing he ever wants to do, but devoting his life to you meant he had to put aside selfish desires. He couldn’t let his love for you cloud his judgment, he couldn’t sabotage your chance at happiness to make himself feel better. How can he be a proper knight if he puts his selfish hopes above what is best for you in the long run?
“Listen.. I know you might not want to hear this but.. Your parents have a point. You should get to know them better,” Chan speaks cautiously, trying to prepare for whatever reaction you might have. It kills him to say it, not just because he doesn’t want to see you with someone else, but also because he knows you won’t want to hear this from him. He watches you freeze, staring at him in something akin to saddened disbelief.
You feel as if your cracked heart has now completely shattered. If there was any doubt before, now you know. Chan doesn’t love you the way you love him. He wouldn’t be okay with this if he loved you, he wouldn’t want to see you marry someone if he wanted you the way you want him. Your feelings have always been one sided. You swallow, trying not to cry any more than you already have or show how hurt that made you feel.
“So you agree with them then..” your voice is quiet and defeated. What do you even say..? Should you admit that one of the reasons this is so hard for you is because you’re in love with him? Would that even change anything? You always knew being in love with him was a fool’s endeavor, and now that truth was solidified.
“It’s not that. You know I don't want you to, it’s just.. I know you’re miserable right now. And the reality is that you’ll have to marry one of them. If you get to know them and grow to love one of them, it’d be better for you. The way things are now, you’ll never be happy, and that's all I want for you.. Just to be happy,” he says, trying his best to show you how earnest he is.
He’s so fucking in love with you, of course he doesn’t want to see you marry someone else, it’s the last thing he ever wants. He doesn’t want to watch you fall in love with one of them, he doesn’t want to sit on the sidelines while you give your love to someone else, but he can’t keep denying the reality before him. Despite how selfish he is, he can’t put himself and what he wants above you.
And putting those selfish desires aside, he just wants you to have a good, happy life, even if that happiness comes from someone else. No matter how badly he wishes he could be the one you spend your forever with, it’s not the life that is meant for him. He has to come to terms with that, now more than ever. He has to, because it'll break him apart if he doesn't.
You look at him now, and as much as it hurts, you can see the sincerity. Even though it’s not what you wanted to hear, you know how much he cares about you. Even now, he’s looking out for you and trying his best. Maybe he doesn't love you the way you love him, but it is a form of love nonetheless. His actions have never shown you anything different, and even if it’s not the sort of romantic love you want it to be, you should be happy with what you already have with him.
You separate yourself from his gentle hold, standing quickly as you do your best to wipe your tears without ruining your makeup any further. “You’re right. I’ll try,” you say, forcing yourself to find the resolve you desperately need to get this night over with. He smiles at you, albeit strained as he suffers with his own tumultuous emotions, and rises to his feet as well.
Chan gives you one last gesture of comfort, a gentle squeeze to your hand, before he leads you back to the ballroom where everyone waits for you to return. “Are you ready?” He asks when you are both stopped in front of the doors. You sigh, taking just a small moment before you nod and allow yourself to enter the bustling room. You’re not ready, but it will never get any easier, so you suppose you’ll just have to accept that and get on with it regardless.
You leave Chan standing with your parents, where he can still have you in his line of sight while not intruding upon anything you need to do. You suppose if you’re really going to commit to this, you should go with the obvious choice- Lee Minho. It doesn’t take you long to spot him either; all you had to do was follow the gaze of infatuated maids to see him standing in a bubble with other high society guests your father invited to the event.
“Sir Minho, are you occupied?” you ask as you step forward to him, the crowd that had gathered around him easily dissipating to allow the princess closer to her suitor. “Of course not, Princess. Would you like to dance?” he smiles politely as he holds out his arm for you, and you accept it, letting him lead you toward the center of the ballroom.
Another thing you suppose you should do if you’re really going to commit to this is apologize. You doubt anything will genuinely come of it on your part, but it’d be best to not have a marriage start off with bitterness in your heart if it does miraculously develop into something more. Honestly you’d rather scream and kick than offer an apology you don’t entirely mean but.. What other option is there at this point? "Listen, I'm sorry for how cold I've been towards you.. It's not due to any fault of your own, it's just.."
You pause briefly, trying to think of how best to continue that line of dialogue, but Minho speaks up before you can. “It’s just that you are being forced into a marriage you don’t want?" Your eyes widen, mouth opening and closing as you desperately try to find a way to dismiss his accurate assessment. Were you that transparent? 'Of course you were, idiot,' you curse yourself. Maybe you should've practiced subtlety.
"I get it. You aren’t the only one unhappy about this,” he continues, further surprising you. He chuckles at your shocked expression, amusement in his voice. “What, is that hard to believe?” "I.. I guess I just assumed everyone is here because they want to be. It didn’t occur to me that you would be in a similar situation to myself,” you answer truthfully. Maybe you would have realized sooner if you hadn't been so stuck in your ways, so quick to ignore and dismiss every suitor that came close to you.
“I don’t blame you for thinking that. I’m sure most of the men are here because they want to be. I consider myself an outlier,” Minho speaks nonchalantly, but now that you are really looking at him, you can tell he is just as unhappy to be forced into this as you are. You also get the impression that he’s good at keeping a cool exterior, likely due to years of experience at suppressing his actual desires, the same as you.
“Is there someone else? Someone you love, back at home?” you ask, and Minho smiles sadly as he nods. “There is. They mean the world to me. I asked them to wait for me, I told them I wouldn’t leave them but.. I don’t know what will happen, if I'm being honest.” He tries to mask how upset he is to admit that, but you can see it. Maybe you’d be as oblivious to it as everyone else seemed to be if you weren’t dealing with similar emotions. You feel a strange sort of kinship with him now, realizing how parallel your situations seem to be. “I’ll make sure you can be reunited. I may not have much power as it stands now, but I can do that at least.”
Minho smiles at your reply, but shakes his head, as if your act of kindness would be futile. “I appreciate the sentiment, but it would only be temporary. I’m sure even if I don’t marry you, my father will just send me off to another castle to find a spouse. It’s all he cares about.” You frown, about to speak reassurances or some other comforting statement, but he stops you before you can. “What about you, Princess? Is there someone you love?” Minho asks, easily shifting the focus off of himself.
You hesitate a moment, debating on whether it would be wise for you to talk about. But, Minho already shared with you even if it could be a risk for him to admit, so.. You decide to be honest. “There is. He.. is the best person I've ever known.”
“I thought so. Not to sound overconfident, but most women fall at their feet for a chance to speak with me,” Minho smirks and you laugh, the first genuine laugh you’ve had all evening. “Well, you are handsome. I may love someone else, but I’m not blind.” Your reply makes Minho laugh as well, the conversation turning into something you can actually enjoy.
“It’s good to know the Princess isn’t rejecting me for my looks. I can sleep assured about my handsome features tonight,” he jokes, and if you weren’t in public you’d most certainly slap him on the arm. You didn't expect his personality to be what it is, but you suppose that's one of the charms that draws people to him.
“The person you love- do they know how you feel?” He asks after a beat, and you frown, trying not to let too much emotion out as you speak. “I’ve never told him, nor my parents.. I’ve wanted to, but.. I’m scared he won’t return my feelings, and.. He was born a commoner, and people won’t approve of that.” Unconsciously, your gaze shifts away from Minho and turns towards Chan.
Minho notices, of course, and follows your gaze, seeing the way Chan is overtly staring at the pair of you dancing. Oh, he is in love with you, if the way he’s staring daggers into Minho is any indication. He almost wants to laugh at how oblivious you seem to be about it, but he also sympathizes. He was there once- afraid to confess, afraid of what the reaction would be. And even now he’s still afraid of how his father will react if he ever confesses to his hidden relationship, so he’d be a hypocrite to tell you to not worry about it.
But at the very least, he can be on your side. He can be a friend, an encouraging presence, a person who understands what you are going through. “I think you should tell him how you feel. Even if things don’t turn out how you hope, at least you tried. I think that’s better than having never tried at all, and living with regrets.”
Honestly, he hopes you do confess your feeling, because he feels like he might burst into flames any second if your knight keeps staring at him with fire in his eyes. He’s so obvious, Minho isn’t sure how everyone else seems oblivious to it. But maybe he only recognizes that look in his eyes because he was there himself not too long ago, when others made advances on the person he loves most.
There’s a brief moment of silence as you contemplate Minho’s words. What is better? Accepting your fate as it is now and never telling a soul how you feel about Chan, or confessing your feelings and experiencing what it’s like to openly love Chan, only to have it ripped away from you when your family doesn’t approve? You really don’t know..
“Hey, if it doesn’t work out, maybe we do get married and act as each other’s cover,” he says jokingly, hoping it can make you feel comforted to some degree once he notices you being trapped in thought about what to do next. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you say with a small laugh, “Though if there is anyone I’d choose to be in a fake marriage with, it’d have to be you.”
Honestly, despite the unorthodox way it came to pass, it felt good to talk about your feelings for Chan. You didn’t have anyone to talk to about them, always keeping them completely to yourself. And you felt like you had a real friendship with Minho blossoming, one that could be maintained for years to come. “I enjoy your company. Platonically, of course,” you say with a smile.
“As do I, Princess,” he smiles back, “Want to cheer to a good friendship?” “Let’s!” You say enthusiastically, letting your dance come to a close and allowing him to lead you to toast refreshments.
If there was ever a time in Chan’s life he wishes he could disregard everything he’d ever been taught about rules and decency, it was now. He’s never felt so bitter in his entire life, the first time he’s ever felt spiteful at the unfairness of his situation.
“Thank you for talking to her, she looks to be enjoying herself much more now,” the queen says with delight as she leans towards Chan, ensuring that he hears her thanks and effectively rubbing salt into his open wound. “..Yes, she does,” Chan says, having to put effort into sounding anything other than gutted. The jealousy sizzling in his veins, envious desire stuck like bile in his throat.
He knows you well enough to know what a genuine smile looks like on you. He recognizes your body language, can see all the minute and subtle changes. It makes him physically ill, watching you be so happy with a man he knows you are likely to marry. Chan knew he was selfish, but he never realized how jealous he was capable of being.
It was a luxury he didn’t realize he had- never having to see you in the arms of someone else. Sure, it was bound to happen, and he assumed he would be devastated when it inevitably occurred, but this? This all encompassing jealousy, this unadulterated greed- he doesn’t know how to process it, he doesn’t know how to calm himself down or mask it.
A realization zaps him suddenly, shocking his system as the feeling settles over him. He can’t let you go, he can’t put his feelings aside the way he thought he could. He’s not as strong as he thought he was, not as mature or as reasonable as he always thought himself to be. He can’t watch you be with someone else and be okay. If this is how he reacts to a situation so small, how will he feel when you actually marry?
He’s fucked. Truly, unequivocally fucked.
His body and mind scream at him to act, to do something, do anything, but what is there for him to try? What can he do that isn’t hopeless? No, even if it is hopeless, even if it doesn't change a single thing, he has to regardless. That’s what every nerve in his body screams at him- if there was ever a time for him to conjure his bravery and win you over, it was now.
You breathe a sigh of relief when the night's festivities finally draw to close, eager to finally relax after hours of dancing and talking. Minho made the night more bearable at least; it was much easier to get through the evening when you had a friend to cling to and keep a good deal of your other suitors at bay. As soon as you finished bidding your goodbyes to the guests that were in attendance, you rushed over to Chan so he could finally lead you back to the privacy of your room.
“Princess.. I’m sure you’re tired, but can you wait for me here for a bit..?” Chan asks, hoping the nerves he feels aren't being conveyed in his voice or facial expression. You tilt your head, slightly confused but agreeing anyways. You really have no reason not to after all, especially if it’s a request from Chan of all people. He smiles and thanks you, running off quickly while promising he wouldn’t take too long.
You stand in the center of the ballroom alone, wondering what on earth Chan is having you wait here for. He could also get in trouble for leaving you alone here without anyone to watch over you, but whatever he has planned must be worth the risk he’s taking.. Is he trying to make sure no one is going to come back so that the two of you can dance together?
The thought makes you excited if you're being honest- you always love dancing with Chan, but you hadn't had many opportunities to after he began training to be a knight. And you’d happily do so if he wanted to, even if your feet were screaming at you from exhaustion. You also have to admit, you enjoy the idea that after watching you dance all day, Chan wanted to have one with you too, even if it had to be once the event was over and within privacy.
You wait as patiently as you possibly can, watching the doors to the ballroom, eagerly waiting for them to open. And when they do, and your eyes fall on Chan entering dressed in what is possibly the most beautiful suit you've ever seen, your heart feels like it's going to burst. "You stayed," he smiles as he steps closer, his dimples on full display. His unruly hair that normally falls over his face has been tamed enough to show his features more clearly, the full extent of his handsome face on display just for you.
“C-Chan, you- I, wow, you look-” You try to speak but you stumble over your words, his beauty leaving you even more speechless when viewed up close. It really is the most beautiful suit you've ever laid eyes on. Or maybe you only think so because he is the one wearing it? Either way, he looks so incredibly handsome that you feel almost dazed, your brain quickly malfunctioning as you stare at him.
Truthfully, he had to save his salary for months to afford a suit this nice. You lived in a world of extravagant gowns and beautiful jewelry, and he wanted to look like he belonged with you, even if it was just this one time. You don't care about aesthetics, he knows that, but it's still something he wanted to do. Looking at him the way you are now, he knows it was all worth it.
He always wanted to belong in your world, to look like someone that a princess could be with. Soon enough, you’ll have to decide which of your suitors to marry, and on that day he will lose you. If this is the last opportunity he has to share a dance with you, then he wants to make the most of it. Even if it's just for this short moment, he'd like you to see him as something more than a friend or knight.
He wants to live in a bubble where it’s just you and him, where he can show you the side of himself he always wanted you to see. A bubble where only the two of you exist, where everything but each other is background noise. His every moment, all he sees is you, and he wants to be the only one you see in turn. No one in your eyes but him, his every word hanging in your ears and gesture embedding in your heart. He will allow himself this final selfish act before he lets you go, before he has to bury his feelings and lock them away for good. He will dance with you not as your best friend, your knight, or your student who is still learning the steps, but as a man in love with his princess.
“May I have this dance, Princess?” Chan asks, smiling up at you as he bows, holding out his hand to you. You feel like your brain is short circuiting, all dance etiquette and rules leaving your mind as you stare at him. Your face has turned bright pink and your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest, but you manage to nod and let your hand reach for his. How will you even survive this dance when he’s smiling at you like that while looking so devastatingly handsome?
Despite the glaring fact that all your knowledge is lost on you as he holds you closer, he leads you through your daze well. Humming melodies with his beautiful voice while he guides you through the steps- you feel like you’re in a dream. He’s looking at you so intently, smiling so charmingly between melodies, you feel like you’re melting. His eyes are sparkling with an emotion you’ve never seen on him before.
No, that’s not true. You have seen it. Fleetingly, in quick moments where it would flash on his features, a moment so small you’d miss it if you blinked. Moments like now, where it was just the two of you, free to be yourselves, to talk and laugh and dance with no restriction. Every time you noticed that look in his eyes, his expression would change in an instant, or he’d turn his face away and not let your eyes linger on it.
Affection? Care? Love? Is that the feeling that shows on his face when he looks at you? Is love the emotion that always makes him smile bashfully before he looks away from you? The one you sometimes catch, but is gone before you can really commit it to your memory? This is the first time you’ve been granted the pleasure of seeing it on his face for more than a few seconds, and it makes goosebumps erupt on your skin.
All you can do is stare as he leads you through the dance, the entirety of his being capturing your undivided attention. A shyness bubbles underneath the surface, neither of you used to staring at one another so overtly, but you couldn’t possibly turn your gazes away. You decide that if you did somehow fall asleep at some point and this is a dream, that you’ll enjoy it for all its worth.
You don’t know how he feels about you, really. At best you can guess, you can hope, but there’s no way for you to truly know. But what you do know is how you feel about him, and that’s enough, you think. It’s enough to make this moment the most special you’ve ever shared. It’s enough to lift up the shattered fragments of your heart and reconstruct them into something beautiful and new. Does he love you as much as you love him? Regardless of the answer, you’ll never forget how you feel right now. A love beyond words, a happiness that transcends everything else.
Chan, who was feeling confident until now, begins to feel a stutter in his heart. He wanted to impress you, to show you the most ideal side of himself, to make you see him, really see him, in the way he desired to be seen. But now that you are looking at him with such ardor in your eyes, with his hands on your waist and your arms around his neck, he feels like his heart could burst. Was he once again naive to think he could put his feelings to rest after this? Foolish to believe that this moment would be enough for him to part from you satisfied with what little he had?
Yes, he definitely was. Because the way you look at him now, he knows he can never go back to how things were before. He will want to see it again and again, paired with your sweet smile and cute mannerisms. Again, he realizes he's selfish. He doesn’t want you to look at anyone else this way, to give anyone else your affection, to smile at them the way you do at him. For better or worse, you’ll be there, in every thing he does and in every thought he has.
Most selfish of all, he wants to kiss you so badly, to claim you as his. He wants to pull you even closer, to feel your warmth against him, to tell you that you are all he ever has, and ever will, see. It’s always been you that lights up his world, always been you that gives fire to his ambitions, always you that makes his heart race and palms clam up. Since he was a child, for as long as he can remember until now, you were his everything. You became his world, everything he does revolving around you, forever drawn to you.
Before he can stop himself, his lips are on yours, connecting with you in the way he’s always dreamed of. There’s no time for him to rationalize his choice or scold himself for giving in to his selfishness. Chan has always been weak when it comes to you, after all. Unconsciously, his hands hold you a bit tighter, though he himself is unsure whether that’s because he’s afraid to let you go or because it just feels right to have you in his grasp while he kisses you.
You blink in surprise, time feeling like it has slowed to a complete stop. You feel like the air has been knocked out of you, your brain desperately trying to catch up with reality and make sense of its own racing thoughts. When Chan pulls back, you can see a panic forming in his eyes, apologies lingering on his lips. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have, I-”
You pull him back to you before he can continue to ramble, continuing the kiss he started. He can’t regret this, can’t second guess letting the moment take him over; you won’t let him. You want to be lost with him, enveloped in his embrace and consumed by his touch, damn the consequences. You don’t care who catches you, you don’t care about what punishment either of you could receive; this is all you’ve ever wanted for so, so long.
And maybe you should care, maybe you should stop him, stop yourself, but you refuse. If pushing him away is right, then you’d rather be wrong. His world may revolve around you, but yours revolves around him just as much. You can’t live without him, can’t bear to be apart from him. You want to stay with him, even if it causes everything else around you to crumble.
You’re both breathless by the time you separate, his eyes searching over your face desperately for any sign of hesitation, because once he really has you, he’s never letting you go. “Princess, Y/N, I-” He pauses, words lodged in his throat, but his eyes convey everything. You see it, the clearest that you ever have.
“Do you love me?” You ask, watching intently as his face heats up all the way to his ears. “Please tell me. I love you, and I need to hear you say you love me too,” you all but plead, watching him swallow as he tries to conjure the words he wants to say. He kissed you, so he can’t really deny it, but admitting it could make life even more difficult for you. Chan knows you well enough to know you’ll fight against your parents wishes, that you’d abandon your life here if it called for it, but can he let you do that?
This is the last chance he has to listen to reason and walk away, his last chance to bury his emotions down deep, his last chance to use even just a modicum of self control.. But no, that's not what he wants to do. Selfish, selfish, selfish. That’s all he’s ever been with you, and maybe all he ever will be. Because as much as he logically knows he should let you go, he just can’t. Because the thought of anyone other than him kissing you fills him with dread. Because even if it makes your reality harder, it’s still all he wants.
All along, his answer has been there. He can’t turn away from you, and you won’t let him. Both of you are stubborn in your wants, both of you pulling to each other like magnets, unable to be drawn apart. That’s what makes you perfect for him, he supposes. You're both a pair of reckless fools, willing to throw everything away for the other person. How can his answer be any different, especially when you’re looking up at him like this? Desperate to hear his answer, desperate to be loved by him and him alone.
“I love you. I always have, from the very beginning,” Chan confesses, “I know it’s wrong, I know I’m not supposed to love you, and I’ve tried to hold it back but.. I can’t stand watching from the sidelines anymore, I can't stand the thought of you being with someone else. I love you, and I want to be the one who spends his life with you.”
‘I’m not supposed to love you.’ You hate that he had that thought, but you understand why. No matter how close you became, even when he never treated you any differently from anyone else, he wasn’t oblivious to your difference in station. Neither of you ever let your circumstances affect your friendship, but that didn’t mean the difference between you wasn’t still there.
He recognized long ago that someone of his birth wasn’t meant to be with a princess, and he tried his best not to let his feelings for you show. You understood now too, why he became your knight despite all that it meant. Because he loved you, and that was the only way he could guarantee he would always be beside you. If he couldn't be your husband, that was the next best thing.
"If there is anyone in this world who deserves to marry me, it's you. It's always been you, I've never wanted anyone else," you say with full sincerity. There’s no one else you would ever pick, no one else you’d ever give your life to. No matter how much time passes, how your life changes and how far apart you may end up, the love you have for your best friend, your knight, will always remain.
He kisses you again, with all his love and affection poured into it. Years worth of repressed feelings bubbling to the surface like a wellspring. His self restraint dissolves, kissing you over and over again as if his life depends on the repetition of the action. He holds you tightly, squeezing you closely to him, in a gesture that is as full of desire as it is love.
You’re both breathless when he finally allows you to separate, lips swollen and red from the continued use. You lost track of time, having no idea how much or how little the minutes have passed. All you know is Chan’s all encompassing presence, and finally knowing the feeling of his lips against yours. You don’t want the night to end here, you realize. You don’t want to return to your room and carry on tomorrow as if this never happened. You don’t want to pretend that you’re not impossibly in love with him, you don’t want to pretend you don’t know how his body feels pressed against yours, or how it feels to have his lips on you.
“Take me to your room, Channie,” you plead, and he swallows, your request making his heart race impossibly fast. The majority of knights live in barracks, but as a royal knight in charge of the princess’ protection, his room lies close to yours, separated only by a few halls. But despite the relatively close proximity, you’ve never actually been to Chan’s room before due to the risk. Even with your friendship being apparent, going directly to his quarters and staying for a prolonged time ran the risk of spreading untoward rumors.
For royalty, their reputation is of the utmost importance, and while you didn’t care what people said behind your back, it was still something you had to be careful of for the sake of Chan himself. Even if you could easily recover from rumors, Chan wouldn’t be afforded that same luxury- it would undoubtedly follow him everywhere. And this led to him often being in your room, using the pretense of his knighthood to enter your space and have private conversations and talk like friends, the way you did before he became your knight. But that was always during the daytime, and with other knights still standing out in the hall. If those same knights saw him enter your room with you during the night, and not come back out until morning, it would certainly raise suspicions. Really, no matter what the two of you do tonight, there is risk, the probability of consequences you can’t come back from higher than it’s ever been.
“Are you sure..?” He asks, clearly worried about what could happen as a result. He wants to be with you, of course he does, but if it’s found out you stayed with him in his room for an entire night, the consequences wouldn’t be pretty. He needs to know you understand that, needs to know you want to be with him regardless of what could happen afterwards. You nod, resolve clear as you hold his hand tighter.
You were aware of the risks, but your love for him outweighed the concern. If anyone wanted to question you about being away from your room during the night, you had the confidence you needed now to fight for what you want. Now that you know he returns your feelings, you won’t let anyone get in the way of keeping you together, you’ll fight for it with all you have. And besides that, you're a princess. You were raised with the belief that the world was in the palm of your hands, so shouldn't you be allowed to have the things you want?
“I’ve thought about this a million times, Chan, I’m sure,” you tell him. Nothing will deter you from being with him- not anymore. “A million times, huh?” He teases with a smile as he pulls you along with him to exit the ballroom, his playful side coming back out as he leads you out to the hall and in the direction of his room. “Shut up,” you smile shyly as you slap his arm, a blush creeping across your face.
You have to suppress the giggle that threatens to leave you as you wind the halls together, a nostalgic sort of feeling welling in you despite this being the first time you are sneaking to his room like this. You snuck him into so many spaces, always sharing fond moments with him in secrecy, and really this is just an extension of that. The roles may be reversed in this instance, but the way you hold each other's hand and smile at each other is the same. The way you speak in hushed voices, the way you contain your gleeful giggles and the way you look at each other with pure joy, it's all the same.
When you reach his room, he ushers you in the door first, following behind swiftly and locking the door behind himself. “Just a moment,” he speaks softly as he moves carefully past you, lighting the candles he has on his nightstand. You use the dim light to survey your surroundings (as much as is possible, anyways,) taking note of all the things that make his space different from yours.
Chan watches you with subtle amusement; his room really isn’t anything special, but you’re looking around it as if it’s the most interesting thing you could ever see. (And to be fair, it is a stark contrast from the luxurious space you’re used to living in.) His space, while decently sized, still pales in comparison to the size of your room. His furniture is much less exuberant in style, and bed significantly smaller than your own. But you like it better that way, you think- it feels homey.
There’s a moment of silence that follows, not necessarily awkward, but rather hesitant as you turn your attention back to Chan. He’s sitting on his bed, looking incredibly handsome even in the dim candle light. Or did that add to it? You aren’t really sure. All you really know is that the way the subtle illumination and shadows frame his face makes your stomach twist. He really is way too handsome for his own good.
Cautiously, you sit next to him, taking his appearance in more closely (despite the way it makes your heart feel like it’s going to implode.) He looks at you as well, taking you in just as attentively. Now that he can freely gaze at you without restriction, he wants to commit you to his memory. He wants to know your every blemish, every freckle and every line.
You’re so impossibly beautiful- you could appear to him covered in grime and wearing tattered rags and he’d still think you were the most gorgeous thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Has he ever told you that? No, he doesn’t think he has. Every time he was awed by you, he’d look away before you could notice his blatant stare, never commenting outwardly on how incredible he thought you were.
“Can I kiss you again?” Chan asks tentatively, eyes full of eager trepidation. It may be beyond his capabilities to tell you how gorgeous you are, but he can show you. You nod, a small "yes" leaving your lips. His hands seek you out first, resting themselves on your waist before he kisses you again. It’s a slow, sensual kiss, one that leaves you full of butterflies. All the romance novels you read couldn't have prepared you for how it actually feels to be in the moment, for how it feels to have his hands holding you firmly as he kisses you.
You want to move without restriction, you want to feel him closer, want to feel his touch on your bare skin. You separate, Chan watching you curiously as your face heats up in preparation for what you intend to ask. “Help me take off my dress?” “W-What?” Chan stutters, bright red blush traveling from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Did he hear you correctly? He’s certainly mistaken, right? “I-I mean, unless you think I should keep it on for the rest of the night..?”
“N-No, right, of course not,” he says, swallowing as he watches you rise from the bed. He follows, hands trembling as watches you turn your back to him, waiting for him to help you untie your corset. He reaches out slowly, untying it as carefully as he can despite his shaking hands.
The layers of your dress follow rather quickly after that, eager to get all the extra weight off your body and allow yourself to feel Chan's touch directly. It's not until you're at the final layer that you feel shyness creep back on you, Chan's hand stilling on your shoulders as his own nerves pick up as well.
When he pulls it down, you'll be strictly in your underwear, the most exposed you've ever been to a man in your entire life. But as much as it makes you shy, it excites you almost equally as much. You turn around now, so that your back is no longer facing him. You cross your arms, placing your hands on top of his, looking up at his face as you guide his hands down your arms, pulling your dress down along with it.
He swallows, eyes following the path your hands lead him on, his face easily the hottest it's ever been in his entire life. You lower your arms once you are no longer able to guide his hands, letting the last piece of fabric fall to the floor around your feet.
Fuck, he really should be looking at you respectfully, but it feels impossible. You are standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear, and you encouraged it, guided him to remove your clothing with your own hands. God, you're going to ruin him.
"Can I?" You ask as you rest your hands on his chest, the buttons of his suit easily within your reach, ready to undo them the moment he gives his approval. He does so easily, even helping you with the buttons and letting it fall to the floor the same way you did with your dress.
You watch as he pulls the undershirt over his head, tossing it to the floor with everything else. Your eyes scan his torso, face heating up as you take in his toned physique. You assumed he was strong given his status, but you've never actually seen the proof of it until now. You'd be embarrassed for blatantly staring if not for the fact that he'd done the same to you just moments ago. It's only fair to stare at him as much as he stares at you- tit for tat, if you will.
Chan's hands reach for his pants now, but he stops before he proceeds with removing them, looking at you as if to ask if it's okay with you before he does. Well, if the eager glint in your eye is anything to go by, you certainly want him to. He pulls them down easily after gaining your approval, kicking them off the rest of the way, (perhaps a bit unceremoniously, given the unprecedented circumstances,) not worrying at all about where they land.
You look at each other, an electric tension filling the space between you. The juxtaposition between the bashfulness and the desire leaving you temporarily stuck in place, a silent battle being waged between ‘should I act, or shouldn’t I?’
It’s typical for the man to make the first move in situations like this, isn’t it? But since when have you adhered to the stereotypical things that were expected of you? You hesitated before now out of fear- fear of what could happen to Chan and fear of your feelings being unrequited, but the minute he laid his feelings out for you, you decided there was no more time for fear, no time for hesitation.
When you want something, you get it, and what you want right now more than anything is Chan, simple as that. You lay back on his bed now as if you own it, looking so relaxed, so assured, as you prop yourself up on your elbows and wait for him to return to your side. Fuck, do you even know what you're doing to him?
He slots himself between your legs, his body weight pressing down on you when he lowers himself to kiss you again. Your torso falls back against the bed when you lift your arms to hold his face in your hands, not letting the kiss break and dragging him back with you. His hands travel up and down your sides, always stopping just under the line of the fabric containing your breasts.
He pulls away from your lips, looking at you closely as he lets his thumbs under the fabric ever so slightly. He’s silently asking for permission again, you realize, searching your eyes for any semblance of hesitation or regret. There’s none to be found, of course- all you feel is desire, is love. You want this as badly as he does, undeniably so.
He pulls it up slowly, carefully, and you lift your back off the bed, allowing him to take it off you completely. You watch him swallow as he stares down at you, taking in the unfamiliar sight of your exposed chest. He’ll never admit how many times he envisioned this moment in his mind, but the reality is much better than anything his mind could have conjured up.
When Chan finally tears his eyes away to look at your face again, you offer him a smile, one that makes his heart stutter. It’s soft, yet completely radiant, and patient. There’s no need for you to rush him along, nor do you judge him for taking his time to look you over. When it’s something special, something you’ve both wanted for so long, with more intensity than you can express, why would you rush? It should be savored, with even the smallest of details committed to memory.
“I love you,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss you for what feels like the millionth time. His hands cup your breasts, feeling the weight of them in his palms for the first time, squeezing (gently, of course,) every so often. When the calloused pads of his thumbs rub over your nipples for the first time, and you let out the most sinfully sweet noise he’s ever heard, he’s done for.
He wants- no, needs, to hear it again. Again, and again, and again, all for him, only ever for him. The small, soft gasps, the shuddering breaths, the shiver that runs along the entirety of your body when he touches you- it’s addictive, so terribly addictive. “Channie-” you whine into his mouth, and he has to suppress the groan that threatens to leave his throat in response.
“Again,” he says as he begins to trail kisses beneath your ear and down the expanse of your neck, “Say my name again.” You oblige his request easily, each small whine turning into a soft moan of his name. Your voice, so dovelike, its sweetness all encompassing, commandeering all his senses. His hands travel lower, rubbing over the plush territory of your thighs, his fingers always coming dangerously close to your center before being taken away.
He chuckles when you huff, a small pout on your lips that he finds adorable. He doesn’t mean to tease, but he has to admit he likes the reaction it grants him. “What’s wrong, darling? I didn’t think you were so impatient,” Chan says with an amused tilt in his voice, because at the end of the day, beneath all the shyness and desire that was at the forefront, he is still the playful person he’s always been.
“Don’t be mean, Channie,” you all but grumble, your pout growing larger. It’s not like you’re trying to rush anything, it’s just.. He knows what he's doing, and he’s doing it on purpose! Making you all needy for his touch, being so close to where you want him but not actually granting it to you.
He smiles, that dazzling one that makes your stomach twist, confirming that he does indeed know he’s tormenting you on purpose. “Apologies, my love. You’re just so cute when you pout.” You would definitely punch him if the statement didn’t make butterflies erupt in your gut. “Chan, please,” you shamelessly whine, and oh, how that instantly turns the tables back in your favor.
He’ll do anything for you, whatever you ask, everything he can offer, it’s yours. You realize that, don’t you? That even if he teases, even if he pretends he’s fine and not completely and utterly enamored by you, he can never actually resist you. “Tell me what you want, Princess. Anything you want, it’s yours. Anything.”
“I-I-” you start, but quickly stumble over your words. The way he’s looking at you, waiting with bated breath for your answer, eyes eager and so willing to give you his all- it sends a shiver down your spine. You swallow, willing your racing heart to calm so you can speak properly. “I want.. To feel you. Inside me.”
Chan’s breath catches in his throat, cock twitching unceremoniously in response. He wants to, it’d be pointless to pretend he doesn’t, but.. “Are- are you sure?” he asks, the question laced with genuine care despite how eager he is for you to say yes. He wants to care for you, wants to make love to you, to claim you as his in the sweetest of ways, but he doesn’t want you to move faster than you’re ready for.
Even if your confessions were a long time coming, even though there was years worth of yearning and desire, it’s still a lot to entrust yourself to someone like that. To trust them wholeheartedly, to grant them such pleasure and believe that they’ll take care of you in return. And he needs to know that you understand the risks and the changes it will bring, and you aren’t saying it out of some spur of the moment obligation to please him. Because he’ll be happy, no matter how long he has to wait.
“Channie,” you place your hands on his face, forcing his eyes to stay locked on your own, “I love you so much. I want to do this with you.” You can feel his face heat up under your fingers, but he smiles- one that is shy, but at the same time full of unfiltered joy. Chan leans down to kiss you once more, showing you all the love and care that he can’t express with his words.
His hands resume their original path, tracing up and down your thighs for a few moments before he finally hooks his fingers into your underwear. He pulls them down slowly, not with the intent to tease you this time, but because he knows when he finally sees what is waiting for him underneath the fabric his heart is going to beat out of his chest.
You adjust your legs position to make the removal easier, watching Chan with nervous excitement. It is scary, you admit, being so exposed and vulnerable in front of someone else, but there is no one else in the world you trust more. No one but Chan makes you feel this safe and secure, and he’s shown you over and over how much love he carries for you.
“You’re so beautiful,” he admits for the first time aloud. Would it be cliche to compare you to a goddess? Maybe, but that’s the only thing that comes even remotely close to conveying how alluring he thinks you are. More radiant than even Aphrodite herself, with even the wonders of the world paling in comparison to you. “Gonna make you feel so good, I promise.”
You watch him bring his hands to his own underwear, slipping them off with relative ease before settling himself comfortably between your legs. “I need to get you ready, okay darling? And then I promise, I’ll give you everything you want,” Chan speaks softly and you nod, entrusting yourself to him completely.
He’s never done this before, so he follows his instinct, doing whatever feels right in the moment. His fingers rub carefully between your folds, spreading around the wetness that accumulated there. Your breathing halts when the pads of his fingers press against your hole, body tingling with overwhelming desire. Slowly, carefully, he pushes his middle finger inside.
The sensation is unfamiliar, but not at all unpleasant- in fact, the back and forth motion of his finger as it slides in and out quickly begins to draw soft whimpers from your lips. Soon enough, he’s adding a second finger, watching how they disappear in you with an almost mystified gaze. He can’t believe how snug you feel around his fingers, how wet and warm and fuck, he can’t even begin to imagine how good it’s going to feel around his cock.
“Ah-!” you gasp loudly when, after some exploration, his fingers find a bundle of nerves that makes every nerve in your body erupt in pleasure. Your head falls back against his pillows, and you bite your lip, trying to contain the slew of loud noises that threaten to leave you everytime he rubs over it again.
His fingers pump in and out at a steady pace now, not too fast as to overwhelm you, but enough to have stars constantly erupting in your vision. Your hands tightly grip the sheets beneath you, legs trembling and knot tightening in your gut unbelievably fast. Chan’s name leaves your mouth over and over between breaths and whines, like a looped mantra, the salacious melody you create music to his ears.
You clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the loud whimpers and moans that rip through you as you come undone on Chan’s fingers. Would it be sacrilegious to call your noises heavenly when the reason for them is so sinful? He wishes more than anything he could hear them unfiltered, to allow them to flow freely from your lips without a care in the world about the volume and who could hear them.
He slowly stills his fingers as you come down from your high, taking in the sight of you and memorizing every detail. The rise and fall of your chest as you catch your breath, the rosy tint of your cheeks, the beads of sweat that linger on your brow, all coming together to create an ethereal image.
Chan plants soft kisses on your face as he gently slides his fingers out of you, complimenting you on how pretty you sound and beautiful you look. "Channie-" you start, and he smiles, knowing exactly what you intend to whine about. "Don't worry, my love. I'll keep my promise."
He takes his fingers, still wet with your release, and rubs them up and down his length, mixing his pre-cum with it along the way. As you watch you realize that his cock is much bigger than his fingers, and you wonder how it'll fit when just two fingers alone already felt like so much.
“Are you ready?” Chan checks in with you when he’s lined up with your entrance, ready to stop at a moment's notice if you decide this is too much too soon. He can see the subtle worry beneath the anticipation, notices the way you unconsciously hold your breath when he presses against you. It's true, you are nervous, but not enough so to make you change your mind. So you nod, and he moves one of his hands to yours, intertwining your fingers.
“Squeeze if you need to, okay? I'll go slow,” Chan assures you, placing a soft kiss on your temple before he begins. There’s a sharp intake of breath from you when he slowly begins to push inside, the sting being much more intense than you had anticipated. It goes beyond the discomfort you expected, eyes squeezing shut and your grip on his hand tightening.
The minute Chan feels you squeeze his hand tighter, he pauses just as promised. You open your eyes after a moment, looking up at Chan to try and push the sting to the back of your mind. He's breathing heavily, brows knit together in a combination of pleasure and concern, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face. It takes all his self control to not get lost in the sensation around him, needing to make sure he takes care of you properly. He can't hurt you, can't lose himself before making sure you'll feel good too, needs to put you above all else.
"Do you need me to stop?" he asks, and you quickly shake your head no, expressing again how much you want to be connected with him in every way possible. Leaning down now, he kisses you until the discomfort subsides, whispering sweet words to you when he resumes the push, praising you over and over again until he's completely within you.
You're still squeezing his hand, not due to any pain or discomfort this time, but to ground yourself through the overwhelming sensation of Chan being deep inside you. He continues kissing you softly, going above and beyond to ensure that you're relaxed and comfortable. "Love you so much Channie," you tell him, and he smiles sweetly, heart so full of adoration and infatuation for you.
“Love you more,” he kisses you, ”so much,” another kiss, “never letting you go.” You giggle softly between his kisses, his words making your heart flutter. After graciously accepting a bit more of his doting, you soon notice that no trace of the initial sting or discomfort remains. In fact, being so full of him feels good, your body unconsciously seeking friction.
“Channie, I’m ready now, want you to move, please,” you beg with such a soft and cute voice, he knows there is no way he can resist. Well, not that he would ever deny you what you want in the first place. With one last kiss, and reassuring squeeze to your hand, he finally allows himself to move.
Slowly, as gently as he can, he pulls out, pressing back inside in one fluid motion when only the tip remains, repeating the action through shaky breaths and his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. Even with the languid pace, it's enough to drive him insane. Every detail of you, from the way you look, the way you sound, the way you feel wrapped around him, so snug and warm and inviting- it’s intoxicating.
Chan’s arms reach beneath you, hooking under your back and hands holding your shoulders, keeping your body closely pressed against his own. His face is buried in your neck, low groans beneath your ear, for you and you alone to hear. You make your own effort to keep him close as well; one hand tangling in his curly hair and the other tightly gripping his bicep.
He’s going slow, not just for your sake, but for his own. Because if he doesn’t he’s going to blow, because he wants to live in this moment for as long as he possibly can, because being close to you like this is everything he’s ever dreamed of. You’re his, finally his, and he wants it to last, wants to indulge in the feeling and the emotion of being your chosen lover.
It takes him a few tries to find the spot that makes you see stars with just his cock, but he knows he’s found it when you (unwittingly) let out a loud moan, nails digging into his skin and eyes rolling back. He picks up his pace now, chasing the sound of your pleasure-filled voice, wanting to hear you call his name over and over again.
He kisses you again when your combined noises begin to grow in pitch, muffling one another in a desperate attempt to keep the sounds of pleasure confined to the 4 walls of Chan’s room. You want to be quiet, you know you should be, but you truly can’t help it. But if he’s being honest, he likes that you can’t keep your voice down, likes that he’s making you feel so good that you can’t suppress it.
Chan is getting close now, and he pulls himself away from your lips, wanting to look at you once more before his approaching orgasm overtakes him. Even now, when you're breathless, cheeks red and hair sticking to your forehead due to the sweat, you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. "Wanna cum in you,” he manages to say between his low moans, “will you let me, please? Need to fill you up, need to make you mine forever, just like I'm yours."
Once again, your stomach flips, the words having an immense effect on you. "Y-Yes, yes, cum in me, I'm yours, only yours," you answer easily, wanting nothing more than to feel (and watch) him come apart because of you. His pace stutters following your permission, thrusts growing quick and sloppy as he chases his high, groans turning into drawn out whines.
The faster pace sends you reeling, toes curling has the knot in your stomach tightens and snaps in quick succession. You pull Chan back down to you, kissing him deeply as you cum around his cock, both to muffle yourself and as a gesture of the all consuming love you feel for him. He lets out soft, desperate whimpers as he releases inside you, ropes of cum painting your walls white.
You both stay like that for a few moments- breathlessly wrapped in one another's embrace, sharing soft kisses as you come down from your highs, soft admissions of love leaving your lips. You wince when Chan’s softening length pulls out of you, feeling extremely sensitive following the loss of your virginity.
Chan blows out the candles before he lays down next to you, leaving the moonlight coming through his window as the only illumination. He intended to pull you close to him, but he didn't have to- you snuggle up to him the moment you can, laying your head on his chest and wrapping your arm around his torso, legs tangling with his.
His racing heartbeat begins to slow, an extreme relaxation sweeping over his body. He closes his eyes, your soft breathing serving as his own personal lullaby. Carefully, he reaches his free arm out for his blanket, pulling it over to cover your nude bodies. He’s nearly asleep when he hears you softly call his name, voice quiet but still loud and clear in his ears. “What is it, darling?” he asks as he opens his eyes and lifts his head to look at you.
There’s a moment of silence that follows as you consider how best to voice what you want to say, but Chan is patient, looking at you with a soft gaze. “Do you.. Think we can really get married?” You finally ask, and Chan’s heart squeezes in his chest when you do. He can hear the tremble in your voice so clearly, feels the way you hold him tighter as you wait for him to answer.
If he’s being truthful, he doesn’t know. It’s what he wants, what he hopes for more than words can express, but just doesn’t know. And it breaks his heart to see you like this- clearly vulnerable and unsure. You’ve always sought out Chan for comfort, but it’s different this time. Different because you now know the depths of love you both share, the desire to always be together and the fear that you’ll be driven apart.
You’ll fight for your love, of course you will, because there is no happiness to be had if Chan isn’t by your side. But you don’t want to have to fight for it, you don’t want either of you to suffer, you don’t want Chan to be driven away from you by people who don’t understand and don’t value him for who he is. You want your love to be accepted, to openly profess your love, to marry the only person you’ve ever had eyes for.
Tears are welling in your eyes, and he can see them even in the dim moonlight. “Y/N..” he uses his free arm to reach for your face, wiping away the tears that threaten to fall with his thumb. “I’m going to marry you. No matter what I have to do, I will,” Chan tells you, voice gentle but resolute. He meant it when he said he’s never letting you go, meant it when he said he’ll always be yours and always be beside you.
He doesn’t know what the future holds- if things will come easy for you both, or if you’ll have to fight tooth and nail just to be with each other. But he knows that no matter what the answer is, he will be with you. Whether in your toughest moments or happiest, he’ll be there. Holding your hand, giving you his love, sticking with you until the end of his days.
Whether it’s tomorrow, months, or even years from now, he’ll be your husband. You’ll be the one he shares his life with, the one he starts a family with, the one he sees every morning and every night. He’ll hold you close, starting your days with ‘I love you’s’ and ending them with the same, giving you all he has to give.
“No matter what happens, we’ll get through it together, okay? I love you so much,” Chan says and you nod, a soft smile on your face as you wipe your eyes and lay your head back down against him. “Love you, Channie.” He kisses your head softly, urging you to relax, to fall asleep, and not worry about what could be, but indulge in what is.
Indulge in the love you share, the feeling of closeness as you lie together in his bed, the sound of his heartbeat in your ear and his gentle reassurances. He’ll still be here when you wake up, will keep you in his arms, holding you close and making sure you know how much he adores you, how much he loves you. Because no matter what the future brings, you still have this moment. You still have each other.
and that's all for this one shot ! i hope you enjoyed it :) i couldn't decide which ending would be best out of the ones i had ideas for, so i decided to leave it more open ended. i personally want them to live happily ever after following this, but you can leave it up to your imagination!
if there's interest i might make a part two that explores one of the endings i had in mind (most likely the angsty one if i'm being honest because it'd be much longer than a purely happy ending) so lmk if you'd like to read that and i'll work on it!
i'd also like to say, this was originally not the chan story in my drafts i was going to post first but i got really inspired during the writing and ended up finishing it before the other one, so expect yet another chan x reader in (possibly) the near future :')
and lastly, i once again want to say thank you so much for all the sweet things you've all said about my writing so far !! i didn't expect to get such kind feedback and i appreciate it sm <3
#skz x reader#bang chan x reader#skz smut#bang chan smut#skz imagines#skz scenarios#skz fluff#skz angst#mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune
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I'M BACK I'M NOT DEAD. Life's been hella busy and it will be again by the end of the week but I'm taking this little break and typing this while I can lol
As usual, amazing characterization, I'm deeply enjoying ramattra's inner monologue. He's still got these conflicting moments of not particularly caring for human habits/nature (like sleep. ignore that he seriously needs some more metaphorical rest himself) and at the same time appreciating reader's trust to share these moments with him. Also he was laser focused to have counted how many minutes until they stopped snoring lmao I loooove when 'noticing the small details' is taken to this extreme, there's something very endearing about it
Also
“Ramattra?” Your voice was hoarse as you sat up, sucking in air through your teeth and wincing.
“By your side.” He let his orb fall into his hand.
aAAAAAAAAAAAA (read: if i could word things a bit more smartly I'd say besides being heart-achingly sweet this perfectly captures his voice and the DOUBLE MEANING)
Okay now my favorite part of the chapter which is also the fic title THE GAME OF GO, I LITERALLY HAD THE BIGGEST GRIN WHEN I GOT TO THAT PART BC I HAD A FEELING I KNEW WHERE THAT WAS GOING AND IT'S SO MUCH BETTER THAN WHAT I IMAGINED
They let him go first? Okay. They placed the tile right next to his? Okayyy. They kept the board just for him?? Okay Okay. ACTUALLY WINNING?? BEATING HIS ASS AT GO THEN TELLING HIM YOU'RE STICKING TO HIS SIDE NO MATTER WHAT?? *insert that soyjack pointing meme* SYMBOLISM!!! TITLE REFERENCE!!!
This was a great cascade of events and also my favorite part about their dynamic (and how the fic is written), there's always two conversations happening at the same time with them; one with words and one without. And they both seem to see the two happening and it's so delicious
Three last things to note...
1. Ramattra holding back on his fantasies bc that's just silly it's never happening then the second reader goes "I'm staying btw" he immediately stops resisting LMAO
2. Zenyatta keeps getting referenced so I wonder if that's leading up to anything...
3. “… Please don’t ask me to shoot anyone though.” “We shall see.” THAT'S. THAT'S NOT A NO. RAMATTRA THAT'S NOT A NO.
I am so so excited to see what happens next bc reader will be probs directly involved w the decision making now, or at least come in as another factor and Ramattra's not gonna be happy with all of it...
- smile anon but you've probably already guessed hehe
Smile Anon I need you to know how much joy you bring me, sorry your life has been so busy, I definitely understand though (my job sent me on a business trip this week the week before Christmas! My bro has come to visit for the holidays and I miss out on a little bit of that)
I've read this at least 10 times like ... Hhhhhh you're so sweet thank you!
Yes! I have been doing my best to stay true to his voice and character, though I caught a few mistakes in earlier chapters that I went back and corrected bc I'm neurotic lol
I love this omnic so much it's insane, I'm so glad you enjoyed the game of go!!!!
And I love writing conversations where the words aren't the only focus because communication is more than just language
And yeah, it definitely was not a no 😏
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Rhi i just want you to know that always + inescapable are one of my fave fics of yours (fracture remains no.1 in my heart) and I’m just curious if the title of the first part is inspired by the korean movie, Always??? Like the fl is also blind there, and the ml acts as her protector and all!!!
Also, i just want to say that the meeting between atsumu and reader could’ve been prevented if iwa initially told oikawa abt atsumu. I mean, reader wouldn’t have to be there in the olympic village and could’ve stayed with makki and mattsun if he was ever given a heads up. But yes, we live for the thick and complicated plot (twists!!)<333
Lastly, i wouldn’t really want to imagine atsumu as a yandere in inescapable, but will there be any possibility perhaps where reader would choose to be with her real soulmate? I know the bond she has with oikawa is immensely strong just like in beg,borrow,steal (and mattsun out there really lost his mind pls>_<) how different is the bond between bbs!oikawa x reader and always+inescapable!oikawa x reader that could highly influence their decision to leave him???
Pls don’t be too pressured to answer this ask, and if u think this violates ur rules, u can just disregard it!!! Thank you, and iluvu kween 💕💕💕
ngl fracture is one of my faves too <33 i really do need to write more samu
but thank you!! and no, i haven't heard of the movie Always before, the title is lifted from the fic itself, the once sweet promise that slowly twists into something ugly as the two of them spiral. weird coincidence tho!
as for your point about avoiding all of this, oikawa knew very well that atsumu was going to be there. their meeting isn't an oversight that he could've foreseen if iwa had only told him, but rather the consequences of his own arrogance and obsessive nature. he knew atsumu was going to be there but assumed that:
a) the reader didn't know who her soulmate actually was
b) being blind and in an unfamiliar environment she wouldn't wander by herself
and c) even if she did, the chances of her running into atsumu (without Iwa there to intercede) and randomly striking up a conversation would be next to impossible lmao it happened twice
yes, having her stay with makki and mattsun would've avoided all of this, but as i said above, there's an extremely unhealthy co-dependence there, and it goes both ways. oikawa couldn't have left her with makki and mattsun any more than he could have left her in argentina.
he can't function properly without her, and that overrides all rationality.
oikawa's under the assumption (again – arrogance) that he can control what she does, where she goes and who she interacts with while she's in the village, and therefore there's no real risk. she can't leave him if he keeps her under his thumb.
so she'll stay in the room when he's at training, because she's too reliant on him, and when he's not training they'll be otherwise occupied ;) with one another, so no danger there. atsumu has no reason to suspect his soulmate's close by and oikawa has every reason to steer clear of the japan national team outside the court. they're there to compete, not catch up with old friends. in his eyes, the risk is minimal – far outweighed by the benefits of having her within arm's reach.
oikawa brining her to the village and unintentionally setting into motion the events that follow isn't a plot hole, it's a direct consequence of his own hubris and fatal flaws. he can't let her go, even if it means bringing her within spitting distance of her actual soulmate. also, as much as oikawa rarely likes to acknowledge the name on her arm, there's something deeply satisfying about the thought going up against atsumu, knowing he's the one who has her – even if atsumu himself is clueless. it's a crushing blow before he even sets foot on the court, and oikawa does love coming out on top.
anyway.
as far as her willingly leaving him for atsumu goes, not a chance. again, she's spent the better part of her life clinging to oikawa, her sense of self is wrapped around him. conversely, the grip he has on her is hehe inescapable. the night she found out that it wasn't oikawa's name on her arm, she made a choice. one half-conversation with atsumu isn't nearly enough to undo all that.
they're ingrained in one another, for better or worse.
realistically, atsumu doesn't have a hope of getting his soulmate unless he's willing to play dirty.
#rhi answers#actually#this one gets the#rhi shut the fuck up challenge#tag#cuz hoo boy#fic asks#always#inescapable
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I have genuinely spent countless hours with nothing but All That Glitters on the brain since like mid December. As it comes to a close I just wanted to thank you for your writing. I’ve gotten so much happiness from it. (And also sadness but in a good, escapism-y way). I don’t think i’ve ever been so attached to a fic before. So sad to see this story end but grateful to have been blessed with ever encountering it in the first place. ❤️❤️
🎽👟🥇🐕
Thank you for this lovely message, Nonnie. I'm going to use it as an excuse to ramble way too long instead of writing the epilogue.
When I wrote even if it's a lie, I played around with a lot of tragic backstories for Achilles, though mostly non-seriously. I didn't really plan on including it--his relationship with Pat was basically comic relief. I wasn't even going to have it in eiial other than allusions to his fame and his clear fall from whatever fame that was, but a couple people asked, so I decided to have him give the abridged version to Zag.
Someone said they would read it if I ever elaborated on that story, and I remember thinking, lol I'm never writing that. Partly because at the time I assumed that painting Achilles in such a negative light just wouldn't go over well. But I also didn't really have an angle for how I wanted to tell that story, so it didn't interest me.
I don't totally remember how/when I came up with the plot for Gold, but I know @johaerys-writes was the one who really encouraged me to write it and I think @juliafied helped me with it a lot. I believe I posted the first chapter the day before I went out of town on what would be the first of many trips this autumn/winter. It's one of very few fics I wrote on google docs, mostly on my ipad because I don't own a laptop.
I think I was only a chapter or two into Gold when I started writing what is still titled in my docs as "Post-Gold." This fic ended up being such an interesting challenge because I had written what happens before and what happens after, and now I had over 20 years to cover to explain it all.
Here's what I knew at the start.
1. Patroclus got thrown out of his house the minute he got home from Seoul.
2. Achilles sets his own life on fire and Patroclus takes the blame for it, resulting in Achilles moving to Tartarus in shame and not returning until 2022 with Zagreus.
3. Because I'd already written it in eiial, the first time Patroclus sees Achilles in years, the first thing he does is make out with him. (I regretted this one a lot, but hopefully I made it work 🤣)
4. A 39yo got a silver medal in the javelin at the 2020 Olympics. As a result, one of the first lines I wrote was "Take me to Paris, Achilles." That entire scene changed, but I kept the line.
So then it was a game of filling in what actually happened (so much math to figure out the years and their ages lmao), and figuring out how to show the journey of two men growing up, growing apart, and then putting their lives back together. All the years were written out of order, which is why the different sections start the way they do-- originally it was just a system to help me keep track of what year it was and make sure I covered each one.
And with all of that, I thought this fic was going to be shorter than Gold. I figured each year would just be a snapshot--maybe 500-800 words to get a sense of it. Short and sweet.
I'm an idiot, of course. Just the reconciliation that took all of three sentences in eiial required over 15k words for this fic, and it could have been longer.
It was so fun to imagine all these eras of their life. I went from writing about guys who were much younger than me to men who were older than me. The way the world has changed between the year 2000 and the year 2022 is kind of astounding. Someone asked me why the boys couldn't just text each other in Gold and it's because it hadn't really been invented yet. We barely had wifi. They would have had an answering machine at their first apartment they shared with a goofy message recorded together.
To make a long, unnecessary essay short, this fic went from something I had no enthusiasm for and was certain I wouldn't write, to something I'm really proud of. I'm going to miss it.
I was talking recently with someone about this fic from Achilles' perspective-- over the 22 years, which moments would he pick as important in their lives for better or worse, and how many of them would match up with Pat's. I have no intention of writing that story, but it certainly would be a way to sit in this universe a little longer.
#sorry to wriet a whole long essay#but I hate finishing fics I hate saying goodbye#anyway I started writing the interview fic today#Achilles admitting to the world that not only was his first kiss with Pat caught on live tv#it was his first kiss with anyone ever#he was such a cutie
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if you don't mind me asking, how do you plan your fics? you're really good at giving your fics like an overarching structure and cohesiveness, I've tried planning my fics before but I just don't know where to start, mostly I just write whatever and hope it finds a structure lol
related to this
I don't mind at all, sweetheart
Also, thank you! That's very sweet. I try to have some semblance of plot to hold my porn together, lmao.
Before I explain what I, personally, do, I want to mention a writing concept a friend of mine explained to me. When it comes to creating stories, there's no wrong way of writing, obviously. But, there are different approaches to creation. And, supposedly, with writers, there are two models: the gardener and the architect.
The gardener doesn't have much of a plan going into their writing. They may have an idea, but not an actual outline. They prepare the dirt, drop in a seed, and water it and let it get enough sun. Sure, they know what kind of seed they dropped in, but they're not exactly sure about what will grow--how tall the plant will be, how big the leaves, how much it will produce, etc.? It's a little supposedly more free and seat-of-the-pants with a focus on big picture.
The architect, however, has a plan going in. Ahead of time. The plan is structured. Imagine a blueprint drawing with lots of details--specific lengths, angles, different perspectives, side notes, etc. Then, the writing is executed according to the plan. It's supposedly a little more strict and detail oriented.
The types are just different ways to go about things, though. One isn't better than the other. And I have to say, between those two types, I am certainly an architect. Yet, I have always admired gardeners. It seems way more wild and free and creative. And I, personally, think those kinds of writers find flow much better. I'm obsessive and strict, and sometimes I have a difficult time getting out of my routines, which can take some of the magic out of writing (or art in general) for me. But, I also know I am lucky to be able to write the way I do--setting schedules, making plans, forcing myself to stick to them even if I am not feeling a particular scene, and getting words out so I have a finished product with relative speed.
Normally, I plan my fics by having a concept and building around the scene or basic ideas.
What do I want to include? What point do I want to make? What thing do I want to explore?
With this series that I'm planning--without giving too much away, haha--I started with the alternative universe and the characters I wanted to play with. The alternative universe I'd been thinking about included characters with specific backgrounds. So, I knew how I wanted the characters to interact at the end, but I wanted to build up to that point rather than just cutting to the end. I thought it'd be more interesting to explore the entire relationship, not just the end.
So, with the end of the story in mind, then I thought about other scenes I was interested in including. Important moments I wanted them to have. After that, I placed in a first meeting point. Then, I got to planning the middle parts.
Side note though, with this particular AU, I ended up coming up with the title for the overall series before I had all the parts of the story. I had the AU, the end point, and an idea of how to get them to meet when I had an idea for the title. With the title and the longing for a series, then I thought about what I wanted the individual fics to be called. With all those names, then I filled in the gaps. Having the structure of possible names for each fic allowed me to get into the knitty gritty.
As for planning individual fics, I go through several stags.
The first stage is completely bare bones and looks like:
Puppy play
Puppy Steve
Collar, cage, leash, tail plug, desperation, hip wiggling
(I literally use jot dots)
The second stage is a little more detailed, giving a basic play-by-play for the fic, and looks like:
Steve has always been eager and Bucky enjoys that about him, so, he figures why not exploit it? He brings up the idea to Steve
Have them have a conversation...
Steve agrees, blushing
Bucky orders some light gear... it arrives...
(If this were a real fic plan, the plan would continue on play-by-play all the way to the aftercare/end)
The third stage is more detailed still, I flesh out all the jot dots into actual sentences, and it looks like this:
Steve gets all dopey and sweet the moment he gets hard. It's as if his dick turns off his brain. Bucky has been into it since the first time he saw it happen--intimately close to the other man with a deep, primal urge to dig his teeth into Steve's skin just from watching how he melts. His eyes going dark, his skin turning pink, and his breathing getting heavy even as he starts whimpering in the back of his throat. With the realization of his spontaneous melting, even before orgasm, Bucky has gotten more and more into it over time. If that's even possible, considering how much he liked it immediately. Bucky's also pushed for those dopey, dumb, sweet instincts more and more.
So, it's only natural to wonder how far he can take it. How far can he take Steve?
(That would be a more fleshed out version of the first-ish bullet point)
The fourth stage is taking the fic out of jot dots and putting it into actual fic format. I do this one by one, re-reading and adding or subtracting as I go.
Steve gets all dopey and sweet the moment he gets hard. It's as if his dick turns off his brain. Bucky has been into it since the first time he saw it happen--intimately close to the other man with a deep, primal urge to dig his teeth into Steve's skin just from watching how he melts. His eyes go dark, his skin turns pink, and his breathing gets heavy--panting even as he starts whimpering in the back of his throat.
With the realization of his spontaneous melting, even before his orgasm, Bucky has gotten more and more into it over time, if that's even possible, considering how much he liked it immediately. Bucky's also pushed for those dopey, dumb, sweet instincts more and more.
So, it's only natural to wonder how far he can take it, right? How far can he take Steve? How stupid can he get, panting and whining like a puppy, heeling at Bucky's command even though he wants to run wild.
The fifth stage is another re-reading.
(With changes, minor or major, depending)
The sixth stage is putting the fic through Grammarly/whatever grammar and spelling program I'm using to check my work.
(Then I copy and paste my fic into AO3 and do the formatting I need to there for tags, spacing, summaries, etc.)
I hope that answers your questions, lol.
TLDR; I start with a scene in mind usually, then build out from there. Planning takes up most of my fic writing time, considering just how "done" looking my fics are by the third stage. Planning is nice, but just seeing what happens can be fun, too, I wish I could do more of that, actually, haha. The cohesiveness mostly comes from thinking about why I want to write a fic/series. Even if the why is simply "I want to explore this kink because I like this kink" and not something life changing.
Thanks for the ask!
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