𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 just an angel lost in the wonders of mortal emotions and pleasure. drowning in the kisses that do not even linger along her skin, they phase through while she yearns.
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‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. This blog contains mature content. Please do not interact if you are below the age of 18 and an ageless/blank blog.
Content in my works of fiction may contain DARK THEMES, so please do take the time to read the tags before consuming any of the fics you read. Scroll away if you do not like the au, genre, or details of the fic; this blog is dedicated to those who find comfort in chubby self-inserts. Majority of these will be Female or Gender-Neutral 'x reader'.
ANGEL'S SANCTUARY
ANGEL'S FREAKTOBER 2026
works in progress:
- Head Detective!Yunho x Assassin!Reader
- Priest!Choi San x Demonness!Reader
- Song Mingi x Reader
- Ex!Park Seonghwa x Ex!Reader
- Office Junior!Yunho x Boss!Reader
summary: she was a one night stand until he saved her life now they’re bound for eternity
warning: mentioning of past abuse, fingering
genre: dark romance, supernatural, smut
pairing: prince of hell yunho x afab human reader
word count: 13.4k
chp 7
chp 9 coming soon
masterlist
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Morning settled gently over the palace. Unlike the restless glow of the city below, the royal residence seemed almost peaceful at this hour. Crimson light filtered through the towering windows, catching the polished black marble floors while servants moved quietly through the corridors outside, preparing for the evening’s celebration. Somewhere in the distance, musicians were already rehearsing, their notes drifting faintly through the enormous halls. Y/N sat cross legged near the foot of the bed, still wearing one of Yunho’s oversized shirts. Her damp hair hung loose from the bath she’d taken earlier, and the gemstone of her new ring flashed every time she absentmindedly turned her hand in the light. Across the room, Yunho stood before an open wardrobe and at least six different jackets had already been discarded across a nearby chair as Y/N rested her chin in her palm. “You’re aware you’re acting like a human man getting ready for prom.” Yunho didn’t even turn around. “I’ve worn the same suit to three coronations.”
“That’s not a sentence normal people say.”
“I know.”
“You’ve also rejected six jackets.”
“I’ve rejected four.”
Y/N snorted and pointed at the chair. “There are literally six on that chair.” Yunho finally selected another jacket, holding it against himself before studying the mirror with a level of concentration that would have made planning a military campaign seem casual as Y/N smiled to herself. “You know…” He hummed absentmindedly. “I think you’re nervous.” Yunho scoffed. “I am not.” He sighed, abandoning the jacket altogether before turning toward her. I have attended approximately two hundred royal banquets. I have survived assassination attempts at twelve of them. I have negotiated peace between noble houses that had been trying to murder each other for centuries.” Y/N tilted her head. “So why does picking a jacket suddenly seem impossible?” He stared at her for a long moment before he answered with complete sincerity. “Because this one matters.” Her teasing smile softened as he crossed the room, stopping in front of her. “This isn’t just another banquet. They’re coming to see you. They’ll judge everything. Your dress. Your manners. Your smile…..” She reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers. “They can judge all they want.” His thumb brushed over her ring as she looked up at him with a playful glint returning to her eyes. “Speaking of judgment…. other than Estrie…. who exactly should I be worried about tonight?”
Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed. “Worried?” He asked and she shrugged innocently. “You know… and other women hopelessly obsessed with my husband?” Yunho blinked then laughed under his breath. “You sound like the possessive one now.” She smiled sweetly. “And you made me this way.” That earned a genuine laugh from him. “I’m married to the Prince of Hell.” She leaned back onto her hands. “Four hundred years old. Ridiculously attractive.” Yunho grinned, leaning over her, caging her in on the bed. “So I’ve been told.” Y/N bit her bottom lip as his hand started trailing up her leg. “Powerful.” He hummed, gripping her thigh. “I suppose.” She narrowed her eyes. “You cannot convince me there weren’t dozens.” Yunho stared down at her, hand pausing at her thigh. “Depends on what you mean by obsessed and ex.” She pointed accusingly, finger poking his chest. “That is not the answer of an innocent man.” Yunho smirked, hand finally moving from her thigh and slipping under the shirt she had on, the heat of his hand hot against her under the soft underwear she had on. “I’m the son of the devil…. Innocent isn’t in my vocabulary.”
Y/N gasped dramatically, feigning shock. “I knew it.” He chuckled. “There were…” He searched for the least painful way to phrase it. “…interested parties. Though the only real ex is just Keres.” Y/N stared at him. “Keres is really your only ex?” Yunho nodded, slipping his hand finally under her panties, one finger slowly stroking at her clit and she could barely narrow her eyes at him as pleasure shot through her. “You expect me to believe you’re four hundred years old…” She moaned when he slid his finger down and added a second, thrusting them into her, curving them just slightly. “…and only had one relationship?” Yunho simply shrugged, pumping his fingers in and out of her slowly. “I didn’t do relationships. There were plenty of…” He gestured vaguely with his free hand. “…offers.” Y/N bucked up meeting his hand as he started thrusting his fingers faster and Yunho leaned down, kissing at her neck. “I am trying very hard to use words that don’t get me in trouble with my wife.” He started moving deeper now, rubbing her clit with his thumb as he let her cling to him, taking control and fucking herself with his fingers. He could tell she was close with the way she was clenching him and little splashes of wetness started spraying his hand…..
Three sharp knocks echoed through the chambers. “Go away,” Yunho called without taking his eyes off Y/N as the doors swung open anyway and Seonghwa stepped inside carrying a garment bag over one arm. His gaze landed on the two of them sprawled across the bed, Y/N clinging to the prince, one hand wrapped around one of his horns while it was very clear where Yunho’s own hand was. And what he was doing. “You two really can’t keep your hands off each other for a few minutes can you?” Seonghwa asked flatly as Yunho looked over his shoulder with complete calm as he pulled his hand away from Y/N who jumped back, clenching her thighs together. “You really should start knocking.” Seonghwa stared at them. “I did.”
“Longer.”
“I gave you ten seconds.”
Y/N buried her face in Yunho’s shoulder, flushed, edged and trying not to laugh as Seonghwa sighed the sigh of a man who had lived for centuries and somehow still found himself supervising Lucifer’s son. “For the record,” he said dryly, “the shower incident should have taught both of you to lock the doors.” He held up the garment bag. “Princess, your dress is finished.” That immediately got Y/N’s attention. “Already?” Seonghwa nodded. “The seamstresses has worked on it before you got back from Greece.“ His expression softened as he offered her a small smile. “His Majesty wanted everything to be perfect for your first welcoming banquet.” Y/N carefully slipped out from under Yunho’s embrace and crossed the room, accepting the garment bag with both hands. “Thank you.” Seonghwa accepted Y/N’s thanks with a small incline of his head, his expression settling back into the composed neutrality he seemed to wear as naturally as breathing. “You’re welcome, Princess.” His eyes shifted toward Yunho then, all traces of dry amusement disappearing beneath the quiet professionalism that made him Lucifer’s most trusted. “Your Highness… His Majesty would like to see you before the banquet.” Yunho’s easy smile faded just enough for Y/N to notice. “Now?”
“He asked that you come as soon as you’re available.” There was no elaboration beyond that. Seonghwa rarely carried questions that belonged to the King himself. Yunho studied him for another second, searching his face for some clue, but found nothing except the same calm expression Seonghwa had perfected centuries ago. “I’ll be there in a minute.” With one final nod, Seonghwa slipped from the chambers, the heavy doors closing behind him with a soft thud. The room settled into silence again, though it felt noticeably different now. Yunho remained where he was for a moment, his thoughts turning over the summons. Father doesn’t interrupt preparations unless something’s happened. The welcoming banquet was only hours away. Every noble house in Hell would be arriving. If it had been about seating arrangements, politics, or protocol, Seonghwa could have handled it himself. Which meant it almost certainly wasn’t about the banquet. Before he could think any further, the doors opened yet again without so much as a warning.
“There you are,” Wooyoung announced as he strolled into the room like he owned it, a grin already spreading across his face. Hongjoong walked in behind him with his hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored coat, looking thoroughly unsurprised by the lack of etiquette, while San followed last, the archangel offering Y/N an apologetic smile that silently acknowledged he had, once again, failed to stop his lover from barging in uninvited. Yunho stared at the pair for a long moment before one eyebrow slowly lifted. “You were supposed to stay in Greece.” Wooyoung shrugged as though that detail had simply slipped his mind. “I got bored.”
“You got bored.”
“It was too quiet.”
“You were supposed to be hiding.”
Wooyoung waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not like God was coming to Hell anytime soon.” San let out a long, patient sigh, the kind that suggested this argument had already happened at least three times on the journey back. “For the record,” he said, looking toward Yunho instead, “I told him that wasn’t a valid reason.”
“And yet,” Wooyoung replied smugly, slinging an arm around the archangel’s shoulders, “here we are.” Hongjoong snorted under his breath as despite the knot of curiosity still sitting in the back of his mind, Yunho couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped him. He shook his head once before turning back toward Y/N, his expression softening. “I’ll be back.” She smiled, lifting the garment bag slightly. “I’ll be here.” His hand brushed briefly against hers before he stepped into the corridor, the palace swallowing him almost immediately. The further he walked from his chambers, the quieter everything became. Servants hurried through the halls carrying crystal, flowers, and polished silver destined for the banquet hall while guards stationed outside the royal wing straightened the instant they saw him approaching. By the time Yunho reached the towering obsidian doors leading to Lucifer’s private chambers, the atmosphere had shifted completely. The doors already stood open and his father was waiting.
The King of Hell stood before the enormous window overlooking Hell City, the crimson glow of the city painting sharp edges across his silhouette. He didn’t acknowledge Yunho’s entrance right away. He simply continued looking out, hands folded behind his back, as though giving his son just enough time to wonder what he’d done. Something he hasn’t had to do in a good century at least. “Father?” Lucifer finally turned. His expression was unreadable. “Balthazar came to see me this morning.” Yunho leaned one shoulder casually against the stone archway, trying a smile that had gotten him out of trouble more than once over the last four hundred years. “Isn’t it still a little early for the welcoming banquet?” Lucifer didn’t even acknowledge the joke. “He informed me that his son arrived at his estate late last night.” His voice remained level, measured, almost conversational. “According to Balthazar, Dante was… angry. Distraught.” He let the words settle before continuing. “Apparently, he had taken a succubus as a lover.” Lucifer’s eyes never left Yunho’s. “This morning… he found her dead.”
Silence stretched between them as Yunho’s expression barely changed. He simply gave a small, almost indifferent shrug. “I didn’t kill her.”
“No,” Lucifer replied evenly. “You didn’t.” The words hung in the air between father and son. “But,” Lucifer continued after a beat, “I suspect you know exactly who did.” He held his son’s gaze, waiting. And for a moment neither of them spoke. The silence stretched long enough that most would have rushed to fill it with excuses or denials. Yunho didn’t. Something in his expression changed instead. The warmth that had been there moments ago with Y/N disappeared so completely it was almost unsettling. The easygoing husband who had been laughing in his chambers seemed to melt away, leaving behind the prince who had spent four centuries surviving Hell. His shoulders remained relaxed, his face almost unreadable, but there was a cold certainty in his eyes that made it unmistakably clear where half of his blood came from. “I did what you taught me.” Yunho pushed himself away from the stone archway and took a slow step forward, his voice remaining calm, almost conversational. “Dante threatened my wife. Again.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t sound angry. That, more than anything, reminded Lucifer of himself. “So…” Yunho gave a small shrug, as though the conclusion had been painfully obvious. “I took something of his.”
Lucifer studied him in silence. “You taught me,” Yunho continued, “that rulers who only react to attacks itself lose. You taught me that if someone insists on reaching for something that’s mine…” His jaw clenched. “…they should learn what it feels like to lose something they believed was theirs.” The King’s expression remained unreadable as his son stared at him. “I told you,” he said evenly, “I didn’t kill her.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the whole truth, either. And Lucifer knew his son well enough to hear the distinction. A faint, almost reluctant smile threatened the corner of his mouth before disappearing just as quickly. “You’ve become very careful with your words.”
“You taught me that, too.”
A quiet huff of amusement escaped Lucifer’s nose. “For centuries,” he murmured, almost to himself, “I wondered when you would finally start sounding like me.” Yunho didn’t smile. “I hope not.” That earned him Lucifer’s full attention. “No?”
“I watched what it cost you.” For the first time since the conversation had begun, genuine emotion flickered across Lucifer’s face. Brief. And gone almost as quickly as it appeared. His gaze drifted toward the sprawling city beyond the window before returning to his son. “I understand why you did what you did,” he said at last. “What concerns me is not the succubus. It’s Dante. He’ll smile at you tonight. He’ll drink my wine, congratulate your wife that he now probably wants to kill more than before, bow when protocol demands it…” His voice grew quieter. “…and the entire time, he’ll be looking for the right time to strike.” Yunho didn’t hesitate. “He looks at her wrong…. I’ll kill him. I don’t care anymore.” Lucifer watched his son for a long moment before giving a slow nod. “Four hundred years,” he said quietly, “and today is the first day I’ve looked at you and seen the King you’ll become.”
“I wasn’t thinking like a king.”
“No?”
“I was thinking like a husband.”
For a second, Lucifer was transported back centuries, remembering the lengths he himself had gone to for the human woman who had become his queen. A faint smile, equal parts pride and concern, crossed his face. “That,” he said softly, “is precisely why you were thinking like one.” Lucifer held his son’s gaze for a long moment, the faint smile disappearing as quickly as it had come. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter than before, stripped of the authority of a king until only a father remained. “I know you love her.” The words weren’t a question. They were an observation and Yunho didn’t hesitate. “More than anything.” The answer left his mouth so naturally that he didn’t even think about it. Only after the silence settled between them did he notice the subtle shift in his father’s expression. “That’s dangerous.”
Yunho frowned. “Loving my wife?”
“No.” Lucifer slowly turned back toward the enormous window overlooking Hell City, the crimson lights reflecting across the glass. “Admitting, even to yourself, that there is nothing you value above her.” Yunho was quiet as his father clasped his hands behind his back, staring out over the kingdom he had ruled for millennia. “Do you remember what you said Dante told you?” Yunho’s jaw tightened. “I remember.” Lucifer nodded slowly. “He understood something you hadn’t yet.” Lucifer finally turned to face his son again. “He knew there would come a day when losing her would become worse than your own death.” Yunho’s expression hardened, but he said nothing. “That is why he said he would wait. And now he doesn’t have to wait anymore.” The words landed with a weight that seemed to steal the air from the room. “You answered me without thinking.” Lucifer’s eyes never left his son’s. “‘More than anything.’” Yunho replayed his own words in his mind. He hadn’t weighed them. He hadn’t chosen them carefully. They had simply been true. “You’ve just told me…” Lucifer’s voice softened. “…that if someone took her from you…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. His gaze drifted toward the palace beyond the window. Only a little over a week ago, Y/N had been a complete stranger. The thought almost seemed ridiculous now. In the span of days, since the earthquake… since the covenant… since watching her stumble through a world she’d never asked to be a part of… she’d somehow become everything to him. Now… the thought of an eternity without her wasn’t something he could even picture.
Lucifer saw the realization settle across his son’s face and closed his eyes for the briefest moment. “I know that look.” Yunho glanced back at him. “I wore it once myself.” The room fell quiet again. And when Lucifer spoke next, there was no king in his voice. Only a husband who had buried the woman he loved. “Protect her with everything you have.”
“I will.”
“I know you will.”
Yunho remained where he was, his father’s words settling somewhere deep inside him. Outside the towering windows, Hell carried on as it always had. Markets bustled. Trains crossed the city. Somewhere below, musicians continued rehearsing for the banquet that would begin in only a few hours. “I should get back. She’ll probably be trying on her dress by now.” A faint smile tugged at Lucifer’s mouth as he watched his son turn toward the doorway. “Yunho.” His hand paused against the dark obsidian doorframe. “Hm?” The warmth gradually disappeared from Lucifer’s expression. “Y/N doesn’t know it yet…” His amber eyes remained fixed on his son. “but she already has enemies.” Silence settled heavily between them and Yunho’s expression hardened. “Eres isn’t the only noble who spent centuries imagining a different future for this kingdom.” Lucifer began pacing slowly across the room, each measured step echoing softly against the polished black stone. “Some wanted their daughters to marry you. Others wanted their sons. There are houses who have spent generations building alliances around assumptions that no longer exist. And now those assumptions have a face.” Lucifer stopped beside the window overlooking Hell City. “They will smile.” His voice remained calm. “They will congratulate her.” He looked back over one shoulder. “They will bow. And every one of them will spend the evening deciding whether your wife is worthy of standing beside the future King of Hell. Or if they should kill her.”
Yunho didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Lucifer could practically hear the thoughts moving behind his son’s eyes. “They won’t simply judge her,” Lucifer continued quietly. “They’ll measure her. They’ll test her. Some subtly.” His expression darkened. “Some won’t be subtle at all.” Yunho took a slow step forward. “If anyone does anything to her…..” Lucifer raised a hand, stopping him before the sentence could finish. “I know exactly what you’ll do.” His voice wasn’t critical. If anything… it carried the weary understanding of someone who’d once stood exactly where Yunho stood now. “And that is precisely why I’m telling you this before it happens.” Yunho held his father’s gaze. “What are you asking me to do?” Lucifer was silent for a long moment before answering. “I’m asking you to remember…” His eyes drifted briefly toward the city beyond the glass. “that tonight isn’t about proving you’re the strongest man in the room.” His gaze returned to his son. “It’s about making sure she never feels alone in it.” Yunho looked away, imagining Y/N laughing in their chambers only minutes earlier, teasing him over jackets, completely unaware that by nightfall she’d be standing before centuries of Hell’s aristocracy. “She won’t.”
Lucifer searched his son’s face. “No,” he agreed quietly. “I don’t believe she will.”
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An hour before the welcoming banquet, the chambers had transformed into controlled chaos. Servants hurried through the suite carrying velvet boxes filled with jewelry, polished shoes, trays of cosmetics, and steaming cups of tea that somehow always seemed destined for someone else. Somewhere behind the closed bathroom door, the steady rush of water echoed through the chambers as Yunho took a shower. “Your Highness, if you’ll lift your arm just a little.” Y/N did as she was asked, allowing two seamstresses to carefully settle the final layer of the gown over her shoulders. The dress was breathtaking. Deep wine colored velvet hugged her figure before spilling into a dramatic train embroidered with dark roses, vines, and gold detailing that seemed almost alive beneath the light. Delicate chains draped elegantly across the bodice and waist, catching flashes of crimson from the chandeliers overhead whenever she moved. The illusion sleeves were embroidered with tiny blossoms and metallic thread that climbed gracefully over her arms before disappearing across the open back.
When the attendants stepped away, even they paused for a moment. “Princess,” one whispered almost reverently. “You look extraordinary.” Y/N glanced toward the enormous mirror. She almost didn’t recognize herself. “I look…” Her voice trailed off. “expensive.” Several of the seamstresses laughed softly. “That too,” one admitted as a knock sounded at the sitting room door before Seonghwa stepped inside carrying another small velvet box. He stopped and for perhaps the first time since Y/N had met him….. he actually looked momentarily speechless. “His Majesty chose well.” Y/N smiled sheepishly. “I keep feeling like I’m about to trip over half of it.” One of the older seamstresses smiled reassuringly. “You won’t. We’ve enchanted the train. It’ll follow your movement.”
“Seriously?”
The woman nodded proudly and then herself and the other attendants quietly excused themselves to retrieve the remaining jewelry, leaving Seonghwa and Y/N alone. The sound of the shower continued beyond the bathroom door as Y/N glanced toward it. “Can I ask you something?” Seonghwa looked up from the velvet box. “Of course.” She hesitated for only a second. “It’s… kind of awkward.”
“I’ve known Lucifer for over six hundred years.” His expression remained perfectly calm. “I assure you, my threshold for awkward conversations is remarkably high.” Despite herself, Y/N laughed. “Fair enough.” She lowered her voice instinctively, glancing once more toward the bathroom. “So…” She rubbed the back of her neck. “When Yunho and I were in Greece… I asked him whether birth control even works with demons. He had no idea.” Seonghwa tried not to look amused. “He wouldn’t.” She tilted her head. “He wouldn’t?” Seonghwa shook his head once. “Prince Yunho has never had reason to concern himself with contraception before.” She cleared her throat. “Right. So… is there… something?” A tiny flicker of understanding crossed Seonghwa’s face. “There is.” Y/N visibly relaxed. “Really?” He nodded. “Several remedies, actually.” He folded his hands neatly behind his back. “The most common is an herb cultivated in the southern territories. It has an unfortunate name.” Y/N smiled. “How unfortunate?”
“Widow’s Fern. But it is considerably less alarming than the name suggests.” A faint hint of amusement touched the corner of his mouth. “The leaves are dried and steeped into a tea. One full glass each week.” He spoke with the matter of fact certainty of someone reciting well established knowledge. “When taken consistently, it is considered highly reliable.” Y/N let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “So… most demons use that?”
“Those who wish to avoid pregnancy, yes.” He inclined his head politely. “It has been used for centuries.”
“Any side effects?”
“Occasionally it tastes dreadful.”
She laughed. “I can live with that.”
“The palace apothecary keeps a supply. If you’d like, I can have some delivered discreetly to your chambers.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“It will be done.” Another comfortable silence settled between them before Seonghwa glanced toward the closed bathroom door. “I suspect His Highness will eventually ask why tea has begun appearing every week.” Y/N grinned. “I’ll tell him after he admits I’m right.” Seonghwa arched a brow, his lip twitching. “About?” Y/N looked too pleased with herself now. “That he doesn’t actually know everything.” The ghost of a smile crossed Seonghwa’s face. “I wouldn’t wait too long.” She laughed. “That stubborn?” Seonghwa looked toward the bathroom with quiet familiarity. “I helped raise him. I assure you…… he inherited it honestly.” Almost as if on cue, the shower shut off and Y/N and Seonghwa exchanged an amused look. “I believe,” Seonghwa said smoothly, “my cue to disappear has arrived.” He offered her a respectful bow. “You truly look every bit the Princess of Hell.” With that, he slipped quietly from the chambers and for a few quiet seconds, the only sounds were the distant bustle of servants beyond the corridor and the faint drip of water still falling somewhere inside the marble bathroom alongside the sound of Yunho’s feet shuffling. Y/N glanced down at the ring on her finger, absentmindedly turning the blue gemstone beneath the light before smoothing one hand over the rich velvet of her gown.
She’d never worn anything like it. The circlet Lucifer had commissioned rested lightly against her hair, the black crystals catching the light every time she moved. She still wasn’t entirely convinced the woman in the mirror was her as the bathroom door opened and steam rolled lazily into the room before Yunho stepped out, a black towel secured low around his waist, another draped over one shoulder as he rubbed absentmindedly at his damp hair. “I was thinking…” he began, not yet looking up. “After tonight maybe we could sneak out onto one of the upper balco…” His voice stopped and he froze completely. The towel slipped from his shoulder and landed soundlessly on the marble floor as Y/N looked up from the mirror. “What?” He hadn’t moved. Not even a little. His hand still rested in his damp hair, frozen exactly where it had been. His brown eyes were locked on her and the room suddenly felt very, very quiet as she smiled, unable to help herself. “Is something wrong?”
Yunho’s gaze traveled over her slowly. From the circlet nestled in her hair…. to the delicate embroidery climbing her shoulders… the deep crimson velvet that seemed to glow against her skin…… the elegant chains catching the light with every breath she took…. before finally returning to her face. “No.” The word came out almost as a whisper before he laughed quietly at himself. “I genuinely thought nothing would ever compare to seeing you walk toward me the day we got married.” His eyes softened. “I was wrong.” Y/N watched him carefully as he crossed the room, never once taking his eyes off her. There wasn’t hunger in his expression. There wasn’t even surprise anymore. Only something that looked remarkably close to awe as he stopped directly in front of her. “So this…” she teased gently, “…is acceptable?” Yunho let out one disbelieving huff of laughter. “Acceptable?” His hands settled lightly against her waist, careful not to wrinkle the velvet. “You look like every painter who’s ever existed would’ve given up after seeing you.” She laughed, ducking her head. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“I don’t care.”
“It was dramatic.”
“It was accurate.” He studied her again, his smile growing almost helpless. “I’ve seen queens.” His voice had grown even softer now. “Empresses. Noblewomen from kingdoms that don’t even exist anymore.” His thumb brushed lightly against the fabric resting at her waist. “I’ve watched people spend fortunes trying to look unforgettable.” His eyes met hers. “And somehow…” A quiet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “my wife walks into the room and makes four hundred years of memories feel completely inadequate.” Y/N felt her heart squeeze painfully in her chest. “You keep saying things like that…” She reached up, smoothing a damp strand of silver hair away from his forehead. “and I’m going to ruin you before the banquet even starts.” Yunho grinned. “I suppose that would upset the guests.”
“It absolutely would.”
For another long moment he simply looked at her. Then, almost absentmindedly, he reached for her left hand. The sapphire gemstone of her ring shimmered beneath the crimson light as he turned it gently between his fingers. His own matching band catching the light beside it. “Perfect,” he murmured and Y/N tilted her head. “The rings?” He looked back at her. “No.” A warm smile spread across his face again. “You.” And looking at her, Yunho wondered how he could of ever wanted to spend eternity alone before he met her…..
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Pandemonium never really slept. Even in the quiet hours before dawn, the palace breathed with movement. Servants crossed endless obsidian corridors carrying ledgers and silver trays, guards rotated shifts beneath towering archways, and somewhere deep within the city’s sprawling streets, bells announced the opening of the morning markets. Yunho moved through it all almost unnoticed. A fitted black shirt clung comfortably beneath the charcoal jacket he was buttoning as he walked, his silver hair still slightly damp from an early shower. One hand adjusted the leather holster secured beneath the jacket while the other checked the small infernal watch resting around his wrist. North America. Los Angeles. Another contracted soul. Another ordinary morning. He rounded the final corner toward the enormous palace gates when a familiar voice echoed down the corridor. “Leaving already?”
Yunho stopped. “Father.” Lucifer stood leaning casually against one of the massive stone columns bordering the hallway, dressed as though he were about to attend a royal council instead of intercepting his son before breakfast. One hand lazily swirled a crystal glass filled with dark wine despite the early hour, the corners of his mouth already threatening a smile. “I was wondering if I’d catch you.”
“You have.”
“I noticed.”
Yunho folded his arms. “What did I do?”
Lucifer looked almost offended. “Must you have done something?”
“You only come looking for me before work when I’ve either annoyed you…” Yunho counted silently on his fingers. “or someone else.” Lucifer considered that. “Fair.” A reluctant smile tugged at Yunho’s mouth. “What is it?” Lucifer pushed himself away from the column. “Minor adjustment.” He produced a folded parchment from inside his coat before handing it across. “The original collection in Pasadena has been reassigned.” Yunho unfolded it. Instead of Pasadena… North Hollywood. His brow lifted slightly. “I wasn’t aware Fate had changed.”
“It didn’t.” Lucifer took another sip of wine. “The mortal suffered a cardiac arrest approximately thirty seven minutes ago.” Yunho scanned the page. Female. Twenty seven. North Hollywood. Time of collection: 12:17 pm. “No family present?” Lucifer shrugged. “A cheating husband.” Yunho folded the parchment again and slipped it inside his jacket. “I’ll take care of it.” Silence settled comfortably between them as Lucifer watched his son begin adjusting the cuffs of his jacket again. “Eres visited yesterday.” Yunho closed his eyes. “Did he.” Lucifer’s amusement became increasingly difficult to hide. “He did. He mentioned the proposal again.” A long sigh escaped Yunho. “Of course he did.” Lucifer stopped hiding his amusement fully now. “He remains remarkably persistent.”
“I remain remarkably uninterested.”
Lucifer chuckled. “He insists Estrie would make an exceptional princess.” Yunho let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’m sure she would.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’ve watched her slit a servant’s throat because he brought her the wrong wine.” Yunho shook his head. “I told you years ago.” His voice carried the same certainty it always did whenever the subject arose. “I’m not getting married.” Lucifer studied him. “Not ever?”
“No.”
“Eternity is a very long time.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“You’ve never considered…”
“No.”
Lucifer smiled faintly. “I hadn’t finished.”
“I know where the sentence was going.”
“You usually do.”
Yunho tucked both hands into his pockets. “I’ve seen what happens.” His gaze drifted toward the enormous windows overlooking Hell City. “Humans die. Demons are sent to purgatory. Everyone always dies. We don’t.” His expression remained calm, but there was something practiced beneath it. Something he’d repeated to himself for centuries. “I watched you lose Mother.” Lucifer’s smile disappeared. “I watched you spend decades pretending you were fine afterward. I watched you stand at her grave every year. I’m not doing that.” Lucifer didn’t interrupt. “I’m not going to fall in love with someone who’s guaranteed to leave.” Yunho looked back at his father. “And I’m certainly not marrying someone because politics says I should.” Lucifer regarded him for a long moment. “So that’s your final answer.” Yunho smiled crookedly. “For eternity.” Lucifer finished the last of his wine before handing the empty glass to a passing servant without looking. “I won’t force you. I simply hope…” His voice softened. “that one day you find someone who makes you regret this conversation.” Yunho smiled with complete confidence. “I won’t.”
Black smoke swallowed Yunho whole and the polished obsidian floors vanished beneath him as infernal magic folded space itself, the familiar pull lasting only a second before the sensation released him into the elevator. The ride up lasted no longer than a few minutes before the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. Warm California sunlight spilled in. His Los Angeles penthouse occupied the entire top floor of a sleek glass tower overlooking the city, every window stretching from floor to ceiling. From here, the Pacific glowed amber beneath the sinking sun, traffic crawled along the distant freeways like rivers of red and white light, and helicopters traced lazy circles across the skyline. To anyone who might have managed to enter the apartment, it looked exactly like the home of an obscenely wealthy young businessman. Minimalist furniture. Modern artwork. Expensive whiskey. Not a single indication its owner happened to be the Crown Prince of Hell.
Yunho loosened the collar of his jacket as he crossed the living room, dropping a set of infernal keys into a crystal bowl by the entrance out of habit more than necessity. He rarely spent more than a couple days here at a time, but it was useful. Earth required appearances. His phone, resting on the kitchen island where he’d left it the last time, vibrated the moment he picked it up. The screen illuminated with a single notification.
SOUL COLLECTION
STATUS: ACTIVE
He unlocked it and a map of Los Angeles unfolded across the display, glowing with faint crimson lines only Hell’s collectors could see. Thousands of tiny lights flickered throughout the city, each one representing a contracted soul whose thread had yet to be cut. Most remained dim but one suddenly ignited and the map narrowed automatically. NORTH HOLLYWOOD Yunho’s expression remained neutral as the streets enlarged. Victory Boulevard. Lankershim Boulevard. Closer. The location finalized and a small black pin settled over a familiar intersection. For the first time since arriving on Earth… Yunho frowned. “Really?” He zoomed in. There was no mistake. The collection wasn’t at a hospital. Nor an apartment. Nor a traffic accident. It was a nightclub. He recognized the building immediately. An upscale club tucked between renovated warehouses, popular with actors, musicians, influencers, and anyone with enough money to convince themselves they belonged there. Yunho had been there before. Not often but enough. It made collections easier sometimes. Crowded places hid supernatural events remarkably well.
His thumb tapped the notification and additional details expanded beneath the map before he slipped the phone into his pocket and glanced toward the western horizon. The sun had begun dipping behind the Pacific, washing the city in molten gold. Plenty of time. He walked toward the bedroom, exchanging his charcoal jacket for a black leather one more suited to an evening in Los Angeles. A pair of dark sunglasses disappeared into his pocket. Outside, the first neon signs of the evening had already begun flickering to life. The line outside the club stretched halfway down the block. Luxury cars idled at the curb while valet attendants hurried between them, their white gloves flashing beneath the glow of the marquee. Music pulsed faintly through the walls, the steady bass vibrating beneath the sidewalk long before anyone reached the front doors as Yunho adjusted the cuff of his leather jacket and approached the entrance. The bouncer looked up and for a brief second, their eyes met. A lower class demon. He bowed his head lightly at Yunho. “Evening, your highness.” The velvet rope lifted and Yunho slipped inside. Heat met him first. Then sound. The club was alive. Golden lights swept across the packed dance floor while violet lasers cut through drifting clouds of theatrical smoke. Crystal liquor bottles glittered behind a horseshoe shaped bar. Bartenders worked with practiced efficiency, shaking cocktails almost as quickly as patrons ordered them. Above it all, a DJ overlooked the crowd from an elevated booth, seamlessly blending one song into the next. It was loud. Chaotic. And human.
Yunho had always found places like this strangely comforting. Humans laughed louder when they forgot tomorrow existed. He walked slowly through the crowd, not searching with his eyes. Searching wasn’t necessary. Collectors felt souls nearing their appointed end. A faint warmth stirred somewhere deep beneath his ribs and he closed his eyes for only a moment. There. Second floor. VIP lounge. The sensation pulled gently, like an invisible thread. He climbed the staircase without hurry, weaving past couples and groups balancing expensive drinks. By the time he reached the upper level, the feeling had become unmistakable. Near the back corner. He spotted her immediately. Dark hair gathered loosely over one shoulder. An emerald dress. Wedding ring still resting on her finger. She sat alone in one of the velvet booths, untouched martini in front of her. Her mascara had begun to run. Across the room, separated only by polished glass, a man wrapped an arm around a much younger blonde woman while laughing at something she’d whispered into his ear. The husband. Yunho recognized him from the file. He hadn’t even bothered to hide.
The woman watched him for another few silent seconds before lowering her gaze into the untouched drink. Her shoulders rose with one shaky breath. Then another. Yunho remained where he was. He never interrupted. That wasn’t his place. Collectors observed. They waited. His eyes drifted briefly to the infernal watch around his wrist. 12:08 am. He leaned quietly against one of the columns overlooking the lounge, blending into the shadows with practiced ease. Around him, the music continued. People laughed. Glasses clinked. Someone celebrated a birthday only a few tables away. Life, oblivious as always, carried on. Then… the warmth beneath his ribs flickered. Not from the woman. From somewhere else. Faint. Different. It wasn’t the unmistakable pull of a soul nearing death. It was… something unfamiliar. Ancient. Powerful enough that even Yunho instinctively lifted his head. But the sensation disappeared as quickly as it had come, swallowed by the music and the sea of human souls surrounding him. He turned back towards the woman and she lifted her head, looking directly at him. No confusion. No fear. Just… recognition. A weary, heartbreaking kind of recognition.
The music around them continued to roar, but it seemed impossibly distant now. “You…” she whispered as Yunho stopped a few feet from the booth. “Yes.” Her eyes slowly filled with tears. “It… it’s time.” He gave a single nod. “It is.” A shaky laugh escaped her as she looked down at the wedding ring still resting on her finger. “I was seventeen.” Yunho didn’t interrupt her. “I thought…” She swallowed hard. “I thought he’d love me forever.” Across the lounge, her husband threw his head back laughing at something the other woman that wasn’t his wife had said. “I was so stupid.”
“You were seventeen,” Yunho replied quietly and she looked back at him. “I signed anyway.”
“You did.”
“I thought…” Another small, bitter laugh. “No one ever thinks they’re actually going to have to pay.” Silence settled between them as she drew one slow breath. “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
She searched his face, as if looking for a lie but she didn’t find one. “My aunt used to tell me the devil was handsome.” The corner of Yunho’s mouth twitched. “I’ve heard that before.” Despite everything… she smiled. “So…” Her voice was barely audible now. “I guess this is goodbye.” Yunho glanced briefly toward the dance floor where her body remained slumped quietly against the velvet booth, hidden from immediate notice by the dim lights and high backed seating. The thread had already been cut. There was nothing left tying her here as he extended his hand. She looked at it for only a second before placing hers in his. Warm and weightless. The moment their fingers touched, the nightclub seemed to fall away. For just an instant, everything became still. Then the infernal markings along Yunho’s wrist glowed faintly beneath his sleeve. The collection was complete. The woman’s soul stood beside him now, looking one last time toward the man she’d sacrificed everything for. “He never loved me, did he?” Yunho followed her gaze. The husband hadn’t even noticed she’d died. “No.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I think…” She let out a long, tired breath. “I knew that for a long time.” Yunho didn’t offer false comfort. He’d learned centuries ago that honesty was often kinder. She nodded once. “I’m ready.” He inclined his head and infernal fire shimmered briefly around them before swallowing the woman completely and Yunho stood alone once more.
He slipped both hands into the pockets of his jacket, already turning toward the exit. Then… movement caught his eye. Not supernatural. Entirely human. Behind the sprawling marble bar on the lower level, two bartenders were trying, and failing, to keep straight faces. One of them was laughing so hard she had to brace herself against the counter while attempting to shake a cocktail while beside her, a red head was pointing toward an embarrassed customer who had apparently challenged the staff to let them choose his drink. “You said you trusted the bartender!” The red head shouted over the music. “I didn’t know she’d enjoy ruining my life!” The man cried out. “Oh, you’ll enjoy it,” the other woman shot back, grinning as she slid the brilliantly colored cocktail across the bar. “You just won’t enjoy the first sip.” The customer took a dramatic drink and his face immediately twisted in horror making both women burst into laughter. Yunho found himself… watching. For reasons he couldn’t explain. The woman next to the red head wasn’t the loudest person in the room. She wasn’t wearing the most expensive clothes either. A simple tank top and shorts. She wasn’t demanding attention. And yet…… his eyes stayed on her as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear while reaching for another glass, still smiling as the red head nudged her shoulder and the two exchanged another joke that disappeared beneath the music. Completely unaware someone was observing them.
Yunho glanced toward the entrance. He could leave. The assignment was finished. Nothing required him to stay another minute. A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I suppose…” He adjusted the cuff of his jacket. “one drink won’t delay eternity.” With unhurried steps, the Crown Prince of Hell left the VIP lounge and made his way toward the bar, weaving effortlessly through the sea of dancers. He had every intention of ordering a drink. Nothing more. After all… he’d never been particularly interested in staying anywhere longer than necessary. He certainly had no reason to believe that the laughing bartender pouring cocktails below was about to become the one person capable of making him break every promise he’d made to himself for the last few centuries. The closer Yunho came, the louder the music became. The polished marble bar curved through the center of the club like its own stage, nearly every stool occupied while bartenders moved with effortless choreography behind it. Glasses clinked. Bottles spun through practiced hands. Someone a few seats away erupted into cheers after winning some kind of drinking bet.
He slipped into one of the empty stools near the end of the counter. Not close enough to demand immediate attention. But close enough to watch. The woman hadn’t noticed him yet. She was busy balancing three cocktail shakers between herself and the red head while laughing over something one of the regulars had said. “You made that way too strong,” Tiffany accused, stealing a sip from one of the drinks before immediately coughing and Y/N grinned without looking up. “He asked for a surprise.”
“He’s going to surprise himself right onto the floor.”
“He’ll tip better.”
“Or he’ll throw up.”
“Still counts as enthusiasm.”
Tiffany snorted. “You have issues.” Y/N shrugged, smirking. “So I’ve been told.” Yunho found himself smiling. It was… easy. Nothing about her looked rehearsed. Most bartenders in Los Angeles learned to perform for tips. Every smile calculated. Every laugh measured. She wasn’t performing. She was simply enjoying herself as she bumped Tiffany’s shoulder with her own while reaching for another bottle, nearly knocking a stack of clean glasses over. “Careful,” Tiffany laughed and Y/N laughed. “I caught them.” That laugh. There it was. The same bright, completely unrestrained laugh that had caught his attention upstairs. It carried surprisingly well through the music. Almost impossible not to hear. Almost impossible not to look toward. Apparently… he wasn’t the only one looking. Tiffany had been reaching for another bottle when her eyes flicked across the bar. Then, without moving anything but her lips, leaned toward Y/N. “Okay…..” Y/N continued pouring. “What?” Tiffany grinned. “Tall. Hot and blonde.” Y/N looked sideways. “What about him?” Tiffany’s grin spread slowly. “He’s been staring at you for, like…” She pretended to check an invisible watch. “three solid minutes.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “How do you know that?”
“Because,” Tiffany whispered, barely containing a smile, “I’m looking at him.” Y/N sighed before setting the shaker onto the counter. “If this is another one of your attempts to get me laid…”
“I didn’t say anything about getting laid.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I absolutely was.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Y/N finally gave in. “Fine.” She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear before casually lifting her head. Her eyes swept across the bar. Past two businessmen. Past a couple arguing over tequila. Past another bartender delivering drinks. Then… she found him and for the briefest moment…. Everything else blurred. He was exactly as Tiffany had described. Tall. Broad shoulders beneath a black leather jacket. Silver blonde hair that looked almost white beneath the lights. The kind of face that belonged on a magazine cover rather than sitting alone at a nightclub bar. He wasn’t trying to get her attention. He wasn’t smirking. Wasn’t winking. Wasn’t doing anything men in clubs usually did. He was simply looking at her. Calmly and curiously. As though he’d been quietly observing the room and happened to settle on her. The moment their eyes met… one corner of his mouth lifted into the smallest, almost imperceptible smile. “See?” Tiffany nudged her. Y/N blinked, tearing her gaze away just long enough to grab the nearest glass. “Shut up.” Y/N tried very hard to sound unaffected. “He’s definitely tall.” Tiffany laughed so hard she nearly dropped the bottle she was holding. “I said hot first.” Y/N reached for a cocktail napkin, pretending to be far more interested in wiping the counter than the impossibly attractive stranger waiting several seats away. “I’ll ask what he’s drinking.” Tiffany leaned closer with a grin. “That’s my girl.”
Y/N took one steadying breath. It’s just a customer. An absurdly attractive customer. She grabbed a cocktail napkin and forced herself to walk the few steps down the bar with the same confidence she approached everyone else. Tiffany watched her go with a grin that practically screamed good luck. Y/N stopped in front of him. Up close… was somehow even more unfairly handsome. The amber lights above the bar caught the silver in his hair, giving it an almost ethereal glow, while his dark leather jacket fit broad shoulders that looked like they’d been sculpted rather than born. There wasn’t a wrinkle in his clothes, not a trace of intoxication in his eyes, and unlike nearly every man she’d served tonight… wasn’t looking at her chest. He was looking at her. Actually looking at her with an expression that somehow made her feel like she was the only person in the room. She smiled. “What can I get you?” Yunho returned the smile, small but genuine. “I’ll have an old fashioned.” Y/N nodded. “Classic.”
“I tend to be.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “I’ll be the judge of that.” She turned toward the shelves behind her, reaching automatically for the bourbon as Yunho rested one forearm against the polished bar and watched. Not because she was making an old fashioned. He’d had hundreds. Because she made it… differently. There was no rushing. Every movement flowed naturally into the next. She stirred the drink instead of shaking it, her bracelets giving a soft metallic clink against the mixing glass before she lifted the orange peel between her fingers and expressed the oils over the surface with practiced precision. No unnecessary flair. Just confidence. “You’ve done this a lot,” Yunho observed and she didn’t look up. “Something like that.” She strained the drink over a large cube of crystal clear ice before setting the heavy glass onto a fresh cocktail napkin. “There.” She slid it toward him. “One old fashioned.”
Yunho wrapped long fingers around the glass and took one sip. Then another. “That’s excellent.” Y/N folded her arms against the bar. “I know.” He looked up and she wasn’t joking. Not really. There was a quiet confidence behind the answer that made him laugh softly. “I like honesty.”
“I figured.”
“What gave me away?”
“You ordered an old fashioned.”
He tilted his head. “And?”
“Men who order old fashioneds are either eighty…” She held up one finger. “trying very hard to seem sophisticated… or they actually know what they’re drinking.” She looked him up and down briefly. “I’m guessing you’re the third one.” Yunho stared at her, smirk tugging at his mouth. “There wasn’t a third option.”
“There is now.”
“And what is it?”
She smiled. “I’ll let you know after your second drink.” Yunho chuckled. “I see.”
“You’ll have to earn your classification.”
“I wasn’t aware I was being evaluated.”
“Everyone’s being evaluated.”
“Should I be nervous?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you were planning on asking me for something ridiculous.”
His brow lifted. “Like?”
“Can you make it stronger?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Can I get it for free?”
“I certainly wasn’t.”
“Smile more.”
A faint crease appeared between Yunho’s brows. “People actually say that?” She stared at him. “You’d be amazed.” He looked genuinely disappointed. “That seems… rude.” Y/N blinked. She’d expected arrogance. Cockiness. Some rehearsed pickup line. Not…. that. “It is,” she admitted as he set the glass down. “I have to admit…” He looked around the packed nightclub before returning his attention to her. “this may be the first time I’ve come somewhere for a drink and found the bartender more entertaining than the customers.” She raised an eyebrow. “Careful.”
“Why?”
“You’ve only had one sip.”
“And?”
“You might be blaming the alcohol for your flirting.”
His eyes warmed with amusement. “What makes you think I’m flirting?” She leaned one elbow onto the polished bar. “What makes you think you’re not?” For the first time in a very long time… Yunho found himself momentarily without an answer. Not because she had embarrassed him. Because she’d surprised him. A slow smile spread across his face. “Fair enough.” Yunho took another sip of his drink as another customer reached the bar and Y/N excused herself with an apologetic smile. “One second.” Yunho nodded. “I’ll survive.” He watched as she seamlessly slipped back into work mode. Someone wanted tequila recommendations. Another complained about a drink being too sweet. Someone farther down accidentally knocked over an entire beer. Not once did she lose her patience though. She joked with each person differently. Listened more than she spoke. Remembered regulars’ names. Even the people who clearly wanted her attention left smiling. Interesting. Most humans exhausted him by now. She… didn’t. She returned a minute later, setting fresh cocktail napkins back into place. “Sorry.”
“I wasn’t keeping score.”
“I appreciate that.” She leaned against the counter. “So…. you don’t seem like someone who comes to clubs.” He glanced around. “I don’t?” She shook her head. “No.” Yunho leaned a little closer across the counter as well, voice dropping a little. “What do I seem like then?” She studied him openly now. “You seem…” She searched for the right word. “quiet. But not shy. You observe people. You probably know more about everyone in this room than they know about themselves.” One of Yunho’s eyebrows rose. “That’s oddly specific.” She shrugged. “I watch people for a living. Bartenders become accidental therapists.” He almost laughed. “And you?” she asked. “What about me?”
“What do you do?”
Yunho’s fingers paused around his glass. It was an innocent question. Ordinary. One humans asked each other every day without considering how difficult the truth might be. He could hardly tell her he collected contracted souls on behalf of his father, the Devil, before returning through a hidden to a kingdom beneath the mortal world. Somehow, he suspected that would kill the effortless rhythm they’d fallen into. “Investments,” he answered after only the slightest hesitation. Y/N stared at him as Yunho lifted the glass to his mouth. “What?”
“Investments?”
“Yes.”
“That might be the vaguest answer anyone has ever given me.”
“It’s still an answer.”
“Barely.” She folded her arms across the bar, studying him with renewed suspicion. “What kind of investments?”
“Several kinds.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re terrible at lying.” Yunho nearly choked on his drink. He recovered quickly, lowering the glass with considerably more care than necessary as she watched him with a triumphant little smile. “I’m not lying.”
“You hesitated.”
“I was thinking.”
“You looked at your drink before answering.”
“I happen to like my drink.”
“And now you’re deflecting.”
“I’m impressed you noticed.”
“I told you.” She leaned closer, dropping her voice conspiratorially despite the music pounding around them. “Bartenders become accidental therapists. We can smell dishonesty.” Yunho couldn’t help laughing. He’d negotiated treaties with demons who could smell fear, lied to kings while standing over the bodies of their advisors, and once convinced an entire monastery that the creature haunting its catacombs was merely an aggressive draft. Yet this human woman had dismantled his carefully selected occupation within thirty seconds. “Fine,” he conceded. “I manage private assets.” He smiled against the rim of his glass. “I travel. I negotiate contracts. I handle acquisitions for my family.” That, at least, was mostly true. The contracts simply happened to be signed in blood, and the acquisitions tended to involve immortal souls. “My father owns several businesses.” Y/N tilted her head. “Family money.”
“You could say that.”
“I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“That you were rich.”
Yunho glanced down at himself. “Was it the jacket?” Her gaze moved shamelessly over him now, from the silver watch at his wrist to the tailored black shirt beneath his leather jacket. “It was everything.” She stared at him for another long moment before picking up a clean glass and polishing it with a towel. “You know what I think?”
“I suspect you’re going to tell me.”
“I think you’re either ridiculously wealthy…” She held up one finger. “…involved in organized crime…” A second finger joined the first. “…or you made your entire life up five minutes ago.” Yunho pretended to think about it. “Couldn’t I be all three?” Her hand stopped moving against the glass. Then she laughed, bright and unrestrained, and something unfamiliar tugged inside his chest. It wasn’t the pull of a contracted soul. It wasn’t infernal instinct or recognition of power. It was lighter. Almost pleasant. Yunho had spent centuries becoming very good at reading people. Their motives. Their fears. The hidden meanings behind carefully chosen words. Y/N didn’t seem to hide much at all. Her amusement reached her eyes. Her interest showed every time she leaned closer. Even her suspicion carried no real fear, only curiosity. “You’re strange,” she decided.
“I’ve been called worse.”
A customer several feet away raised an empty glass and Y/N held up one finger to acknowledge him. “I have to pretend to work again.” She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling as she moved down the bar, and Yunho found his attention following her again. He watched her take three orders at once, correct Tiffany before she accidentally poured gin instead of vodka, and calmly cut off an already intoxicated man who protested that he was perfectly capable of handling another shot while visibly swaying on his stool. Y/N didn’t embarrass him. She simply set a glass of water in front of him, told him his future self would thank her, and moved on before he could argue. “You’re staring again.” Yunho looked toward Tiffany, who had appeared directly in front of him holding an empty cocktail shaker. “I’m observing.”
“That’s a creepy word for staring.”
“I’ve been told she’s evaluating everyone.”
Tiffany grinned. “She is.”
“Then I think it’s fair.”
“Oh, she’s definitely evaluating you.” Tiffany leaned one elbow onto the counter, lowering her voice. “So far, you’re doing surprisingly well.”
“Surprisingly?”
“You look like trouble.”
“I can’t do much about that.”
“That sounded incredibly arrogant.”
“It wasn’t intended to.”
“It definitely was.” She glanced toward Y/N, who was arguing playfully with a regular about whether pineapple belonged in whiskey, before turning back to Yunho. “She likes you.” Yunho’s gaze drifted toward Y/N again. “Does she?” Tiffany followed his stare and smiled knowingly. “Definitely.” Something in Yunho’s expression sharpened with interest. “How long have you known her?”
“Long enough to know she’s going to murder me if she realizes I’m talking about her.” Tiffany straightened just as Y/N turned around, immediately looking between them. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Tiffany answered far too quickly and Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re talking about me.”
“I was asking whether he wanted another drink.”
“No, you weren’t.”
Yunho lifted his nearly empty glass. “I could have another.” Tiffany pointed triumphantly toward him. “See?” Y/N looked unconvinced but reached for his glass anyway. “Another old fashioned?” Yunho watched her fingers curl around the heavy crystal. “Surprise me.” Her eyebrows rose. “That’s dangerous.”
“I’m willing to take the risk.”
“That’s what the last guy said.”
“The one whose face turned inside out?”
“The very same.”
“I trust you.”
The words slipped out easily. Too easily. And something changed in her expression, only for a moment, before she recovered with a small smile and lifted the glass from the counter. “Your funeral.” Yunho almost laughed at the irony. “I’ve survived worse.” Y/N studied him again as though she couldn’t decide whether every strange thing he said was a joke. “I’m beginning to believe that.” She turned toward the shelves and began selecting bottles without explaining what she was making. Bourbon first. Then something dark and herbal. A little orange bitters. She added smoke beneath an inverted glass, trapping it there until the crystal clouded before pouring the drink over a single cube of ice. When she finally lifted the glass, she placed a thin strip of charred orange peel across the rim again and slid it toward him. “Try that.” Yunho examined it. “Does it have a name?”
“Not yet.”
“That inspires confidence.”
“Drink it.”
He obeyed. Smoke reached him first, followed by bourbon, citrus, and a bitter sweetness that lingered against his tongue. Yunho took another sip before setting the glass down. “That’s good.” Y/N looked entirely too pleased with herself again. “I know.” He laughed. “You say that often.”
“Only when I’m right.”
“And how often is that?”
“Always.”
“Dangerous quality.”
“You seem to like dangerous things.”
Yunho’s eyes lifted slowly to hers. “I’m starting to.” The space between them seemed to shrink despite the width of the bar. Golden light swept across her face, catching the tiny flecks in her eyes while music vibrated through the counter beneath his forearm. Neither of them spoke for a second too long until Tiffany appeared beside Y/N, glanced between them, and slowly smiled. “I’m going to check the other end of the bar.” Y/N shook her head. “She has no shame.”
“I like her.” Yunho grinned and Y/N snorted. “Of course you do. She’s trying to get me into trouble.” Yunho leaned forward slightly. “Am I trouble?” She studied him with open consideration. “Definitely.”
“And yet you’re still standing here.”
“I’m working.”
“That’s the only reason?”
Her gaze dropped briefly toward his mouth before returning to his eyes. The movement was quick, but not quick enough. “Maybe I’m still evaluating you.”
“And how am I doing?”
Y/N reached across the bar and took his glass, lifting it to examine how much he’d already consumed. “You ordered the second drink.”
“You said I had to.”
“I didn’t think you’d listen.”
“I listen remarkably well when properly motivated.”
Her lips twitched. “I think I found your classification.” Yunho rested both forearms against the counter. “I’ve been waiting.”
“You’re not eighty.”
“Encouraging.”
“You’re definitely trying to seem sophisticated.”
He placed a hand against his chest as though wounded. “Cruel.”
“But…” She drew the word out, deliberately making him wait. “you do actually know what you’re drinking.”
“So?”
“So you’re the impossible third option.”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
Y/N leaned closer, close enough now that Yunho caught the faint scent of citrus and perfume beneath the stronger smells of alcohol and smoke. “It means I haven’t decided whether you’re interesting…” Her eyes dropped to his mouth again. “…or just very pretty.” Yunho’s smile came slowly. “Can’t I be both?”
“That remains to be seen.”
“I suppose I’ll need more time.”
“With the drink?”
“With the bartender.”
For a brief second neither of them spoke. The music surged around them, laughter rising from somewhere farther down the bar as another round of drinks disappeared into the crowd. Then Y/N smiled, almost to herself. “You know…” She rested both hands against the polished counter. “I don’t even know your name.” Yunho looked at her for a moment before answering. “Yunho.” She repeated it quietly, almost testing it. “Yunho.” He couldn’t explain why hearing his name in her voice sounded different than it had from anyone else’s in a very long time. “And yours?” he asked and a playful smile returned to her lips. “You’ve been staring at me for half the night and don’t know my name?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me.”
She pretended to think it over. “I might.”
“So generous.”
“My friends would disagree.” She offered him her hand across the bar. “Y/N.” He reached out without thinking, his larger hand closing gently around hers. It should have been an ordinary handshake. Instead… neither of them let go immediately. Her hand was warm from polishing glasses and handling cocktail shakers all evening. His was cool despite the heat of the crowded nightclub. “Well…” she said after a second that had stretched noticeably longer than a handshake should have. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
She slowly withdrew her hand, trying very hard to ignore the strange disappointment that came with it as another customer called her name from farther down the counter. “One sec!” she called before looking back at Yunho with an apologetic smile. “You’re popular.” He teases. “Occupational hazard.” He watched her disappear for another minute, effortlessly mixing two martinis while joking with a couple celebrating an anniversary before returning to him, wiping her hands on a clean bar towel. “Sorry.”
“You keep apologizing.”
“I keep leaving.”
“You also keep coming back.”
She smiled despite herself. “I guess I do.” Yunho glanced toward the large clock mounted above the liquor shelves. “So…” His eyes found hers again. “How much longer are you trapped behind this bar?” She followed his gaze to the clock. “About twenty minutes.”
“Only twenty?”
“If nobody decides tequila is a personality trait in the next nineteen.”
Yunho laughed. “I’ll hope for everyone’s sake they behave.” He leaned comfortably against the counter. “So what happens in twenty minutes?” Y/N bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling. “I clean up. I leave. I walk home.” Yunho tilted his head. “I was going to ask if you’d have a drink with me afterward.” Her eyebrows lifted, no longer able to fight the smile now. “You’re asking the bartender to have a drink?”
“I thought it seemed appropriate.”
“And if I said yes?”
“I’d consider myself fortunate.”
Y/N studied him for another moment. He wasn’t smirking. Wasn’t trying to impress her. He simply looked… hopeful. It was unexpectedly charming. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“No?”
“You’ve already had two drinks.”
“I assure you I’m perfectly capable of handling a third.”
“I believe you.”
“Then why not?”
She leaned forward across the bar until only the polished marble separated them.
“Because…” she said quietly, lowering her voice just enough that the conversation became theirs alone, “I don’t really drink after work.” She looked to his lips, to his hands, to his eye. “So… I suppose this is where we politely say goodbye.” She looked at him for a long second before shaking her head. “Or….. You can walk me home.” The words hung between them before Yunho grinned. “You’re inviting a man you’ve known for…” He glanced toward the clock. “What? Thirty minutes?” She shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve spent the last thirty minutes evaluating you.”
“And?”
“You haven’t asked for my number.”
“No.”
“You haven’t tried touching me.”
“No.”
“And…” Her smile became just a little softer. “You looked genuinely offended when I told you men ask bartenders to smile more.”
“I was.”
“I know.” She reached for another clean glass, polishing it almost absentmindedly. “So…” She looked back up at him. “Unless you’ve secretly been a serial killer this whole conversation…”
“I haven’t.”
“Good.” She smiled as once again another customer waved her down, and she reluctantly pushed herself away from the counter. “Twenty minutes,” she reminded him and Yunho watched her disappear back into the sea of waiting customers before lifting his glass once more. “Twenty minutes,” he echoed to himself. Strange. Four hundred years had passed in what often felt like the blink of an eye. Twenty minutes, however… suddenly felt impossibly long.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Y/N stood beside Yunho as the final attendant smoothed one last invisible wrinkle from the train of her gown before bowing deeply and quietly excusing herself. Yunho looked at her once more, his expression softening despite the growing noise beyond the doors. He’d eventually settled on the fifth jacket he’d tried, though settled hardly seemed like the right word. The tailored black suit fit him as though it had been made for him alone, every line sharp and deliberate. Deep wine colored embroidery traced the lapels and cuffs, matching the velvet of Y/N’s gown perfectly, while subtle silver thread caught the palace lights like scattered starlight. His wedding ring rested against the black fabric as naturally as though it had always belonged there. Y/N smiled. “You finally found one.”
“I did.”
“The fifth one.”
“The fourth.”
She laughed. “It was definitely the fifth.” He sighed dramatically. “I’ll never win this argument, will I?”
“No.”
“I suspected as much.” His gaze lingered on her for another moment before he quietly offered his arm. “My Princess.” Her smile softened. “My Prince.” She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, her fingers resting lightly against the sleeve of his jacket. The movement felt strangely natural now. Over a week ago she couldn’t have imagined standing beside him like this. Now… she couldn’t quite imagine standing anywhere else. The massive gilded doors at the end of the corridor slowly began to open. Warm golden light spilled outward. Music flooded the hallway. Beyond the threshold stretched the grand banquet hall. It was unlike anything Y/N had ever seen. The ceiling disappeared into darkness hundreds of feet above, supported by towering black marble columns wrapped in flowering crimson vines that seemed to bloom despite never receiving sunlight. Thousands of floating chandeliers drifted lazily overhead, each one suspended by magic instead of chains, filling the room with warm light that danced across polished obsidian floors. Long banquet tables lined either side of an enormous central aisle, dressed in black linens embroidered with gold and crimson. Crystal goblets glittered beside silver place settings while servants moved gracefully between guests carrying trays of wine and delicate hors d’oeuvres. Nearly every noble house in Hell had already arrived.
Conversations filled the room. Elegant laughter. Political whispers. Calculated smiles. The moment the herald struck the floor with his ceremonial staff… silence swept through the hall like a wave. “Presenting…” His voice echoed effortlessly through the enormous chamber. “His Royal Highness… Crown Prince Yunho…” Every eye turned toward the entrance. “and Her Royal Highness…” The herald smiled ever so slightly. “Princess Y/N.” Yunho led her forward. Arm in arm. The orchestra resumed, softer now, becoming little more than elegant background music as hundreds of pairs of eyes followed them down the center aisle. Y/N kept her chin high. Exactly as Seonghwa had shown her. Exactly as Lucifer had encouraged. Even if her heart was beating hard enough she was fairly certain the entire room could hear it. Beside her, Yunho looked completely at ease. Years of royal ceremonies had made this second nature. Still… he was watching the room. Watching people. Measuring reactions. His gaze found Estrie almost immediately. She stood beside her father near the front of the hall, dressed in shimmering black silk that undoubtedly cost a fortune. She was breathtakingly beautiful. And openly furious. The polite smile she’d arranged for the evening faltered the instant Y/N entered. Her eyes traveled slowly over the velvet gown. The wedding ring. The circlet resting in Y/N’s hair. Then settled squarely on the hand looped comfortably through Yunho’s arm. The sneer that curled at the corner of her mouth lasted only a fraction of a second before court etiquette forced it away.
Too late. Yunho had already seen it. His expression didn’t change but his thumb merely brushed once against the back of Y/N’s hand where it rested on his arm. A silent reassurance. Then his attention shifted again. Scanning the room with practiced precision. Balthazar stood speaking with several nobles near one of the towering windows. Alone. Yunho’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. No Dante. He looked again. The ballroom wasn’t small enough to miss someone like him. Still…. nothing. Strange. After what had happened to the succubus, Yunho had expected Dante either to avoid the banquet entirely… or to arrive looking for an opportunity to provoke him. Instead… there was simply no sign of him. Lucifer, already seated upon the elevated royal dais at the far end of the hall, noticed the subtle movement of his son’s eyes. He knew exactly who Yunho was searching for. The King offered the slightest shake of his head and Yunho let the search go. For now. As they reached the foot of the dais, Lucifer descended the few black marble steps himself, something several nobles quietly noticed with surprise. “My son.” He clasped Yunho’s forearm briefly before turning toward Y/N. “My daughter.” The warmth in his voice was unmistakable. “You look magnificent.” Y/N smiled. “Thank you.” Lucifer offered her his arm instead. “If you’ll allow me the privilege…” Y/N looked toward Yunho and he smiled as she accepted his father’s arm, and together the King of Hell and his newly welcomed daughter turned toward the waiting aristocracy.
Lucifer moved effortlessly through the banquet hall with Y/N resting lightly on his arm, the conversations around them rising and falling as nobles stepped forward one by one to offer carefully rehearsed greetings. “Lady Seraphine of House Valen.” A graceful woman with silver horns inclined her head. “Your Highness. It is an honor.” Lucifer smiled pleasantly. “Lady Seraphine oversees nearly every vineyard in the southern territories. If you ever receive a bottle that claims to be the finest wine in Hell…” He glanced sideways toward Y/N. “it probably came from her.” Lady Seraphine laughed softly. “I appreciate the endorsement, Your Majesty.”
“You’ve earned it.”
Y/N returned the woman’s smile, exchanging a few polite words before Lucifer smoothly guided her onward. “Lord Cassiel. Lady Mirelle. House Ashbourne.” “Every introduction blurred gently into the next. Names. Faces. Titles. Some smiled with genuine warmth. Others smiled because etiquette demanded it. Y/N was beginning to understand what Lucifer had meant. Every conversation felt… measured. Every compliment seemed to carry another question beneath it. She smiled. Thanked them. Answered politely. All while becoming increasingly aware of just how many eyes never truly left her. Lucifer, meanwhile, never appeared hurried. He explained family histories. Pointed out alliances. Quietly identified which nobles genuinely mattered and which merely enjoyed pretending they did. “You don’t need to remember everyone tonight,” he murmured between introductions. “Most of them will introduce themselves another dozen times before the year is over.” Y/N smiled gratefully. “That’s reassuring.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
She laughed. “It wasn’t.” A hint of satisfaction touched Lucifer’s expression. Good. She was relaxing. Exactly what he wanted. As they approached another cluster of nobles, Y/N instinctively glanced across the ballroom looking for Yunho. She found him standing near one of the towering marble columns with his back partially turned toward her, a crystal glass resting loosely between long fingers as he spoke with another demon. The conversation looked… easy. Comfortable. Yunho laughed. A genuine laugh while the other man said something else, shaking his head with a crooked grin before lifting his own drink. Y/N smiled to herself but the…. the other man shifted just enough for her to see his face. And everything stopped. The warmth drained from her body so quickly it almost hurt. Her fingers tightened involuntarily around Lucifer’s arm. Her wedding ring dug painfully into her own hand….. Damon. Her ex boyfriend. But it was impossible. They were in hell. He looked exactly the same. Dark hair. That familiar smile. The same sharp jaw she’d once traced with trembling fingers after convincing herself he wasn’t really as cruel as he’d seemed earlier that night. The same eyes that always looked almost amused whenever she cried. Suddenly she wasn’t standing in the royal banquet hall anymore. She was back inside his apartment. Back listening to him calmly explain why every argument was somehow her fault. Back apologizing for things she hadn’t done. Back wondering why every version of herself seemed wrong unless it was the one Damon wanted.
The music around her became strangely muffled as her chest tightened. No… No, no, no… He wasn’t supposed to be here. He couldn’t be here. Her breathing shortened into shallow, uneven breaths. One. Then another. She couldn’t seem to draw in enough air as the enormous ballroom tilted ever so slightly. “Y/N?” Lucifer’s voice reached her from somewhere far away but she didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her eyes remained fixed across the room as Damon laughed. Completely unaware. Still talking to Yunho. Yunho…… her pulse lurched. He knows him. Why does he know him? Another breath refused to come properly. Her hands felt cold and clammy. Her vision narrowed around the edges. “Y/N.” Lucifer’s voice came again. Closer this time as his hand settled gently over hers where it gripped his arm but she barely felt it. “Princess.” Lucifer stopped walking altogether. The surrounding nobles politely continued their conversations, pretending not to notice as his eyes followed the direction of her stare. Across the ballroom. Past the musicians. Past the servants carrying silver trays. Until he found his son standing with Damon. Lucifer’s expression remained perfectly composed. Years of ruling Hell had long ago taught him never to betray surprise publicly. But something cold settled quietly behind his eyes as he looked back at Y/N. Her face had completely drained of color. Her breathing had become ragged. Fear. The kind that came from somewhere much older than tonight. His gaze drifted once more toward Damon. Then back to her. “Y/N.” This time his voice was quieter. “What is it?”
Y/N blinked. The sound of the orchestra slowly returned. So did the conversations. The clinking of crystal. She realized she was gripping Lucifer’s arm so tightly her fingertips had started to numb. No. Not here. Not now. She couldn’t do this here. Not in front of everyone. Especially not in front of Yunho. She forced herself to inhale. When she finally looked up at Lucifer, there was still fear lingering behind her eyes but she’d buried it beneath a practiced smile. “I’m fine,” she said quietly. The lie came easier than she wanted it to as she glanced briefly back toward Damon before forcing herself to look away. “Just a little overwhelmed.”
Lucifer held her gaze for a long moment. His expression never changed. Never once did he look back toward his son. Never once did he acknowledge the name already forming in his mind. Damon. No… He didn’t believe her. Not for a second. Because he had seen exactly where she’d been looking. He had seen the terror that crossed her face. And he had seen his son laughing with the very demon who had caused it. And now….. The King of Hell was suspicious as he gently resumed walking. Y/N matched his pace. One foot in front of the other. Smile. Nod. Breathe. Except breathing had suddenly become the hardest thing she’d ever done. Damon. A demon. The realization crashed over her with enough force to make her stomach twist. The whole time. The entire time they’d been together… he hadn’t been human. Every strange excuse. Every time he’d seemed to know things he shouldn’t. Every impossible coincidence. Every moment she’d dismissed because there simply had to be a rational explanation…… there hadn’t been one. Because there never was anything rational about him.
Her mind raced backward through years she’d spent trying to understand someone who had never been what she thought he was. Had every smile been another performance? Every apology another manipulation? Every promise another lie? The questions came faster than she could answer them. Her pulse hammered painfully in her ears. And then… another thought struck. One so much worse she nearly stumbled. Yunho. Her eyes drifted across the ballroom again before she could stop herself. He was still standing with Damon. Still talking. Still smiling. Still laughing. As though they were simply two old friends catching up over drinks. Because to Yunho… that’s exactly what they were. He had no idea. No idea that the demon standing across from him… was the man she’d spent a year trying to forget. The man who had convinced her she was impossible to love unless she became whoever he wanted her to be. The man whose voice still found its way into her nightmares. Her chest tightened again.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Do you want me to kill him?”
Her vision blurred for the briefest moment. God… He had been offering to kill Damon. Without either of them realizing it. The thought made her stomach churn. How many conversations had they shared? How many drinks? How many jokes? Had Damon talked about her? Had Yunho listened? Had they laughed together while she was somewhere on Earth convincing herself she was the problem? No… No, Yunho couldn’t have known. She knew that. She knew it with absolute certainty. If Yunho had known…. if he’d had even the smallest hint… he wouldn’t be standing there smiling. He would… her thoughts stopped. Because she already knew exactly what he would do. He would protect her. The way he always did. The way he had from the moment he’d stepped into that collapsing restaurant. The realization only made the ache in her chest worse as Yunho tipped his head back with another easy laugh at something Damon had said.
Y/N looked away before either of them could happen to glance in her direction. She wasn’t afraid of Yunho finding out. She was afraid of what would happen the moment he did.
ꫂ᭪݁. SUMMARY. after executing lord karstark, robb stark is left feeling less than honorable and not at all like the man his father raised.
ꫂ᭪݁. WORD COUNT. 1550.
ꫂ᭪݁. WARNINGS. none. pure angst w comfort fluff. fem!bethrothed!reader. inspired by that one scene from challengers and tbosas song.
riverrun, and the riverlands themself, seemed to be in a rather despairing mood.
the rain never truly stopped once it begun. the gods had endless tears, flooding the rivers and ponds, orphaning tadpoles and drowning the blooming wildflowers. whether the tears were for lord karstark or robb, you could not be sure.
although, seeing as its king was in a state of grieving disbelief, you deemed the region's lingering atmosphere rather fitting.
robb tried his absolute hardest to remain of sound-mind when dealing with his kingdom's happenings. the northmen chose him as their king, to lead them into victory and out of anguish, to avenge the murder of lord eddard stark and bring the lannisters to justice. you knew robb felt that for him to be calm and cool and collected was the least he could do for his people. for his father's memory.
you didn't know lord stark long, only in passing at winterfell before he left for king's landing at the proposal of king robert baratheon. but the way his men spoke of him, you knew he must have been as honorable as the songs said.
the day that raven arrived at winterfell—bearing the news of betrayal and treason in sansa's pen and the queen's words—you saw robb's face darken. the man he looked up to most in the world was being imprisoned for treachery.
robb would not believe it. the man who raised him to be honest and true would never have betrayed his king's and closest friend's trust.
and when those lords declared him king in the north, you watched as he made himself taller, baring his shoulders with pride and accepting the crown with grace. since that day, you don't think you've ever again seen the robb you knew at winterfell.
you had a new understanding of bran's nickname for him; "robb the lord" was slowly conquering your betrothed's entire being. robb was never what you would call "relaxed", but he used to have a more easy-going way; he was sure of himself and of his place in the world, among the frosted walls of winterfell and a hearth shared with his siblings. now, robb was more stern than ever; he second-guessed every decision he came to and spent more time looking over maps and battle plans than with his own mother.
when theon greyjoy's betrayal reached robb's ears, you swore you'd never see him so angry. he'd lost three brothers to this war now: bran, who always had a quick jest when days at winterfell felt too serious, little rickon, who clung to robb the most, and theon. theon who should have known he'd always have a place at robb's side.
not the not only had this war taken his family from him, but it stole what was left of his childhood as well.
but you knew that despite all of the tragedies and hardships, your robb was kind. he was still the honest boy ned and catelyn stark raised.
but, you also knew the crown bestowed upon his brow was heavy. which was why when robb came to your room the hour after lord karstark's death, you could tell it proved more difficult for him than robb cared to let on.
you had been reading by the open balcony doors, nestled in a fur blanket, listening to the rain and the men outside yell at one another all morning. you had figured that—like most days—you wouldn't see robb until dinner that evening.
but here he was now, standing with his back facing you, arms braced against the doors and forehead pressed against the old wood. even with his layers of fur and leather, you could tell that the muscles of his shoulders were pulled tight, taut with stress and responsibility.
"robb?" you called softly, setting your book down on the small table beside you.
he sighed before turning towards the sound of your voice. he wasn't wearing that crown you were growing to hate, but his face was wearing a look of utter exhaustion. his eyes had a sort of glazed-over gleam to them that made your brows furrow.
robb didn't say a word as his fingers pulled the outermost layer of fur off his shoulders, dropping it onto a velvet chair, before making his way to you.
"robb?" you asked again, confused by his silence.
robb dropped to his knees in front of you and before you could question him again, he laid his head in your lap, letting out yet another sigh that sounded strangely contented.
your features changed from confusion to worry, a feeling you had recently began to associate with the man in front of you now. you had spent countless days thinking of ways that you could help robb and that this war could end quickly. you had even prayed to every god you knew of that your wishes would come true. but, alas, the war continued on and robb had only seemed to become more spent as time went on. you were not trained in the ways of battle strategy and tactics, so you could not help robb out in the field, but, perhaps, there was a way you could help him here.
you slowly wove your fingers in his curls, scraping your nails softly against his scalp and watched as robb's eyes shut and a small sound escaped from his throat. the northmen always say how robb is more wolf than man, and right now you could not help but agree.
you bit your lip anxiously before quietly asking, "do you wish to speak about it?"
robb's eyes opened again and he moved so his chin rested on your knee. when he looked up at you, his eyes still had that glazed-over expression you saw when he first arrived. "he disobeyed a direct order and he murdered two boys in their beds." you could see his throat bob when he swallowed and knew he was thinking of bran and rickon in place of the lannister squires. "he had to die. for those boys and for the justice i promised my men i would lead with."
"what happened to those boys was not your fault." you cupped the side of his face in your palm, softly brushing your thumb against his cheek. "lord kartark made his own decisions."
"but it was my fault," he said, eyes flicking away from your face. "i took them captive. i brought them here—to riverrun, to lord karstark, and to their deaths."
"oh, robb," you pressed your lips together, biting the inside of your cheek, "you cannot take the responsibility of every death that happens in this war—"
"a king is supposed to protect all of his people and i could not even do that in mine own castle." robb's features were slowly turning to ones of anger, and the tears welling up in his eyes all but solidified the fact. "i have lost the lannister boys, along with any use they could've had...and i have lost the karstarks."
you knew it was true. you had seen the karstark sigil slowly disappear all morning from the tents surrounding riverrun. you sighed softly, reaching for a curl in front of one of robb's eyes. "you did what you thought right. you cannot fault yourself for that and live with this guilt." robb's eyes flicked back to yours. "it will eat you away inside and spoil the heart you need to win this war."
robb leaned slightly into your palm, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "i thought i wanted it," he said softly, so soft you weren't entirely sure you had heard it. "being king is the single most greatest honor i'll ever have. i figured i was ready, that it couldn't be more different than what father had been training me for anyways." he swallowed again. "but it is a grievous task to be plagued with."
"i know, love." you wiped away a tear threatening to fall with your thumb. "i see what that band of iron has done to you, how much its taken from you." the rain had begun to fall more angrily now, beating against the windows and clouding up the sky. "but you must remember that you are of a pure soul."
robb looked down at the sound of your words, furrowing his brows and shaking his head slightly. "tis this pure soul you speak of that has ravaged my reign so. i have brought only more death and despair to this country than was before."
"and when you win this war and bring the lannisters to justice," you say, tilting his chin up with a finger, "think of all the life and happiness you will conjure."
robb's lips twitched to a small smile. "how can you be so sure i'll win?"
"because you're too stubborn not to," you laugh, "and if you don't, then i'm sure greywind will gladly finish the job."
robb chuckled softly, "he is quite determined."
you smile. "a day ago i saw him ripping up a lannister banner and growling at the scraps."
he let out a genuine laugh at that, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm. "thank you."
"of course, your grace."
robb rolled his eyes before settling his head back in your lap. "husband will suffice."
A.N: Hi my loves! 🩷 Thank you so so much for your amazing support, you've made me so happy! 🩷I hope you'll like this one as well, and please let me know what you think🩷 ILYSM, kisses! 🩷
Pairing: Robb Stark x F!Reader
Summary: A book can be very intriguing for many.
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, suggestive themes, medieval era expectations and viewpoints on marriage and gender. MDNI- Do not read if you're under 18.
Series Masterlist
Being raised as the heir to Winterfell, Robb had known his entire life that one day he would have to step up to his father’s place and rule the North.
Though, he hadn’t thought it would be under these circumstances.
The whole castle had been in chaos since the royal visit. His father was in the Capital with the girls, his mother had gone there to meet him, and his little brother had woken up, thank the gods, but could no longer walk according to Maester Luwin. Meanwhile, he had to act as the Lord of Winterfell, make sure the castle did not so much as notice his father’s absence in their daily lives, he had to hear the lords, hold meetings, and ensure that the whole north was ready for the fast approaching winter.
And in the middle of all this, the one person whose mere presence made everything better, soothed his mind and held his heart—the very gift from his gods; was his lady.
“You’re staring again.”
Robb didn’t even attempt to stop the smirk on his lips while he put his shirt on, then leaned sideways to the column of the bed.
“Can a man not admire his wife?”
Though she tried to bite back her smile, the happy glint in her eyes gave her away when she lifted her head from the letter she was writing.
“Not while he’s supposed to be attending to his duties.”
She did have a point, as always. Robb was supposed to have gone to the rookery to talk to Maester Luwin before breakfast, yet he still lingered in the room, unwilling to leave.
Gods be good, how could any man just walk out the door while she looked like that, all prim and proper in her pretty dressing gown as if she wasn’t gasping under him and moaning his name last night?
She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes as if she could hear his thoughts.
“Maester Luwin already warned me in the nicest way possible, I don’t wish to put him through such discomfort again,” she told him, pointing at him with her quill. “Off you go.”
“Warned you?” he repeated. “How?”
“He asked if I could perhaps remind you that though marital duties are of utmost importance, so are your duties to the north.”
He threw his head back with an impatient groan.
“I am attending to my duties to the north, I’ve done nothing but!” he said. “For weeks now!”
“Yet here you are,” she noted, resting her chin on her fist. “Lingering.”
“I’m not lingering, I’m reminiscing.”
That seemed to have confused her for a moment. “Reminiscing?”
“Mm hm.” He grinned. “Reminiscing last night.”
She lowered her head to scribble something to hide her smile, but before he could say anything, her lady maid had knocked on the door.
“M’lady, you wanted to know when Lady Barbrey’s cousin arrived.”
“Thank you Kyra!”
He raised his brows. “Who?”
“House Flint,” she answered and put the quill down and stood up from her chair to walk to the other side of the room. “Barbrey’s cousin married their heir, and they dislike each other, I’m told. Well, Barbrey does.”
…Seven hells, her dressing gown was see through in the sunlight.
“Either way,” she continued and returned to the table, holding the seal stamp, “we must make sure we host them well, not only for Barbrey but also—”
“Undress and come here.”
Her jaw dropped. “Robb!”
His chuckle at the scandalized look on her face echoed in the room before she balled up a piece of parchment and threw it in his direction. It bounced off his chest and went under the bed, where Robb could see the corner of a book sticking out, so he knelt down to grab it while his lady turned to melt some wax to seal her letter.
This had to be the poetry book.
“That sounded like a demand,” she whined, pouring some of the wax on the rolled up parchment, “rather than a romantic request.”
“Shall I recite you a poem then?” he asked and opened a random page to read it, but the illustration made him raise his brows.
This was no poetry book.
Robb looked from the page to her, his grin widening while she scoffed, her whole attention still on the scroll.
“Wouldn’t hurt,” she reprimanded him, pressing the stamp on the wax. “If not a poem, at least a line or…”
“What’s this?”
She glanced over her shoulder, her breath hitching when her eyes fell upon the book he was holding up. From the look on her face, one would’ve thought she was caught with something of great offense rather than a simple, albeit risque book. She opened her mouth but no word came out, so she pursed her lips for a moment as if she was considering her options.
This was one of the many times that Robb remembered not only their upbringing, but also their positions in their families were completely different. As the youngest among her siblings and having grown up with six older brothers, she had to have been very used to tussling for something she couldn’t reach, that was why she rushed to him to grab the book from him. However, Robb was the oldest brother to five younger siblings, who—with the exception of the perfect little lady Sansa— had no problem catapulting themselves into him at full speed to grab whatever he was holding, so it was instinct at this point.
“Robb!”
He let out a laugh and he held the book above her reach. “I’m reading!”
“Give it back!” she exclaimed, grabbing at his arm to pull it down but Robb switched hands, gently pushing her head back with his other hand to keep her at arm’s length.
“So this is your poetry book?”
“Give it, I said!”
“Not very romantic though, is it?”
“Give it!”
He lowered the book a little so that she could snatch it out of his hand before she stepped back, breathing hard.
“Riveting read?” he teased her while she fixed her hair, then stuck her nose in the air in a haughty manner.
“I shall take no part in inappropriate conversation.”
He scowled. “No conversation we have can be inappropriate.”
“Yes it can.”
“No it cannot, we’re wed.”
“And I’m a lady!”
“You’re my lady, and I’m inside you every night—” He tried to contain his laughter when she gasped and smacked his arm. “Do I not speak the truth?”
She huffed and stepped past him but he grabbed her arm to turn her around before she could reach the door, tut-tutting.
“Not so fast.”
She glared up at him, holding the book to her chest like it was a shield before she took a deep breath in an attempt to look composed.
“I must get ready to greet our guests,” she said. “And I refuse to entertain such vulgar remarks—”
“Show me your favorite.”
She stomped on her foot. “Robb!”
“Or draw a star on the page,” he taunted her and she let out a whine. “We can try it tonight.”
“For some reason that remains a mystery to me, you seem to find this rather entertaining.”
“Very entertaining,” he corrected her, reaching out to play with her hair before she swatted his hand away.
“Well, you can entertain yourself all you want,” she said. “But I’m in a rush, you see, so I’m afraid I must leave and we’ll never talk about this ever again.”
“Oh, we’ll talk—”
“We cannot, I’m in a rush!”
She opened the door, gave a quick kiss on top of Grey Wind’s head, then made her way to her own bedchambers, the sound of her heels echoing in the hallway before she slammed her door shut. He shook his head with a fond smile, then grabbed his cloak and walked out of the room with Grey Wind following him.
“It’s important to give a lady her space,” he told the direwolf wistfully while they both made their way down the hallway. “Even though the lady forgot we sleep in the same bed.”
After he was done in the rookery, Robb visited Bran, listened to some of the bannermen in his solar, then went to Wintertown with Jon and Theon per Maester Luwin’s advice. With everything that had happened lately, Robb had missed spending time in the town; though this time, he was not going to the tavern with Jon and Theon to grab drinks and have fun, they had to visit the vendors in his father’s absence to see if they were in any need. Once they were back in the castle yard, Robb couldn’t help but think that Maester Luwin had been right in his advice, as always.
Unlike Theon.
“What do you mean, we’re not going to the mountains to settle that dispute?”
Robb dismounted his horse and rolled his eyes.
“It means I sent for them, and that they’ll come here instead of us going to them.”
Jon got off his horse with Theon following him suit, and Robb stroke his horse’s neck before the stable boys came closer to lead the horses to the stables. He approached the basket of fruits on a table to grab an apple, then tossed one to Jon, another to Theon.
“You sent for the Norreys and Burleys?” Jon repeated and Robb nodded.
“Aye.”
“You realize they’ll kill each other on their way here?”
Robb took a big bite of his apple, then leaned back to the table. “I sent them a raven earlier today, I made sure to add that they will have to wait until they get here.”
“But why?” Theon insisted. “Why are we not going?”
“Because we just came back from Castle Hornwood.”
“And?”
“And it’d take me a moon to go and come back, it’s not a good time for that right now.”
Theon and Jon exchanged glances, and Jon let out a chuckle while Theon scowled.
“Don’t tell me it’s because of your lady wife.”
...Where was his lady wife?
Robb looked around the yard with a frown, then stole a glance at the Inner Keep, chewing his bite.
“Robb,” Theon said. “You cannot be serious.”
“Why is it surprising I’m not willing to leave my wife for a moon?”
“Because you’re the Warden of the North in Lord Stark’s absence!” Theon said. “And while your lady wife is pulling your leash—”
“Careful now,” Robb warned him and Jon raised his brows, looking between them.
“But she is,” Theon insisted. “Come on, she asked you not to leave, and that’s the only reason we’re not leaving? That simple?”
“You’re not winning that fight, Theon,” Jon muttered and Theon shook his head.
“If he makes decisions based on her whims, follows her commands like he’s put under some southern spell—”
“It was my idea,” Robb cut him off. “My decision, she said nothing. You sound like Old Nan.”
Jon stifled his laugh.
“But you can go up to the mountains for a moon if you want, Theon,” Robb added, pushing himself off the table with a shrug. “No one will stop you.”
He tossed the apple aside and crossed the yard to enter the keep, Lady Wylla and Lady Alys making their way down the hallway.
“My ladies,” he greeted them. “Have you seen my lady wife?”
For some reason, the sight of him made both of them blush and a giggle escaped Lady Alys before Lady Wylla elbowed her.
“She’s um—she’s in the Great Hall, my lord,” she said and Robb gave them a curt smile, then walked past them, half wondering why they were acting so strange.
The Great Hall was crowded as usual, but he immediately caught the sight of his lady; a skill he had acquired in the last moons. She wore a silk, light blue gown today, the fabric glimmering among the sea of darker colors worn by the northern ladies around her. One of the women she was speaking to held a babe in her arms; the little girl nearly enchanted by her judging by how she tried to reach for her while her mother rocked her. His lady cooed at the babe and held her tiny hand, and Robb felt his chest tighten.
He was well aware that they both enjoyed being newlyweds, and it was way too early. Not to mention there was no point in talking of such things; the gods would give them children when they deemed it fit, yet the dream was faster than lighting, as bright as the beam of light that always managed to surround her, bathing her in warmth. A glimpse of future—or he hoped it to be; with her cooing at their babe, standing right there in the Great Hall of their home, her beautiful face lit up with happiness.
Though everyone kept singing the same tune about heirs and spares, Robb realized he could not care less whether their firstborn was a boy or a girl, all that mattered was that she would be their mother.
A piece of them both, carrying his name and her perfection.
He let out a breath and shook his head, willing himself to snap out of it before he took a step to approach her. She was too busy with the baby until the other ladies curtsied, and Robb bowed at them with a polite smile as she turned around to see him.
“My lord husband!”
That never failed to make his heart skip a happy beat.
“My lady wife,” he greeted her back and she gestured at the ladies.
“This is Lady Maege of House Flint, and her ladies-in-waiting,” she introduced them. “And this is little Sara.”
Robb ran a knuckle over the baby’s chubby cheek.
“Hello Lady Sara.” He bowed his head slightly, making the ladies giggle. “You honor us with your visit. Me and my lady wife hope Winterfell is to your liking.”
There was a soft light glimmering in his wife’s eyes while the baby babbled something, and Robb turned to the mother.
“Welcome to Winterfell, Lady Maege.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“If you’ll excuse us for a moment,” Robb said and took his lady’s hand in his, then walked to the corner of the hall with her following him.
“You’re back!” she said with a smile. “How was Wintertown?”
“It was good,” he said. “How was here?”
“Oh, Lady Maege is quite nice, I’ll have to ask Barbrey—Robb, we’re in public!” she hissed when he reached out to play with her hair absentmindedly, and he shrugged.
“They don’t mind,” he said. “Besides, we’re doing something of utmost importance.”
“Which is?”
“Talking of your favorite book of late,” Robb tried to control his expression at the flustered expression on her face. “It’s crucial you see, for me to learn my lady wife’s favorite…poem.”
She scrunched up her face and looked up like she was praying for patience.
“How else will I know how to recite it?” he added, a grin twitching the corners of his mouth. “I’m told it’s very important back in the Reach.”
“Are you done?”
“Not even close.”
She narrowed her eyes, then stole a glance at someone over his shoulder and waved at them.
“Lord Martyn!” she called out. “Lord Martyn, hello!”
“What are you doing?”
“Lord Martyn is Lady Maege’s husband, and he loves the sound of his own voice,” she said through her teeth as she gave him a smile. “He told us all about the new tapestries in their castle. For two hours. He was looking for you while you were in Wintertown, but now that you’re here…”
“What?” Robb shook his head fervently. “Lamb, you cannot—”
She made a noise of disagreement. “It appears that I can, though.”
“We’re wed,” Robb reminded her in a heated whisper. “You’ve sworn an oath in front of the weirwood tree!”
“I’ve sworn no oath to save you from socializing with chattering guests.”
“It was implied in the vows!”
“I’m southern,” she pointed out. “Anything that is not specified in a vow does not count as a vow.”
“So you’re stabbing me in the back?”
“Aye, we do it in the south all the time—Lord Martyn, here’s my lord husband!” She grasped Robb’s arm to lean into him once Lord Martyn reached them. “Did you not need him for a meeting? Here he is, and he’d love to talk to you, he said! You’re free until dinner, are you not my lord husband?”
Robb gawked at her while Lord Martyn clasped his hands, letting out a cheerful laugh.
“Oh how wonderful!” he said. “Shall we go to your solar, my lord?”
Robb let out a breath and shot his lady a look, then turned to Lord Martyn and forced himself to smile.
“Of course.” He heaved a sigh. “Let’s go to my solar, Lord Martyn.”
To say Lord Martyn loved the sound of his own voice was an underestimation.
He had all but taken Robb hostage, but he also spoke about the issues his own people had, so Robb couldn’t simply make up an excuse and dismiss him. Around dinner time, he had to speak to a couple of other bannermen, so he ended up taking his dinner at his solar with some of the bannermen instead of joining his lady in the Great Hall. Once he was done, he had gone down to the hall but his lady had already retired for the night, so he decided to do the same.
However, his lady wasn’t in their shared bedchambers. Judging by how Grey Wind curled up in front of her own bed, she had to be in her own bedchambers, and it was only when Robb knocked on the door and stepped in that he realized the reason.
The whole room was surrounded with steam, the lovely scent of her bath oils trickling into his lungs when he took a deep breath before his gaze fell on his lady.
Naked in the bathtub.
Seven hells, she was trying to kill him.
She turned her head and repressed a smile, then glanced at her maid.
“That’ll be all Kyra,” she said, her voice smooth as silk, “thank you.”
Her maid curtsied, and went past him to leave the room, closing the door behind her.
“How was your um...” His lady scrunched up her nose. “Your meeting?”
Robb approached the bathtub and crouched down, half lost in a daze.
“My meeting or your vengeance?”
“Both,” she said with a giggle while he dipped his hand into the hot water to trail his fingers through the flower petals that covered the surface and hid her body from his gaze. “Serves you right for teasing me.”
“I feel the punishment exceeded the crime.”
She pouted her lips, water splashing around her when she moved to pull her knees up to her chest. He ran his fingertips over her bare arm, following the small droplets racing down her soft skin as she rested her cheek on her knees. A comfortable silence fell upon the room; the only sound is the crackling of wood in the hearth mixed with the tiny waves in water following her movements. She leaned towards him a little, her eyes darting over his face.
“What are you thinking about?”
“That perhaps what I’ve been told today was right,” he murmured. “Perhaps I am indeed under some southern spell.”
“Some southern spell?” she repeated. “Who told you that?”
“Theon,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “He thinks the reason why we’re not going to the mountains is because I follow your commands under some southern spell.”
It had to be a trick of light in the dim lit room, but for a second—less than a second, a dark shadow sharp as a dagger crossed her face, but it was gone as soon as it came. Confusion furrowed her brows and she paused for a moment, looking down at the flower petals before lifting her gaze to his.
“But…” She blinked a couple of times. “That’s nonsense even for Theon. It was your idea, not mine.”
Well.
Not exactly.
In all honesty, Robb had had every intention to go to the mountains to settle the dispute between Burleys and Norreys. He didn’t want it, but duty demanded it, and the Lord of Winterfell did visit the northern mountain clans from time to time; his father had done so multiple times. Though these hill lords were quarrelsome among each other, they were loyal to Winterfell, and it would be the women and children amongst them that would be sent to Wintertown to survive the harsh winter.
The mothers and children that his lady wanted to help.
And Robb had indeed thought he would go and pay them a visit, until his lady told him it would break her heart so terribly to even imagine being away from him for a moon.
By the Gods, how could he put himself through such torment? Being away from her for a moon would have been pure agony already, and to break her heart on top of that?
Absolutely not. He could not bring himself to do it.
And contrary to what he had said today, he was under her spell, he did follow her commands and made decisions based on her whims.
But how could he be expected to do otherwise when his heart was her captive?
“Besides,” her voice cut through his thoughts. “Had I known I put a spell on you…”
He grinned. “What would you do?”
“I’d have very evil plans.”
“Like what?”
“Well,” she mused. “My first command would be that you send away all these guests so that you could spend more time with me, obviously.”
“You were the one who made me spend all that time with Lord Martyn just now,” he reminded her, “in case you forgot.”
“It seems that I overestimated my desire for vengeance and underestimated my desire for your mere presence,” she said. “How very non-southern of me.”
He leaned in to press his lips on her bare shoulder. “Mayhaps we are turning you into a northerner.”
A laugh climbed her pretty throat. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“No?”
“No,” she said, “because many will never see me such. Southern spell, was it?”
He should’ve known better than speak so carelessly about what Theon had said; his lady was saddened by what she had heard.
“Don’t mind his words,” he muttered against her skin, brushing his fingertips down her spine. “He’s Ironborn—”
“I haven’t forgotten,” she said, her voice sweet like honey. “I think perhaps he has forgotten that I’m a Stark, though.”
The simple statement was enough to stop all the thoughts, a fire shooting through his veins. The movement of his hand came to a halt, the fog of desire clouding his mind, her scent pulling him closer into the haze. He let out a breath, his lips still on her damp skin, softer than the flower petals on the water.
She was.
His lady wife, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, was a Stark.
She belonged in his house, belonged in Winterfell, and most importantly, she belonged in his arms.
“The water has gone cold,” she said petulantly, oblivious to the impact of her words on him. “Would you please hand me the towel?”
Robb licked his lips and stood up, but instead of grabbing the towel where she pointed at, he scooped her up into his arms out of the water, making her let out a tiny scream of surprise.
“Robb!” she exclaimed, water drenching his shirt as her fingers curled in his shirt. “What happened to reciting me a poem, or a line, or—”
“That’s the southern way,” he said and dropped her on the plush furs on the bed before he flipped her over onto her stomach, her excited giggle echoing in the room. “How about I show my lady the northern way?”
03JYH23 Presents: The Ateez Diaries, a 2k followers Vampire Special 🩸
Seonghwa has lived too long. He’s weary, detached, and drifting through the decades with the quiet grace of a bygone era, speaking in the polite, formal cadence of the old world. Sitting in a dim New Orleans jazz club, swirling his bourbon, he’s merely existing—until you walk through the door. In a world full of noise, you are the first thing in a century that makes his immortal, tired heart actually want to beat again.
➢ vampire!seonghwa x human!reader | ➢ supernatural au, vampire au, angst, love at first sight | ➢ compulsion, loneliness, references to death/mortality | ➢ 8k | ➢ master list | ➢ i was writing it with my window open wide and raindrops banging on my windowsill; summer turned a little rainy on my part of the earth. this one is a little different, it focuses more on seonghwa than the reader, but i hope you'll like it 🌧️🖤
ㅤㅤㅤThe bourbon was older than the young man who poured it.
Seonghwa turned the crystal tumbler between his fingers, watching amber liquor catch the low light of the brass lamps. It moved lazily, painting gold against cut glass before settling once more into perfect stillness. He found himself envying it.
Even whiskey, eventually, reached the bottom of the glass.
The jazz club had changed names three times since he first discovered it. The wallpaper was new. The velvet had been replaced. Smoking had become a memory rather than a haze that lingered beneath the chandeliers. Yet it still smelled the same. Mahogany polished until it gleamed beneath dim light. Bourbon rich enough to burn sweetly. Expensive perfume woven through the room like invisible silk. Rain carried in on tailored coats each time the front door opened.
New Orleans had always smelled alive.
He supposed that was why he’d returned. Not for nostalgia. Not for absolution, simply because endings ought to know where they belong. His had begun here. Nearly three centuries ago, beneath a sky swollen with summer storms, in a city that welcomed monsters as easily as saints. He had arrived a frightened young man with a beating heart. He had left with neither.
A quiet melody drifted from the stage as the pianist surrendered to the saxophone. Applause rose, polite and restrained, before dissolving into murmured conversation, crystal clinked against crystal.
Seonghwa inclined his head in silent thanks as his drink was served. “Much obliged.”
The bartender smiled, unaware that the gentleman thanking him had witnessed Napoleon’s empire rise and fall before his great-grandfather had drawn his first breath. People rarely looked twice at old manners, they simply assumed old money… if only wealth were the strangest thing he possessed.
Seonghwa lifted the glass, more from habit than desire, the bourbon no longer intoxicated him. Neither did music. Nor beauty. Nor the passing of seasons. Time had sanded every sharp edge from existence until centuries blurred into one another with exhausting grace. Faces faded, cities transformed, empires crumbled into museum exhibits, lovers became names carved into stone.
For fifty-three years, one thought had accompanied Seonghwa with unwavering devotion.
Enough.
Not desperation, not grief. Merely certainty that he had lived long enough to become a relic wandering through a world that no longer required remembering.
Outside, thunder rolled somewhere beyond the Mississippi. Inside, a woman laughed three tables away. She was young, perhaps twenty-five. She threw her head back with the careless abandon reserved for those who had not yet learned how quickly years accumulated. Seonghwa watched her for a moment, not because she fascinated him but because once upon a time he had believed laughter sounded eternal. Now he knew better. Give it twenty years, the corners of her eyes would soften first. Another ten, perhaps fifteen, and silver would begin collecting discreetly at her temples.
Then, inevitably… Someone would attend her funeral.
He lowered his gaze to the bourbon. Everyone became a memory eventually, Seonghwa simply remained long enough to remember them. Grief had once been a violent thing, he remembered weeping until sunrise over faces whose names he could no longer recall. Now grief resembled old velvet: it was soft, heavy, constant enough that he only noticed its absence.
The quartet played beautifully, Seonghwa knew because he remembered when the song had first been written. He remembered hearing it played badly in crowded rooms thick with cigar smoke. He remembered the man who had once claimed, with complete confidence, that jazz would never survive another decade. He had been buried for almost a century. The music remained. As did Seonghwa. Against both their wishes.
“Another bourbon, sir?” The young man could not have been more than thirty. Crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to the forearms, a smile practiced enough to appear effortless. There was youth in his face—not merely in smooth skin, but in certainty that tomorrow would arrive because it always had.
“If you would be so kind.”
The bartender inclined his head and reached for the bottle, “You’ve hardly touched this one.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Seonghwa’s mouth. “No,” his voice was soft, warm despite the years it carried. “I seldom do.” The explanation seemed enough, the bartender simply nodded before replacing the bottle and drifting toward another patron. People rarely questioned peculiarities when accompanied by impeccable manners. They invented explanations kinder than the truth: old money, an eccentric collector, a lonely widower. Any of those fit more comfortably than monster. Seonghwa rested two fingers against the cool crystal once more. The bourbon smelled of oak, vanilla, and smoke. He remembered when whiskey had been harsher, remembered when it had been poured into rough clay cups by men with dirt beneath their fingernails and hope in their eyes. He remembered the first distillery he’d ever visited, the owner had insisted his son would inherit it. Neither man survived the fever that winter. The distillery did, and it still produced award-winning bottles.
Time had a peculiar sense of humor.
Seonghwa’s eyes wandered lazily across the room, the club breathed around him. Conversation rose and fell, never loud enough to intrude upon the quartet tucked into the corner beneath crimson curtains. Couples leaned close enough to become silhouettes rather than individuals. A businessman loosened his tie as he laughed, an elderly woman, draped in emerald silk and pearls, tapped one gloved finger against her glass in perfect rhythm with the music.
Life.
Everywhere.
Ordinary.
Fragile.
Beautiful.
Seonghwa had once believed beauty could become ordinary only through abundance. He had been wrong. It became ordinary through repetition. The first sunrise after his turning had stolen every word from his mouth, three centuries later he scarcely looked toward the horizon. He had witnessed cathedrals rise stone by stone, wars begin over pride and end in silence. He had danced in ballrooms illuminated by thousands of candles, crossed oceans beneath sails, watched electricity replace fire, watched horse-drawn carriages surrender to automobiles, telegrams to telephones, letters to glowing screens small enough to fit within a pocket.
Humanity insisted upon moving forward. Only he remained. Always arriving. Never belonging.
Another woman laughed somewhere behind him, bright and unrestrained. Laughter had become strangely predictable over the centuries, Seonghwa could hear affection in its cadence. Hear uncertainty, the careful politeness reserved for strangers and the careless joy shared between old friends. There had been a time when he memorised voices. There had been lovers whose laughter alone could draw him from another room.
Now...
Now voices dissolved together, becoming part of the same endless symphony that accompanied every city, every century. He could scarcely remember the sound of the first woman he’d ever loved. He remembered her eyes, remembered the warmth of her hand. He remembered the way grief had hollowed him when the war took her away from him.
Her laugh… time had stolen that.
Perhaps that had been its cruelest theft, not lives but memories. A mortal lost someone and mourned them for decades, an immortal mourned until memory itself began to fray.
What remained after three hundred years?
Seonghwa closed his eyes briefly.
There had been so many names, perhaps too many. If he allowed himself, he could still recite them, not because he wished to remember but because he feared the day he no longer could. His maker, his first friend after the turning, the pianist who had hidden him during a fever epidemic, the child who had insisted he looked lonely and offered him half of her sugared pastry before running back to her mother. Soldiers, artists, priests, sinners, lovers, enemies. Every one of them beneath the earth, reduced to dates carved into stone. Except him. The realisation no longer hurt, pain required sharpness, and his had long ago worn smooth. It settled inside him instead, constant enough that he noticed only when, for the briefest of moments, it lifted. Seonghwa could not remember the last time that had happened. Perhaps fifty years, perhaps longer, the decades had begun bleeding into one another sometime before the twentieth century. He marked them now not by calendars, but by funerals, by the buildings that vanished from familiar streets, by the faces that stopped appearing. He had become intimately acquainted with disappearance.
It was why New Orleans had called him back. The city had taken almost everything from him. It had also given him eternity.
How strange that the two should prove inseparable.
His gaze drifted toward the rain-speckled window. Beyond the glass, the streets shimmered beneath gaslight-shaped electric lamps, reflections trembling in puddles left by an evening storm. The French Quarter wore time differently than other places. It accepted change the way old aristocrats accepted wrinkles—with dignity and no expectation of reclaiming youth. Some cities forgot, New Orleans remembered. Perhaps that was why he had returned, not to relive the beginning but simply to decide whether he wished to witness another ending. His time has come. He had seen everything he had once longed to see, loved more deeply than he believed possible, buried everyone he had ever sworn never to lose.
If eternity was a gift, it had become one left unopened. No. That wasn't true. It had been opened.
Admired.
Treasured.
And, eventually, outlived.
Seonghwa wondered—not for the first time—whether the heart could simply grow tired in ways the body never would.
The quartet drifted into another song, someone near the stage applauded softly, rain whispered against the windows. And Seonghwa, elegant as a portrait left hanging in a house that no longer belonged to its owners, sat alone with a drink he would never finish, waiting for nothing at all.
Or so he believed.
The resolve he needed to end it all felt closer tonight than it had in decades. He could simply leave his daylight ring, walk out and wait on a secluded balcony for the unforgiving New Orleans sun to burn away the centuries. It would be a quiet conclusion to a loud existence.
The old oak door groaned on its hinges, a draft slipped into the room, cool with rain, carrying the scent of wet pavement. Someone laughed near the entrance, someone apologised for dripping water onto the hardwood floor, the quartet never missed a note. Nothing remarkable had happened.
And yet—
Seonghwa frowned.
It was... quiet.
No.
Not the room.
Himself.
For the first time in longer than he cared to calculate, the incessant drone inside his mind—the endless procession of memory and melancholy—had fallen still. The silence was so unfamiliar that he found himself searching for its cause. His fingers loosened around the crystal glass. An odd sensation unfurled beneath his ribs, not pain, nor hunger. Something... remembered. His brow knit almost imperceptibly.
Impossible.
He had not possessed a heartbeat in nearly three centuries. Yet, for the briefest instant, he could have sworn he felt the phantom echo of one.
Once.
Slow.
Heavy.
Then nothing.
His hand stilled entirely.
“...Sir?”
The bartender stood beside him, a bottle poised politely in one hand.
“Pardon?”
“You were saying something.”
Seonghwa blinked.
Had he?
“I beg your pardon,” he replied, smoothing invisible creases from his cuff. “I fear my thoughts wandered.”
“They’ll do that in this place,” the bartender smiled before moving on, Seonghwa remained motionless. That...
...had never happened before.
He had mistaken many things across the centuries: grief for love, loneliness for desire, habit for purpose. But never this, his body did not forget itself. It did not invent sensations, and it certainly did not… he almost laughed.
Heartbeat.
How absurd that he was allowing nostalgia to masquerade as memory. New Orleans had always been dangerous in that regard. He was simply tired, that was all.
He lifted the glass, the bourbon reaching his lips yet he didn’t drink. Someone had entered his peripheral vision, he paid them no mind. A woman removed her raincoat near the entrance, shaking droplets from the dark fabric before offering an apologetic smile to the hostess. She laughed at something the older woman said, warm and unforced. The sound drifted across the room with impossible clarity, threading effortlessly between the saxophone and the murmured conversations. Seonghwa’s fingers tightened around the crystal.
No, not the laugh.
The feeling.
There it was again, that impossible pressure beneath his ribs.
A second phantom heartbeat.
Then another.
Slow.
Measured.
His eyes lifted before permission could be granted.
The movement startled him, it was instinct, his gaze crossed the room and it found you immediately. Not because you demanded attention, quite the opposite. You weren’t trying, you stood beneath the warm glow of the entrance lamps, one hand tucked into the belt of your coat while the hostess spoke animatedly to you. Rain had kissed loose strands of hair that framed your face animated by easy expressions—curious eyes, a crooked smile offered without calculation, the sort of smile that belonged to someone who still believed strangers might become friends before the evening was over.
There was nothing theatrical about you, nothing that should have undone three centuries of impeccable composure. You were simply… Alive. Not in the way every mortal was alive. There was a peculiar brightness to you, as though the world had not yet succeeded in convincing you to dull yourself for its comfort. You looked at people when they spoke as if every story mattered, as if every passing moment deserved to be witnessed. Seonghwa had forgotten such people existed. The realisation struck him because he had once been one of them. Long before hunger, long before blood, long before eternity had taught him that every bright thing was destined to fade. You thanked the hostess with a touch to the older woman’s arm.
Such a small gesture.
So inconsequential.
And Seonghwa felt something inside him fracture, not painfully. Quietly, like ice surrendering to the first warmth of spring. His immortal existence had been defined by one unwavering truth. Everything ended: cities, kingdoms, families, love. Even grief, if given enough centuries. Yet as he watched you smile at a stranger… A thought entered his mind that had not visited him in over fifty years.
Perhaps not tonight.
His fingers slowly released the glass.
For the first time in decades tomorrow did not feel like a sentence.
Seonghwa did not realize he was watching until you began walking toward him, well not toward him. Toward the empty seat beside him.
Of course.
The rest of the bar had filled sometime during the evening, every velvet stool occupied save the one at his right. You slowed, glancing first at the vacant chair before turning those impossibly attentive eyes upon him. “Excuse me,” your voice was softer than he’d expected. “Is this seat taken?”
For the briefest moment, Seonghwa forgot language, a ridiculous thing. He spoke six languages with varying degrees of fluency. Yet a simple question seemed to catch somewhere between thought and speech. He rose instinctively, one hand resting lightly against the back of the chair. “It is not,” his voice emerged calm, and measured. “If it would please you.”
A smile, small and grateful. “Thank you.”
The bartender appeared almost immediately. “What can I get you?”
“A dirty martini,” you paused, “...extra olives.”
“Coming right up.”
The exchange lasted mere seconds. Seonghwa stared fixedly ahead, he had perfected stillness centuries ago, he would not be discourteous enough to stare. Nor discourteous enough to acknowledge the peculiar awareness that now occupied every one of his senses. Coldness reached him first, not unpleasant, not the biting chill of winter, rather the lingering coolness left behind by rain, clinging to damp skin and fabric. It radiated gently from you, dissolving against the warmth of the crowded room.
Then—
Your scent.
His eyes closed, only for an instant. Rainwater, jasmine. Something impossibly soft... vanilla, perhaps.
No.
Not vanilla.
Books, old paper. The faint sweetness of aging pages.
Beneath it all… you. Every mortal carried a scent no perfume could disguise Blood, life, and warmth. His kind often described it crudely: hunger. Seonghwa had always found that description lacking, blood did not merely smell of sustenance. It smelled of memory. Of childhood scraped knees, of racing hearts before first kisses, of laughter that stole one’s breath, of tears, of fear. Of every beautiful, fleeting thing reserved for those destined to die.
Yours...
God.
He had never encountered anything quite like it. Not sweeter, not stronger. Simply… familiar. Like hearing a melody one had loved long ago without remembering where. Something inside him leaned toward it before his body could object, his fingers tightened against the crystal tumbler.
No.
Absolutely not.
He had spent nearly three centuries mastering every instinct that separated predator from gentleman. He would not falter now, not over one woman, not over a scent. He lowered the bourbon to the polished wood with deliberate care, the glass did not tremble. His hands never did, only his thoughts.
Beside him, you thanked the bartender as your martini was set upon its coaster. “Perfect,” you plucked one olive free with the little silver pick, smiling to yourself before taking a sip. “...Mmm.” The quiet sound of satisfaction drew his attention despite every effort to remain detached. Seonghwa looked, just once. You caught him. There was no accusation in your expression, no embarrassment, only amused curiosity. “Good bourbon?” The question arrived lightly, conversationally.
Seonghwa regarded his untouched glass. “I could not honestly say.”
One elegant brow lifted. “No?”
“I’ve yet to drink it.”
You looked from the nearly full bourbon...
...to him.
“...Then why order it?”
For the first time that evening—
for the first time in what felt like an age—
the corner of Seonghwa’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t merely polite. It was small and almost imperceptible, but real. “I’m beginning to suspect,” he said quietly, “that was the question all along.”
You blinked. Then laughed. It was nothing like the laughter echoing from the tables behind you. Yours came quietly, escaping before you could stop it, accompanied by the smallest shake of your head. “That’s... incredibly cryptic.”
“I’ve been told as much.”
“Frequently?”
“Once or twice,” the answer was delivered with such unwavering sincerity that you couldn’t tell whether he was joking. You studied him from the corner of her eye. Everything about him felt... curated. Not artificial, rather intentional. His suit fit as though it had been tailored for him alone, silver cufflinks caught the warm light whenever he moved his hands, though he scarcely moved at all. His posture remained impossibly straight without seeming rigid, shoulders relaxed, one hand resting lightly beside the untouched tumbler. Even the way he occupied silence felt practiced, comfortable. Most people rushed to fill it. He simply... existed within it.
“You know,” you said after another sip of your martini, “I almost didn’t come tonight.”
“Indeed?”
“Mhm,” you rolled the olive between your teeth before setting the pick back down. “I've had one of those weeks where staying home in pyjamas sounds infinitely more appealing than putting on heels.”
“I confess I know very little of high heels.”
Another smile threatened on your face, “I would’ve never guessed.”
“No.”
You glanced at him fully this time, his expression remained composed, yet there was something so perfectly dry in his delivery that you laughed again. “You’re funnier than you let on.”
“I assure you, that was not my intention.”
“Oh, I think it was.”
Seonghwa inclined his head ever so slightly. “You are entitled to your suspicions.”
God.
Who talked like that?
Not in an affected way, not like someone performing sophistication. It sounded... natural. As though every sentence had been assembled with care before it ever reached his lips. You wondered how old he was. Mid-thirties, perhaps. Older? It was impossible to tell. There wasn’t a single line on his face, yet there was something profoundly settled about him. A patience you’d only ever seen in elderly professors or grandparents who had nothing left to prove.
“You aren’t from around here.”
His gaze drifted toward the quartet, “I was.”
“Were?”
“A very long time ago.”
You smiled, “So... college?”
A pause.
“...Something like that.”
Seonghwa hated lying but it had become necessary centuries ago. Not because he feared discovery but because the truth burdened others more than falsehood burdened him.
How old are you?
Three hundred and eight.
Where are you from?
A country whose borders no longer exist.
Do you have family?
Not anymore.
The answers had only ever invited pity or disbelief. Tonight… he found himself wishing he could answer honestly. He could not understand why.
“I come here every Thursday,” you said, swirling your martini absentmindedly. “Well... almost every Thursday.”
“A habit?”
“I like routines,” you shrugged, taking another sip of the liquor from the crystal glass. “They make life feel less chaotic.”
Seonghwa’s eyes settled on you once more. “What an extraordinary privilege.”
You frowned. “...Routine?”
“To believe there shall be enough tomorrows to justify one,” the words escaped before he could stop them. Silence followed but not awkwardly.
You looked down into the clear liquid of your drink. “...That’s a sad way of looking at it.”
“Is it?”
“I think so.”
“Why?”
You rested your elbow against the bar. “Because tomorrow isn’t promised.”
“No.”
“So I’d rather have a Thursday tradition than spend every Thursday wondering whether there’s any point.” His gaze remained fixed upon you. You continued, unaware that every word was lodging somewhere deep inside him. “I mean…” You smiled sheepishly. “Maybe that’s naive.”
“No,” his answer came immediately. “...It is not."
You looked surprised by the certainty in his voice. “I think people overcomplicate happiness,” you went on. “Everyone’s chasing these huge life-changing moments,” you gestured vaguely around the room before continuing. “But sometimes...” Your eyes wandered toward the stage, where the saxophonist had begun a slow, aching solo. “...Sometimes it’s just this.”
“The music?”
You nodded. “And the rain outside. A martini,” you lifted your glass. “The extra olives,” a grin tugged at the corner of your mouth. “And accidentally making conversation with the mysterious bourbon guy who apparently buys drinks for decorative purposes.”
For a heartbeat—
a real one, or the phantom of one—
Seonghwa forgot to breathe.
Not because of the joke. Because of the ease with which you occupied the moment. That was what unsettled him most. Not your smile, not your warmth, not even the strange, impossible pull that seemed to draw him toward you despite every instinct he had spent centuries mastering. It was the simplicity of it. You had entered his evening as naturally as the rain had entered the streets outside. You had taken a place beside him as though you belonged there, as though his silence was not something to be feared or filled, but merely something that could exist beside another person.
As though loneliness was not an inevitable fate.
As though it could simply...
be interrupted.
The thought was absurd. And yet, his gaze drifted toward the untouched bourbon resting before him. For decades, he had ordered drinks he never intended to finish. A glass in his hand made him appear human enough; a small performance of normalcy he had perfected long ago. But tonight—
Tonight, he reached for it.
The crystal was cool beneath his fingers. Slowly, almost cautiously, Seonghwa lifted the glass to his lips. The bourbon was familiar, he knew every note of it before it even touched his tongue. The richness of oak, the faint sweetness of vanilla, the sharp warmth of alcohol that lingered afterward. But memory was not the same as experience. For so long, everything had simply passed through him. Music, food, seasons, years. Beautiful things had become distant reflections, things he remembered enjoying rather than things he could still enjoy. But this—
This was different. The burn was real, the warmth was real. For one brief moment, the world reached him.
Beside him, you watched the amber liquid disappear past his lips, your expression brightening with satisfaction. “Look at that,” your smile turned teasing. “The spell is broken.”
Seonghwa lowered the glass, placing it carefully against the dark mahogany. “It would appear so.”
You rested your chin in your hand, looking at him with amusement. “And who, exactly, deserves credit for such a miraculous achievement?”
His gaze moved toward you. For a moment, he had no answer. Not because he did not know but because the truth felt far too vulnerable to say. “My companion.”
Your brows lifted. “Oh?”
“Indeed.”
“And what did I do?”
The question was asked lightly but Seonghwa found himself considering it with more seriousness than it deserved. You had not done anything extraordinary, you had not performed some impossible feat. You had simply sat beside him. You had spoken. You had laughed. You had treated him as though he were not something separate from the world.
“You reminded me,” he said quietly, “of the value of an evening.” His fingers rested against the edge of the glass. “An art I fear I had entirely forgotten.”
For once, you did not immediately tease him, you only watched him. Then, slowly, a smile appeared. “Are you always this formal?”
Seonghwa inclined his head slightly. “I was taught it was discourteous to be otherwise.”
A soft laugh escaped you, a simple sound, human sound. And once again, that strange phantom sensation stirred beneath his ribs.
A heartbeat that did not exist.
A memory of something he had lost.
“Well…” You leaned closer, only slightly. “Don’t stop.”
His eyes found yours. “Excuse me?”
“It’s charming.”
The word struck him with a quiet force he had not expected.
Charming.
For centuries, he had been called many things. Elegant. Beautiful. Intimidating. Mysterious. Cold. Dangerous. People looked at him and saw old wealth, old power, old secrets. They saw something distant. Something untouchable. But charming? No. That was different. That was a word belonging to ordinary moments, to warm conversations, to someone you enjoyed sitting beside. It was not a word reserved for legends or monsters. It was a word reserved for people. And somehow, impossibly, you had looked at him and found one.
Time, which had dragged behind him for decades like a chain he could never break, seemed to loosen its grip. The quartet shifted into another song. The saxophone fell quiet, replaced by the smooth trumpet. The bartender polished the counter once, then twice, never interrupting the quiet corner you had claimed together. Your martini disappeared and was replaced with another, the silver pick holding three fresh olives. Seonghwa’s bourbon remained mostly untouched. And yet, for the first time in longer than he could remember, he was not counting. Not the exits, not the footsteps around him, not the heartbeats filling the room, not the endless years ahead of him. He was simply… there. Talking.
You spoke of books first. Not simply stories, but the feeling of them. The smell of old pages, the worn edges of a beloved novel, the strange comfort of returning to a world that had waited patiently for you. “Old books are the closest thing humans have to time travel,” you said.
Seonghwa found himself smiling faintly. “An interesting perspective.”
“It’s true,” you turned your glass slowly between your fingers. “Someone held that book before you. Someone loved it before you. Maybe someone read the same sentence and felt the same thing you did,” your eyes drifted around the room. “You can feel when something has lived.”
The words lingered.
You spoke of the French Quarter next. The architecture, and history. The way the city carried pieces of every person who had passed through it. “I love things that have survived,” you said softly, your voice lowered, almost reverent. “Antiques. Old buildings. Jazz. They have stories. They’ve seen thousands of lives, and they carry those secrets with them.”
Seonghwa looked at you and he wondered if you understood the irony of your own words. You admired things that survived, yet you had no idea you were sitting beside one. He was older than every object in this room. Older than most of the stories hidden within these walls. He carried too many memories. Too many names. Too many ghosts. Then your gaze returned to him. Bright, and curious, unburdened by the centuries he carried.
“What’s the oldest thing you’ve ever seen?”
The question was innocent, and that was why it was dangerous. Because Seonghwa answered before caution could stop him. “The construction of the—” he stopped, the words froze.
A mistake. But after centuries of silence, even the smallest crack could become an opening.
You blinked.
“Construction of what?”
The construction of the French Opera House.
Seonghwa lowered his gaze to the bourbon. He had spent his entire existence guarding this truth not because he feared what others would think but because he knew what would come after. Fear. Questions. Distance. People did not know how to love something that could outlive them. And yet, looking at you now, he found himself too tired to build another wall. He was tired of pretending, tired of weaving careful lies around a truth that had become heavier with every passing century. For just a moment… he wanted to stop. “I’m very old.”
The confession was not dramatic, there was no grand revelation, only a quiet truth spoken by a man who had carried it for far too long.
You gave a small laugh, assuming it was another piece of his dry humour. “I figured.”
His eyes remained on the glass. “You did not.”
That made you pause.
Slowly, Seonghwa lifted his gaze. “I am older than this country.”
Your smile faded, and your eyes searched his face for amusement. For any sign that he was playing some elaborate game. There was none.
The silence stretched.
Then you laughed again. But this time it was uncertain. “...You’re serious.”
“I have not lied to you this evening,” and that was when he heard it. The change in your heartbeat, the subtle shift in your breathing, the sudden rush of fear. He smelled the adrenaline before he saw the colour leave your face. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the bar, and immediately, instinct overcame everything else. Not hunger. Not self-preservation. Concern. “Look at me.”
You did.
Seonghwa softened his voice.
“You needn’t be afraid.”
The command was gentle.
The panic loosened its hold. Your heartbeat slowed, shoulders relaxed, mind remained clear. You drew in a slow breath. “...Did you just do something?”
Seonghwa looked away, “Yes.”
“What?”
A pause. Then, quietly: “I allowed you to remain calm.”
Your eyes narrowed slightly, “You can do that?”
“I can.”
It should have frightened you. Instead, you studied him. Then, somehow: “Do you sleep in coffins?”
Seonghwa stared. “...Good heavens, no.”
A tiny smile appeared, “Can you go in the sun?”
“I find it highly unpleasant.”
“So...” You tilted your head. “Sunscreen?”
For a moment, he simply looked at you. Then he sighed softly. “In rather excessive quantities, yes.”
The absurdity of the conversation settled over both of you.
And somehow—
impossibly—
you laughed.
So did he.
Quietly. Briefly. But genuinely. The sound echoed through the shadowed corner of the club. And that was what finally destroyed him. Not the fact that you knew. Not the fact that you were sitting beside a creature that should have terrified you. But that you knew exactly what he was… and you were still smiling. For the first time in decades, Seonghwa did not feel like a relic. Not a monster. Not a ghost. Just a man sitting beside someone who made the world feel alive again. The laughter faded slowly, not because either of you wanted it to. Because all laughter eventually ends, that was something Seonghwa knew better than anyone. His smile remained for a moment longer than it should have. Then reality returned. The woman beside him knew. Not everything but enough. You knew the impossible, the truth hidden beneath three centuries.
“I am weirdly calm about this,” you glanced at him.
“I told you to be.”
A pause. Then the faintest hint of amusement returned to your face. “Although I do have some questions.”
“I imagined you might.”
“First…” You lifted one finger. “Do you have fangs?”
The question was so unexpectedly ordinary that he almost forgot how to respond. “Yes.”
Your eyes widened. “Really?”
“That is typically considered one of the more recognizable characteristics.”
“Can I see?”
“No,” it came immediately.
You laughed, “That was suspiciously fast.”
“It was also necessary.”
“Why?”
His expression softened. “Because you are still human.”
The teasing faded slightly, not entirely. There it was again, that small, inconvenient reminder: You were temporary. He was not. Every moment he spent with you was a moment he would eventually remember alone.
“I have to admit something,” your voice pulled him from his thoughts. “I am not sure if I should be terrified or fascinated.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “Most would choose the former.”
“Most people aren’t sitting next to a vampire in a jazz club at midnight.”
“A reasonable observation.”
“Do you always answer like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve stepped out of a century-old novel.”
He lowered his gaze. “Perhaps I have simply remained in one.”
The answer should have been sad, you heard the sadness and that was what frightened him. Because you heard the things he did not say.
“How long have you been alone?”
He looked at you. Silence, a dangerous one. Because that question was far more terrifying than any question about his immortality. He could answer how old he was. He could explain what he was. But loneliness? That required admitting something was missing. His fingers tightened slightly around the glass. “I do not remember.”
Your expression changed. Not into pity, something gentler. And somehow that was worse. The room had grown quieter. The musicians had begun packing away their instruments. The last notes of the evening lingered in the air, soft and fading.
A goodbye. Everything eventually became one, Seonghwa knew that better than anyone. “I should go,” the words came automatically, the old instinct, old escape.
You tilted your head. “Do you want to?”
The question stopped him because the answer came too quickly.
No. He did not want to.
And that terrified him.
“You make things very difficult.”
A small smile appeared on your lips. “Do I?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
He looked at you for a long moment. Because you make me remember. Because you make me want. Because I had finally accepted the end, and then you walked through the door.
Before Seonghwa could answer, you closed the distance. Not dramatically, nor seductively. Your fingers brushed his. The contact was brief, barely there. Yet Seonghwa went completely still because every instinct told him to pull away. Every reason he had built over centuries rose at once. You were mortal. You would age. You would die. And Seonghwa? He would remain. He knew this ending. He had lived it countless times.
“Don’t,” the plea left him before he could stop it.
You paused, eyes searching his. “Don't what?”
He had no answer.
Don’t make me want this. Don’t make me remember what it feels like to be alive. Don’t give me something I cannot keep.
But you were already too close. “I don’t think you actually want to leave.” His breath caught, a human would have inhaled, he did not need to. But for a moment, he almost did. Your lips touched his for a brief moment, and Seonghwa forgot every language he had ever learned. For one impossible second, there was no history, no centuries, no graves, no inevitable ending waiting patiently in the distance.
Only warmth.
You.
The unbearable softness of being wanted.
His hands remained at his sides, he did not move because moving meant admitting that he wanted this. That he had wanted this from the moment you walked through the door. Then you pulled back slightly, enough to look at him, and that was when he realized something. You were giving him the choice: you were not asking him to take, you were asking him to stay. The realisation broke whatever remained of his restraint.
Slowly—
carefully—
as though approaching something fragile enough to disappear—
his hand lifted.
His fingers touched your cheek, cold against your warmth and for the first time in decades… he allowed himself to want. Only for a moment. He had spent so long measuring his existence in losses that he had forgotten what it meant to desire something without immediately mourning its ending. He knew better. He knew exactly what stood between you. He knew how this story ended. He had watched it happen before. So he should have stepped away, he should have thanked you for the evening, offered some elegant farewell, and disappeared into the night before this fragile warmth became something he could no longer bear to lose. That would have been the kind thing, the honourable thing, the thing he had always done. But then you looked at him and Seonghwa found himself making a terrible, selfish bargain. Just this once. One moment. One breath. He would allow himself this. He would not think of tomorrow. He would not think of the inevitable grief waiting patiently at the end of every human connection. He would simply exist here. With you. For one moment more.
The movement felt unfamiliar, almost impossible. As though his body remembered something his heart had long forgotten. His fingertips brushed your cheek, warm and alive. The contrast should have been unbearable. Instead, it was the most beautiful thing he had felt in decades. Your breath caught softly, not in fear but in surprise. And Seonghwa closed his eyes for the briefest moment. He should stop. He should stop now. Before there was more to regret. Before he crossed the final distance. But he had already crossed the most dangerous distance of all. He had let himself hope. Your eyes met his and in that quiet space between one heartbeat and the next, Seonghwa made the choice. Not forever, he was not foolish enough to believe in forever. Just now. Just this. His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, an almost reverent gesture, memorising something he already knew he would lose. Then he leaned closer. Slowly, giving you every opportunity to change your mind. You did not.
The kiss was gentle. Not the desperate hunger of a creature starved for centuries. Not possession nor taking. Something far more dangerous.
Tenderness.
For a moment, Seonghwa forgot what he was. Forgot what he would eventually have to do. There was only the warmth of you beneath his hand. The softness of your lips. The quiet sound of your breath. The impossible miracle of being close to someone who knew the truth. He had forgotten that he could feel this. That he could want this. That there was still some part of him capable of reaching for something instead of simply letting it pass. And that was the cruelest part. Because the moment it ended, he knew. He knew he would remember it forever. A mortal moment. A fleeting moment. A single evening in a New Orleans jazz club. And somehow, it would become one of the most permanent things he had ever known.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested lightly against yours. His eyes remained closed. For one final second, he allowed himself to pretend. That this was possible. That he could stay. That he had not spent centuries preparing himself for goodbye. Then reality returned, and with it came the terrible knowledge that he had broken the one rule he had never allowed himself to break.
He had given his dead heart something to lose.
The rain had stopped. New Orleans shimmered beneath the streetlights, the pavement dark and gleaming. Seonghwa had walked these streets for longer than most buildings had stood. He knew every turn, every shadow, every place where history had left its mark. And yet, tonight, the city felt unfamiliar. Because you were beside him.
“You are quiet,” your voice pulled him from his thoughts, he looked at you.
“I am thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how strange it is.”
You tilted your head, “What is?”
“That after all this time…” His voice softened. “I had convinced myself I wanted nothing,” the honesty of the confession lingered between you.
“And now?”
His gaze moved over your face.
Now.
A dangerous word.
“Now I find myself wishing for things I have no right to ask for.”
“Who decides what you have a right to?”
He almost smiled, “If only it were that simple.”
“Maybe it is.”
And for one impossible moment, Seonghwa believed you. That was the tragedy. He believed you. The thought was so simple, so impossibly human. Maybe it could be that easy. Maybe a person did not need permission to want something beautiful. Maybe he was not destined only to watch life pass him by. Maybe, after centuries of saying goodbye, he could finally allow himself to stay. The hope was fragile and terrifying. And yet, for one fleeting moment, it was enough. His hand remained against your cheek, his thumb barely moving, as though he feared that even the slightest motion would break the illusion. You looked at him with such certainty that it almost hurt. As though you did not see the years behind his eyes. As though you did not see the graves. The names. The endless procession of people he had loved and lost. You only saw him.
And he had to let you go.
Not because he wanted to. Because the thought of you carrying the weight of him—the fear, the danger, the inevitable grief—was unbearable. He had spent centuries taking from life. Taking moments. Taking memories. Taking whatever little pieces of humanity he could hold onto. He would not take your future too. Slowly, he lowered his hand. The loss of warmth was immediate. And somehow, it was worse than any wound. “I am sorry.”
Your brows drew together. “For what?”
He looked at you, memorising everything he had no right to keep. The softness of your expression, the curiosity in your eyes. “I should not have allowed this evening to happen.”
You went quiet.
He hated that he was asking for something, he hated even more that you would give it. “I have lived long enough to know the consequences of wanting something I cannot keep.”
Your expression softened. “And what if I don’t care about the consequences?”
For a moment, Seonghwa saw another path. A different life, one where he stayed. One where he saw your smile again. One where he walked beside you through the years instead of watching you disappear from them. But he had seen that story before. He knew how it ended. The mortal heart was not built for eternity. Only moments. And perhaps that was what made them precious.
“You deserve a life untouched by my sorrow.”
“Is that what you think you are?” The question caught him off guard. “A sorrow?”
For a moment, he had no answer. Because once, long ago, he had been a man. Then he had become something else. Something caught between existence and absence, something that survived. “Sometimes,” he admitted quietly, “I think that is all I have been for a very long time.”
“You don’t have to be.”
His eyes closed, only briefly because if he looked at you too long, he would fail. He knew it. He would choose selfishness, he would choose one more night. One more conversation. One more morning he had no right to hope for. And he could not do that. Not to you. Not when you had given him the greatest gift anyone had given him in decades. You had reminded him he was still capable of feeling. He would not punish you for it. His eyes opened. The decision was made. “Look at me.”
Your gaze met his.
The command was softer this time, not an order but a farewell. The world seemed to quiet around you. Everything faded. “I want you to listen carefully,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “You will remember tonight. You will remember the music,” a pause, “the rain against the windows,” another, “the taste of your drink,” his gaze never left yours. “You will remember that you had a wonderful evening,” the smallest fracture appeared in his composure. “But…” His voice softened. “You will not remember me,” the words hurt more coming out than he had imagined.
“Why?”
The question was so simple yet his throat tightened. Because you had asked the one thing he could not answer without breaking.
Because I love you. Because you are the first person in half a century who made me wish for another day. Because I would rather disappear from your memory than become the reason your life changes forever.
His thumb brushed once against your cheek, the last touch, last thing he would allow himself. “I am sorry.”
“You will continue living, you will see places you have never seen, walk streets in cities you have yet to discover.”
The words became harder to say.
“You will meet people who will change your life,” but he continued. “You will fall in love,” his expression softened. “More than once, perhaps,” a tiny, sorrowful smile. “You will be loved in return,” his fingers brushed gently against your hand. “You will grow old surrounded by people you love.” The ache in his chest was unbearable but he endured it. Because this was what love was supposed to be. Not possession, not keeping. Letting someone go where they could be happiest. “You will have a long life,” his voice almost broke, “a beautiful one.” The final words left him barely above a whisper. “One that you will cherish.”
The compulsion settled gently, not like a command but like falling asleep. Your eyes softened, the tension left your shoulders, and Seonghwa watched the impossible happen. The evening remained. The memories remained. Everything remained. Except him. He stepped back and for a moment, you simply looked at him. Not knowing why your heart hurt. Not knowing why saying goodbye to a stranger felt like mourning something you had lost. Then you smiled and Seonghwa knew he had made the right choice.
You deserved every beautiful thing waiting for you.
Even if none of those things included him.
“Goodbye,” the word was barely audible but he knew you heard it even if you would never remember.
And as the city swallowed the last trace of your footsteps, Seonghwa finally understood that immortality was not the curse of never dying—it was the curse of remembering everything worth living for.
He had spent a century longing for the end, never knowing the cruelest punishment would be finding a reason to remain.
summary: she was a one night stand until he saved her life now they’re bound for eternity
warning: dom yunho, sub reader, nail kink, slight pain kink, unprotected sex, creampie
genre: dark romance, supernatural, smut
pairing: prince of hell yunho x afab human reader
word count: 9.9k
chp 6
chp 8 coming soon
masterlist
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Lucifer sat perfectly still in one of the oldest chambers in Pandemonium. The meditation room was silent enough that even the floating candle flames seemed unwilling to crackle. Ancient runes glowed beneath him in a wide circle etched into the black stone floor, their silver light rising and falling with each measured breath he took as the doors opened. “Your Majesty…” Without opening his eyes, Lucifer sighed. “Seonghwa…”
“Yes, sire?”
“What have I told you?”
Seonghwa remained standing just inside the doorway, hands folded neatly behind his back. “Don’t interrupt you while you’re meditating.”
“And what,” Lucifer asked patiently, “are you doing?”
“Interrupting you while you’re meditating.”
One amber eye cracked open. “I appreciate that you’ve stopped arguing with me.”
“I’ve learned it saves time.”
Lucifer hummed. “I suppose it does.” Seonghwa inclined his head. “The final arrangements have been completed.” Lucifer’s expression didn’t change. “The ballroom?”
“Prepared.”
“The guests?”
“Invitations accepted.”
“The musicians?”
“Waiting.”
“The kitchens?”
“Already at work.”
“Good.”
Seonghwa waited another moment before continuing. “Prince Yunho and Y/N returned approximately ten minutes ago.” Lucifer’s other eye opened. “They’re back?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
In one smooth movement, Lucifer rose to his feet. The glowing runes beneath him faded into the polished black floor as he adjusted the cuffs of his dark coat as a grin slowly spread across his face. “Come.” Seonghwa already knew where they were going. “Must we? Last time I walked into their chambers unannounced I found your daughter in law gripping your sons horn while…”
“Please stop talking.” Lucifer looked over one shoulder. “My son has just returned from his honeymoon.” Lucifer’s grin widened. “I haven’t seen him in days.”
“You’ve been scrying on him.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“It should.”
“It doesn’t.”
Before Seonghwa could argue further, Lucifer had already stepped into the corridor and with a quiet sigh that suggested centuries of experience dealing with this exact sort of behavior, Seonghwa followed. The walk through the palace was surprisingly short. Royal guards stationed around the corridor outside the prince’s chambers bowed immediately, stepping aside without a word. Lucifer didn’t bother knocking. He simply pushed the massive doors open and walked inside. The chambers were warm, filled with the familiar scent of sandalwood and old books. Several travel bags rested near the entrance as Yunho stood beside the wardrobe with his back partially turned, stacking the last of their luggage neatly against the wall, looking up at the sound of the door opening. “Father.”
From somewhere deeper in the chambers came the unmistakable rush of running water. The shower. Y/N was humming softly to herself behind the closed bathroom door, completely unaware they had visitors. Lucifer simply looked at his son. Really looked at him. The first thing he noticed wasn’t the luggage. Or the faint scent of the Mediterranean sea that still clung to his clothes. It wasn’t even Y/N’s scent woven so naturally into his own that, for the first time, Lucifer could no longer tell where one ended and the other began. No. It was his face. Four hundred years. Four centuries of watching Yunho carry the weight of immortality like a chain around his neck. Four hundred years of carefully hidden loneliness. Of duty. Of restraint. Of convincing himself he was destined to outlive anyone he dared care about. That burden…. was gone. Not completely but Lucifer knew better than anyone that love came with its own fears. But the emptiness that had lived behind his son’s eyes for centuries had vanished and in its place was something quieter.
Lucifer’s smile softened before he could stop it. He had seen that look only once before. A small cottage in Korea. Wildflowers growing outside the window. A stubborn young witch laughing because she’d just thrown salt at the Devil himself. He remembered catching his own reflection in a bucket of water days later. He had worn that same expression. He hadn’t realized it then. Not until years afterward. The same impossible softness. The same quiet certainty. The same terrifying realization that someone else’s happiness had somehow become more important than his own. Lucifer looked back at his son. “Well.”
Yunho frowned. “What?”
Lucifer folded his arms. “It finally happened.” Yunho stared at his father with a brow raised. “What did?” Lucifer’s smile became almost unbearably knowing. “You’ve fallen exactly as hard as I did. A rarety for those like us.” Yunho opened his mouth. Closed it. Then glanced instinctively toward the bathroom, where the water was still running beyond the closed door as Lucifer laughed. A rich, genuine laugh that echoed through the chambers. “There it is.”
Yunho looked back at him. “What?”
“That.” Lucifer pointed directly at him. “You looked toward the bathroom before you answered me.” Yunho frowned harder. “So?”
“So,” Lucifer said, unable to stop smiling, “four hundred years ago, every time someone asked me a question…” He nodded toward the bathroom door. “I looked to wherever your mother happened to be standing before I answered.” Yunho glanced back towards the bathroom as his father’s expression softened again. “You don’t even realize you’re doing it.” Yunho simply stood there in the middle of his chambers, surrounded by half unpacked luggage, listening to the distant sound of Y/N humming to herself in the shower. And somewhere deep down, he realized his father was right.
Lucifer let the silence linger for another few seconds, studying his son with an expression that had softened into something almost impossible for anyone outside the room to witness. It wasn’t the calculating gaze of the King of Hell. It wasn’t the ancient predator who had ruled Pandemonium since before most civilizations had learned to write. It was simply a father looking at his child and quietly appreciating that, after four centuries, the loneliness he’d watched consume him had finally begun to loosen its grip. Then, inevitably, the softness disappeared beneath a grin. “Now then.” Yunho sighed. “What.”
“I have news.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Lucifer clasped his hands behind his back, casually strolling farther into the chambers as though he owned the place. Which, technically… he did. “I’ve arranged a welcome banquet.” Yunho groaned. “You’ve arranged what?”
“A welcome banquet.”
“I heard that part.”
“It’s in Y/N’s honor.”
Yunho closed the wardrobe doors with considerably more force than necessary before slowly turning to face his father. “Father.”
“What?”
“We just got back.”
“I know.”
“Less than fifteen minutes ago.”
“I know.”
“The woman you’re throwing the banquet for is currently in the bathroom trying to wash the sand from Greece out of her hair.”
“I know.”
“And your solution to that…” Yunho gestured broadly around the room. “was to invite all of Hell over?” Lucifer looked genuinely confused. “Not all of Hell. Just the important people.” Yunho stared at him in exasperation. “That’s somehow worse.” Seonghwa, who had been quiet this entire time, remained near the doorway, wisely saying nothing Lucifer continued as though his son hadn’t spoken. “She’s the Princess of Hell now.”
“I know.”
“She’s my daughter in law.”
“I am aware.”
“The kingdom should meet her properly.”
“They’ve met her.”
“They’ve seen her.” Lucifer corrected him with a raised finger. “Those are two entirely different things.” Yunho rubbed both hands down his face. “Father…” Lucifer smiled. “Everything has already been arranged.”
“Cancel it.”
“No.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Father.”
“Son.”
Yunho exhaled sharply through his nose. “She doesn’t even know this place really yet.” His voice had lost its irritation now, replaced by something quieter. “She’s still adjusting. Not to mention how when someone bows to her and she looks behind herself because she thinks they’re greeting someone else.” Yunho’s gaze drifted unconsciously toward the bathroom door again, where the faint sound of running water still filled the chambers. “I don’t want her overwhelmed.” For the first time since entering the chambers, Lucifer’s expression grew thoughtful. He hadn’t been considering politics. Or appearances. Or royal expectations. He’d simply been excited. Excited to introduce the woman who had somehow managed to do what nothing else in four hundred years ever had. He looked at his son again. Really looked at him. Every objection Yunho had made… not one of them had been about himself. Not once had he complained about attending another royal function. Not once had he mentioned how exhausted he was after traveling. Every single concern had been for Y/N.
Lucifer smiled to himself. There it was again. Without realizing it… his son had started measuring the world by someone else’s comfort. “I can postpone it until tomorrow evening,” Lucifer said at last and Yunho blinked shocked. “Really?”
“I am capable of compromise.”
Seonghwa coughed politely. “Occasionally.” Lucifer ignored him. “Which brings me to the second reason I came.” Yunho’s expression immediately became suspicious again. “There was a first?”
“There were several.” Lucifer’s smile faded just enough for Yunho to recognize the shift. “Eres stopped by while you were away.” The room grew noticeably quieter as Yunho’s relaxed posture straightened. “Eres.”
“He wished to offer his congratulations.”
Yunho let out a humorless breath. “I’m sure he did.”
“He seemed… disappointed you hadn’t returned yet.”
“I imagine he was.”
Lucifer watched his son’s face carefully. “He also informed me his daughter is very distraught with your new wife.” Another long silence settled over the chambers. Behind the bathroom door, Y/N’s quiet humming continued, blissfully unaware that her name was already moving through the highest circles of Hell. Yunho’s eyes drifted toward the sound for only a moment before returning to his father. His voice, when he finally spoke, was calm. “Keep her away from her.” Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “Estrie is just…. different.”
“She’s a psychopath.” Yunho snapped and for a moment, neither Lucifer nor Seonghwa spoke. “I’ll have a word with Eres before the banquet.” Lucifer promised as the steady rush of water from the bathroom stopped. All three men looked instinctively toward the closed door and Yunho’s expression changed instantly. “She’s finished.” Lucifer followed his son’s gaze before an amused smile spread across his face. “I gathered as much.” A cabinet door opened somewhere inside the bathroom. Glass bottles clicking softly against marble. Drawers sliding open. The unmistakable sounds of someone finishing a shower. Yunho looked back at his father. “You should probably…”
“I should.” Lucifer nodded in complete agreement. “I have no desire to be standing in my son’s chambers when my daughter in law walks out wrapped in nothing but a towel.” Seonghwa cleared his throat. “I was trying very hard not to be the one to say it.”
“You shouldn’t have to.” Lucifer adjusted the cuffs of his jacket before making his way toward the door. As he passed Yunho, he paused just long enough to clap a hand against his son’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you.” There wasn’t a hint of teasing in his voice this time. Just quiet sincerity. Yunho met his father’s eyes for a brief moment before giving a small nod. “Thanks.” Lucifer smiled once more before heading for the doorway as Seonghwa inclined his head politely toward the prince. “I’ll have preparations adjusted for tomorrow evening.”
“I appreciate it.”
The massive doors swung shut behind them with a muted thud just as Y/N stepped out of the bathroom, a large black towel wrapped securely around her, another smaller one draped over her shoulders as she rubbed at her damp hair. Wisps of steam escaped around her, carrying the scent of lavender and sandalwood into the room as she looked around curiously. “Were you talking to someone?” Yunho couldn’t help smiling. “My father.” He walked over, gently taking the smaller towel from around her shoulders before beginning to dry the ends of her hair himself. “They left about five seconds before you came out.” Y/N let him keep drying at her hair with the towel before brushing past him towards the wardrobe. Yunho watched her, moving to lean against the dark marbled vanity. She glanced towards him with an easy smile. “Would you hand me that brush?” He reached across the vanity, passing it to her before quietly. “I know you can hear me pretending not to watch,” he admitted as she dropped the towel she had on.
A laugh escaped her. “I was wondering how long that would last.” With an amused shake of her head, she tossed the towel onto the nearby chair and began getting dressed without the slightest hint of self consciousness around him. There was something different now. Greece had changed them both. The uncertainty that had existed between them in those first days after the binding had disappeared completely now, replaced by an effortless comfort. She slipped into a flowing black crocheted dress that hugged her figure she got back in Athens, falling gracefully to her ankles. The intricate weave caught the light, while the elegant cutouts at her waist and neckline gave it an almost regal quality without sacrificing its relaxed, vacation inspired feel. She adjusted the halter at the back of her neck before running her fingers through her still damp hair. “Well?” Yunho stared at her for several seconds… just simply stared making her fold her arms. “You’re supposed to say something.” He kept staring. “I am.” Still nothing until he cleared his throat. “I’m just trying to remember how.” Her cheeks warmed, rolling her eyes. “You see me naked all the time.” His eyes slowly traveled back to hers. “Not my fault you somehow manage to look like royalty in literally everything you put on.” She smiled despite herself. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He grinned. “It was.” He walked over, gently brushing an imaginary crease from the side of her dress before resting his hands lightly on her waist. “You look beautiful.” Her smile softened. “Thank you.” For a quiet moment they simply stood there together. Then Yunho remembered. “My dad wasn’t just here to annoy me.” Y/N snorted. “I’m shocked.”
“He postponed the banquet until tomorrow evening.” Her eyebrows lifted. “Banquet?” Yunho reluctantly nodded. “A welcome banquet.” She furrowed her brows as she looked up at him. “For me?” He nodded like it was obvious looking much like his father in that moment. “For you.” She blinked. “Why?” Yunho kissed her, thumb rubbing at her chin as he grabbed it gently. “Because you’re the Princess of Hell now.” She sighed dramatically before back away from him to finish brushing her hair. “I suppose I should start getting used to things like this.” He smiled faintly before it vanished completely and she immediately noticed the change in his expression. “What?” Yunho’s gaze drifted toward the window before returning to her. “There’ll probably be someone at the banquet named Estrie.” Y/N tilted her head. “Estrie?” He nodded… hesitating for a moment. “Her father, Eres… has spent a very long time trying to convince my father that the two of us should’ve been married. Arranged marriage.” Y/N studied his face. She didn’t like where this was going. That new found possessiveness she had for him growing…. “Did you… did you two ever…” Yunho answered before she could even finish. “No.” The response came so quickly it almost overlapped her question. “Never.” She scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “I wasn’t even finished asking.”
“I know what you were asking.” He stepped closer, his expression earnest. “No.” He shook his head firmly. “Never. Not once. I never kissed her. I never fucked her. Never led her on to think otherwise.” His voice was calm, but there wasn’t the slightest trace of hesitation. “My father never accepted the proposal, and I never gave Estrie any reason to believe I wanted it.” Y/N searched his face for a long moment. “Okay.” He shook his head. “I mean it.” Y/N reached out grabbing his hand and tugging him to her. “I believe you.” He let out a slow breath of relief. She trusts him. “Eres never stopped pushing for it. And Estrie…. His expression tightened. “She… didn’t take rejection particularly well.” Y/N folded her arms loosely. “So why are you warning me?” Yunho stared at her completely serious as images flashed through his mind before he could stop them. Estrie smiling as she’d pushed a sobbing succubus into the River Styx simply because Yunho had spent one evening with her. She hadn’t even been angry. She’d smiled. And most of all….. Estrie despised humans. “Because she’s had centuries to imagine a future that doesn’t exist anymore. Decades in hoping for a betrothal.” He squeezed her hand, gently intertwining their fingers. “And I don’t know how she’s going to react when she finally meets the woman I will spend eternity with.” Y/N looked down at their joined hands before looking back up at him. “Do I need to be worried?” Yunho was quiet for a moment. “I don’t think she’ll be a danger to you while my father is present.” He offered a reassuring smile. “But if she says anything… or makes you uncomfortable…” His thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles. “I’ll kill her. I’ll send her to purgatory myself.”
Y/N stared at him for a long moment, trying to decide whether he was joking. He wasn’t though. She’d known that the moment he’d said it. He would. Without hesitation. Without remorse. If someone tried to hurt her… Yunho would become exactly what Hell had raised him to be. She squeezed his hand once before a different thought surfaced, one that had been lingering in the back of her mind ever since she’d arrived in Hell. “Can I ask you something?” His expression softened immediately. “You know you can.” She shifted her weight against the vanity. “I’ve heard all of you mention it since I’ve been here. Purgatory.” The word itself coming from her seemed to change the atmosphere of the room. The warmth in Yunho’s eyes dimmed slightly. “What is it exactly?” Silence settled between them and for a few moments, Yunho simply looked at her, deciding where to begin. “It’s not part of Hell.” Y/N frowned. “It isn’t?” He shook his head. “No.” He guided her over toward the sofa near the fireplace, taking a seat before gently pulling her down into his lap. Their hands remained intertwined, his thumb absentmindedly brushing across her knuckles as he searched for the right words. “Humans have… misunderstood a lot of things over the thousands of years they’ve written about us.” She listened carefully. “Hell…” He glanced around their chambers. “as you’ve noticed, is a kingdom.” His voice was calm. “A civilization. A home. There are cities. Families. Children. Music. Art. Markets. Schools.” He gave her a small smile. “You’ve already seen most of that. There are punishments here too. There are prisons. There are laws. But Hell itself isn’t endless torture.”
Y/N’s brow furrowed as she threaded her fingers through his hair, fingertips lightly tracing one of his horns. “Then… where did humans get that idea?” Yunho’s expression became noticeably more serious. “Purgatory.” He tightened his arms around her, leaning his head slightly into her touch. “When a demon dies… or if they get their asses exorcised up top…. their soul doesn’t remain here.” Y/N’s eyes widened. “Demons can die?” Yunho chuckled a little despite everything. “Yes…. though we’re incredibly difficult to kill. But yes. And when one of us dies…” His gaze drifted toward the fire crackling quietly across the room. “that’s where we’re sent.” Y/N swallowed, suddenly gripping his horn like she was afraid he’d be taken there right now. “Forever?” Yunho didn’t meet her gaze. “Forever.” The room seemed quieter now. Even the crackling fire suddenly felt distant. “It’s also where the worst human souls are taken. The truly cruel. The monsters. The ones whose evil wasn’t born from desperation or fear…” He looked back at her. “but choice.” Y/N felt a chill run across her skin. “The images humans paint. The lakes of fire. The endless screaming. The eternal torment. The place where hope no longer exists…” His jaw tightened. “They weren’t describing Hell.” She stared at him. “Then why does everyone call it Hell?”
“A mistake. A convenient one. Humans rarely understand the difference.” He leaned back against the sofa, pulling her with him. “Most religions merged the two places together over time. So they became the same thing. But they never were.” Y/N was quiet for a long moment before she had to know. “Have you ever seen it?” Yunho’s seemed to drain of color. He didn’t answer for a long moment and when he did, his voice was much more quiet than before. “Once.” His eyes had grown distant. “I was young. Father took me because he believed every prince should understand exactly what awaited anyone foolish enough to betray our kingdom.” His grip tightened around her more. “I’ve never forgotten it.” He drew in a slow breath. “There are no cities. No sky. No music. No silence. Just…” He searched for a word that seemed impossible to find. “…absence.” His voice had almost become a whisper. “It strips away everything that made you who you were. Time. Identity. Memory. Hope. The suffering never ends because it was never designed to. It exists only to remind those trapped there of every choice they made. And it never lets them forget.” Y/N hadn’t realized she’d started clinging to him until her one hand had curled around the back of his neck and the other was practically holding onto his horn for dear life. “Even demons are afraid of it?” Yunho let out a humorless laugh. “Afraid?” He looked at her. “I’ve watched ancient demons who have laughed in the face of archangels go completely silent when Purgatory is mentioned.” His expression remained unreadable. “There isn’t a single demon alive who doesn’t fear dying. Not because we fear death.” His voice dropped another octave. “But…. because we know what comes after.”
“So when you said…” Y/N swallowed. “that you’d send Estrie there…” Yunho met her eyes without flinching. “I meant every word.” There wasn’t anger in his voice. There wasn’t even hatred. Only certainty. “If she ever became a threat to you… if she ever tried to…. or does hurt you….” His thumb gently stroked at her back, the tenderness of the gesture standing in stark contrast to the words that followed. “I would do whatever was necessary to make sure she never had the chance to do it again.” The room fell silent once more. Outside their chambers, the vast kingdom of Hell carried on as it always had. But somewhere far beyond its borders… beyond the cities, beyond the palace, beyond even the oldest reaches of Pandemonium… there existed another place entirely. One that even the Prince of Hell prayed he would never see again.
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Later that afternoon, the markets of Hell were every bit as alive as they had been before the honeymoon. Stone streets carved from polished black volcanic rock twisted between hundreds of storefronts, their windows glowing with warm amber light beneath crimson lanterns suspended from wrought iron brackets. Demons haggled over enchanted jewelry beside vendors selling freshly baked bread. Children darted between crowded stalls chasing one another with tiny black wings fluttering behind them while musicians played strange stringed instruments on street corners, their melodies drifting through the warm infernal air. Y/N still wasn’t sure how Hell had managed to become one of her favorite places to simply… wander. It wasn’t what she’d expected. Nothing here ever was. Hongjoong walked comfortably beside her, one hand tucked into the pocket of his tailored black trousers while the other lazily spun a pair of sunglasses around one finger. “You know,” Y/N said, glancing sideways at him, “I think Yunho secretly hired you as a bodyguard.” Hongjoong snorted. “You know he did.” They continued walking, passing an elderly demon arguing over the price of tomatoes with a farmer before Y/N suddenly stopped so abruptly that Hongjoong nearly walked into her. “What?”
She pointed across the street. “No way.” Hongjoong followed her gaze. A beautiful storefront stood nestled between a bookstore and an apothecary. The windows were decorated with black orchids and polished obsidian mirrors, elegant gold lettering across the glass reading: INFERNA BEAUTY ATELIER Hair • Nails • Glamour Magic. Y/N stared then snorted in disbelief. “There’s really a salon in Hell.” Hongjoong folded his arms. “There are several.” She slowly looked at him. “I’ve seen it all.” She grinned. “Come on.” Without waiting for an answer, she crossed the street toward the salon and Hongjoong sighed dramatically before following after her. “I knew this was going to happen.” The bell above the door chimed softly as they stepped inside. The salon was breathtaking. Dark marble floors reflected dozens of dragon bone crystal chandeliers filled with softly glowing crimson flames. Shelves lined with enchanted cosmetics stretched along one wall while plush black velvet chairs surrounded polished obsidian styling stations. The air smelled faintly of jasmine, vanilla, and something smoky that somehow worked perfectly together. Conversation throughout the salon stopped almost instantly. Every demon inside turned. And one by one they bowed. “Princess.”
Y/N immediately looked behind herself. “You really don’t have to do that.” Several of them exchanged uncertain glances but remained respectfully lowered. One of the stylists smiled nervously. “It’s tradition, Your Highness.” Y/N rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m really going to have to get used to that.” Hongjoong chuckled. “I’ve been telling you.” She shot him a look before smiling awkwardly at the salon. “So…” She clapped her hands together once. “Who can do my nails?” Three hands shot into the air at once. Another stylist nearly tripped over herself hurrying forward. “I can! I’m Cora.” She practically beamed before gently ushering Y/N toward an oversized velvet chair. “This way, Princess.” Before Y/N had even fully sat down, another appeared beside her carrying an elegant crystal glass filled with what looked suspiciously like sparkling blackberry lemonade. Y/N blinked. “I didn’t order anything.” The woman smiled warmly. “You don’t have to.” She placed the drink onto the side table before disappearing again. Y/N slowly looked toward Hongjoong. “Did she just…” Hongjoong was openly laughing now. “You outrank everyone in this room except Lucifer and Yunho.” He shrugged. “They’re going to spoil you.”
“I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“You’ll survive.”
Cora settled onto the stool opposite her, carefully laying out an impressive collection of bottles, powders, tiny brushes, and shimmering enchanted pigments. She looked up with an excited smile. “What were you thinking today, Princess?” Y/N looked over the display. Every imaginable color. Every finish. Every shape. She honestly had no idea. “I don’t know…” A grin spread across her face. “I guess…” She glanced around the salon. “something dark and twisty. I mean…. We’re literally in Hell.” Cora giggled, her crimson eyes lighting up. “I have the perfect idea.” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You do?” She nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, absolutely.” Cora immediately began selecting deep black lacquer infused with subtle garnet pigment, followed by gleaming metallic chrome powders that caught the light like polished obsidian. For the next hour, Y/N chatted easily with the stylists, learning which districts everyone lived in, hearing stories about their families, and laughing every time someone accidentally called her “Your Highness” before correcting themselves to “Princess.” By the time the final layer of glossy topcoat had cured beneath enchanted crimson lights that would hold the look for a very long time, Cora gently lifted Y/N’s hand with obvious pride. The nails were unlike anything Y/N had ever worn. Long, elegant stiletto tips gleamed like polished onyx. Deep crimson shimmered beneath the glossy black surface, almost like glowing embers trapped beneath obsidian glass. Flowing silver chrome framed each nail in sharp, organic curves, giving the illusion that molten metal had frozen around pools of dark garnet. They looked dangerous. Like they had been designed just for the Princess of Hell.
Y/N slowly turned her hand beneath the light, watching the crimson catch and shift beneath the glossy black. “These…” She looked up, grinning. “are the coolest nails I’ve ever had.” Cora beamed, clearly relieved. “I’m so happy you like them.” Hongjoong leaned over for a closer look before giving an approving nod. “They suit you.” Y/N laughed. “I don’t know whether that’s a compliment…” Hongjoong smirked. “Or a warning.”
The little brass bell above the salon door chimed softly as Y/N and Hongjoong stepped back onto the bustling streets of Hell. The warmth of the salon gave way to the lively chaos of the marketplace once again. Vendors called out daily specials from enchanted bakeries. A pair of young demons chased one another through the crowd, laughing as one accidentally knocked over a stack of pumpkins nearly twice his size before hurriedly setting them back upright with embarrassed apologies. Somewhere farther down the street, a violinist played alongside an enormous creature with four arms plucking strings on an instrument Y/N still couldn’t name. She couldn’t stop admiring her hand. Every few steps she turned it beneath the lantern light, watching the crimson beneath the glossy black shift like embers beneath obsidian. They almost looked the same shade as her father in law’s horns. “Okay,” she admitted with a grin. “These might actually be my favorite nails I’ve ever had.” Hongjoong glanced over. “You’ve looked at them twelve times.”
“Twelve?”
“You’ve been counting?”
“I was bored.”
She rolled her eyes. “I hate that you’re observant.” Hongjoong shrugged. “It’s my job.” She laughed, lifting her hand again. They’re just… really cool.” They continued weaving through the market until Hongjoong slowed and his easy smile disappeared. Y/N noticed almost immediately. “What?” He didn’t answer. His eyes had settled on someone standing farther down the street. Someone leaning lazily against one of the black stone columns bordering the marketplace. Hands tucked into his pockets. Watching them. No… watching her. Dante. And his crooked smile spread slowly as their eyes met. “There she is.” Y/N felt her own smile disappear as Hongjoong sighed under his breath. “Keep walking.” Dante pushed himself away from the column. “I think not.” He strolled toward them with the same infuriating confidence he’d carried the last time she’d seen him. Dark eyes traveling deliberately from the top of Y/N’s head… the black dress. To the fresh manicure she was still admiring moments ago. Then back to her face. “My…” His grin widened. “The prince’s wife certainly looks comfortable.” Y/N folded her arms. “Dante.”
“Princess.” He gave an exaggerated little bow that somehow managed to feel insulting rather than respectful. Hongjoong stepped smoothly between them. “Walk away.” Dante barely acknowledged him. “I’ve been trying.” His gaze drifted around Hongjoong as though he weren’t even there. “You know…” He looked back at Y/N. “You really hurt my feelings the last time we spoke.” She arched an eyebrow. “I did?” He nodded with a false pout. “You did.” He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. “I made what I thought was a very compelling threat. I pour my heart into intimidating you… and you call it a daydream.” Y/N couldn’t help smiling. “It is a daydream.” Hongjoong’s voice remained calm. “Dante. Walk away.” Dante continued to ignore him. Instead, he began slowly circling them. Unhurried. Like a predator amusing himself. Hongjoong pivoted with him, never allowing Dante behind Y/N making Dante laugh quietly before stopping directly in front of Y/N again. He tilted his head. Studying her. Really studying her. The confidence. The way she refused to shrink in front from demon nobility. “So tell me…” His voice became almost conversational. “Princess.” He paused almost for dramatic effect. Then, with unmistakable curiosity… “Does the Prince love you yet?”
Y/N didn’t answer right away. The question settled between them, swallowed by the noise of the marketplace until it almost seemed louder than the merchants shouting only a few feet away. Her mind drifted backward. His threat to Yunho. At the time she’d dismissed it. Called it a daydream. Now… After Greece. After Yunho had promised to spend eternity proving himself to her. After he’d whispered those three words without even realizing he’d said them… she wasn’t so sure the question was really for her. Her eyes lifted back to Dante and she shrugged one shoulder. “Go ask him.” Dante smiled. Not the theatrical grin he’d worn moments ago. Something quieter. Sharper. More genuine. “Interesting.” He took a slow step toward her and Hongjoong immediately moved. One smooth stride placed him squarely between them. “That’s close enough.” Dante’s eyes shifted lazily to Hongjoong, looking him up and down. Like someone acknowledging an inconvenient piece of furniture. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“You are now.” Hongjoong didn’t move. Neither did Dante as the marketplace around them had begun to notice. Conversations softened. Merchants suddenly found themselves very interested in reorganizing their displays while discreetly keeping one eye on the confrontation. No one intervened though. No one was foolish enough. Dante sighed dramatically. “I simply wanted him to remember the romise I made.” His eyes slid around Hongjoong’s shoulder until they found Y/N again and the playful amusement disappeared completely. The smile vanished from his face so suddenly it was almost jarring. And when he spoke again… there was nothing theatrical left. Only cold certainty. “Let him love you, Princess.” The words were quiet. Almost gentle. And that somehow made them infinitely worse. “It’ll make it so much more enjoyable…” His gaze never left hers. “when I peel your flesh off in front of him.”
The marketplace fell silent. Even the violinist somewhere down the street had stopped playing. And for the first time since she’d met Dante… Y/N saw no trace of humor in his eyes. He wasn’t trying to frighten her. He wasn’t boasting. He wasn’t provoking Yunho. He was simply telling her what he intended to do. Hongjoong took one deliberate step forward. “You should leave.” The warning carried enough weight that several nearby demons instinctively backed away. Dante didn’t even look at him. His eyes remained fixed on Y/N for one final second. Then black smoke erupted around him. It billowed upward in a twisting column before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared leaving nothing behind except lingering silence. Only when Hongjoong was absolutely certain Dante was gone did he slowly exhale. “Well.” Y/N was still staring at the empty spot where he’d been standing, heart hammering painfully against her ribs. Because…. She wouldn’t admit it allowed…. but he scared her. Hongjoong turned toward her, checking on her. “Are you alright?” She swallowed. “He’s insane.” Hongjoong didn’t disagree but instead corrected it a little. “No.” His eyes swept the marketplace one last time. “He’s patient.” There was a difference. And it was far more dangerous.
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The banquet hall was considerably quieter than it had been the morning Y/N had first had breakfast. Servants moved silently between tables carrying silver platters piled high with roasted meats, fresh bread, roasted vegetables, and fruit that only seemed to grow in Hell. Y/N had barely finished telling one servant she didn’t need anything else before another quietly refilled her glass anyway. She sighed. “I’m beginning to think nobody listens when I say I’m full.”
“They hear you,” Hongjoong said, reaching for another roll. “They simply choose to ignore you. They’re afraid Yunho will find out they let his wife go hungry.” Across the table, Lucifer nodded once. “They’re making the correct decision.” Y/N laughed despite herself as Seonghwa, seated beside Lucifer, reached calmly for a serving dish at the exact same moment Hongjoong did. Their hands bumped and Hongjoong narrowed his eyes. “I was reaching for that.” Seonghwa glared at him. “So was I.”
“You saw me.”
“I acknowledged your attempt.”
Hongjoong scoffed. “You’ve always been insufferable.”
“And yet,” Seonghwa replied smoothly, placing vegetables onto his own plate before sliding the dish toward Y/N instead, “you spent nearly a century following me around.”
“I was supervising.”
“You called it courting.”
“I was lying.”
“You wrote poetry.”
Hongjoong nearly choked on his drink as Lucifer didn’t even look up from cutting into his dinner. “It was dreadful poetry.” Y/N looked between the two of them before bursting into laughter. “You two are unbelievable.” Hongjoong sneered at Seonghwa. “We’re divorced,” he answered. “As though we could forget,” Lucifer muttered and the familiar rhythm settled over the table with surprising ease. For all their bickering, there was an odd comfort to it. Like watching people who had argued for centuries and simply accepted it as part of life. Lucifer finally leaned back in his chair, swirling the dark wine in his glass before looking toward Y/N. “So. Why, exactly…” His brow lifted. “did you and my son decide leaving Wooyoung alone in my villa with an archangel was a sensible idea?” Y/N blinked, shaking her head. “We didn’t really decide. It just…” She smiled sheepishly. “…kind of happened.” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. “That is somehow less reassuring.” Y/N laughed. “They needed a place to hide. Wooyoung said God is… pretty pissed.”
Silence. So thick the air suddenly could have suffocated someone. Then… Lucifer snorted. Actually snorted. The sound startled everyone at the table as he leaned back farther in his chair, shaking his head with a smile that looked remarkably familiar to Yunho’s. “My father…” He took another drink. “has always been…” He searched for the right word before looking at Y/N. “well…” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “a conservative asshole, as you would say up top.”
Hongjoong immediately covered his mouth to hide a laugh as Y/N failed completely. Seonghwa merely sighed, though there was the faintest hint of amusement in his expression. “I imagine,” he said, “that is not how the scriptures describe Him.”
“They tend to leave out the inconvenient parts,” Lucifer replied dryly as Y/N tilted her head. “You still call him your father.” Lucifer’s fingers paused around the stem of his glass. And for just a moment, something unreadable crossed his face. “I do.” The King of Hell was quiet for several seconds. “Because…” His voice was calm. “before humanity ever gave Him titles…” He glanced back at her. “He was simply my father.” The words settled over the table as Lucifer took another slow sip before a crooked smile returned. “Unfortunately…” He looked toward Y/N again. “being someone’s father has never guaranteed their pleasant company.” The conversation around the table begun to find its rhythm again when the massive doors at the far end of the banquet hall groaned open and every servant in the room straightened almost instinctively. Boots echoed against polished obsidian as Yunho strolled in. His fitted jacket hung open over a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. His silver hair was slightly tousled, as though he’d been running his hands through it for most of the day, and despite the composed expression he wore entering the room, the moment his eyes found Y/N… he softened. Lucifer didn’t even bother hiding his amusement. “You almost missed dinner.”
Yunho didn’t look away from his wife. “I know.” He reached the table, slowing behind Y/N’s chair. She turned toward him just as his hand came to rest lightly against the back of her seat. ““There you are,” she said, smiling. “Here I am.” Without hesitation, he leaned down, hand brushing gently against her jaw as he kissed her. When he pulled back, his forehead lingered against hers for the briefest moment. “You have a good afternoon?” he asked quietly. She smiled, hiding the way she wanted…. Knew… she would have to tell him about Dante. “I got my nails done.” His eyes immediately dropped to where her hand rested on the table. “You did.” She couldn’t help grinning as she held them up for inspection. “What do you think?” Yunho took her hand without a second thought. Turning it carefully beneath the crimson chandelier light. The glossy black shifted. Deep crimson shimmered beneath the surface like embers trapped beneath glass. The silver detailing caught the light as though liquid metal had frozen across each nail. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “They’re beautiful.” His thumb traced lightly across the side of her hand before he looked back up at her. Only this time his eyes had darkened, voice dropping so only she could hear. “I think we should… test them out later.” It took Y/N a moment to register what he meant and when she did, she smirked, turning away from him and picking her wine glass up to not make anything obvious that her husband wanted her to scratch him.
Lucifer watched the entire exchange over the rim of his own wineglass. He heard every word his son said. Yunho finally released Y/N’s hand, though only so he could pull out the chair beside her. As he sat, his knee bumped lightly against hers beneath the table. Then his hand moved, resting on her thigh. Y/N felt the gentle pressure beneath the table and glanced sideways at Yunho who was already reaching for a plate as though nothing had happened. Completely innocent as his hand started rubbing against her thigh over her dress. Only the corner of his mouth betrayed him and she smiled to herself and let him shove a bite of steak into his mouth as he continued to move his hand higher up her thigh.
Y/N found herself watching Yunho more than her own dinner. He now sat beside her with one arm resting comfortably along the back of her chair, the other still occupied with his meal, every so often glancing sideways to make sure she was actually eating too. It was such an ordinary thing. So ordinary that it almost made her forget the marketplace. Forget Dante. Forget the way his smile had disappeared before he’d spoken. She looked down at her plate, turning her fork through the vegetables without really seeing them. She had to tell him. She just… she wanted one more minute where everything felt normal. Across the table, Hongjoong noticed. He watched Y/N for another few seconds before looking at Yunho. “Dante threatened her today.” The room stopped. Yunho’s fork never reached his mouth. It simply froze. The quiet clink of silver against porcelain echoed through the banquet hall as he slowly set it back onto his plate. Lucifer didn’t speak. He merely turned his head toward his son. Watching. Waiting. Anticipating the storm before the first crack of thunder. Beside him, Seonghwa grew unnaturally still. Even the servants standing along the walls seemed to instinctively stop moving.
Y/N’s heart sank. She’d wanted to tell him herself. Yunho didn’t look at Hongjoong. He looked at her. His voice, when it came, was almost impossibly way too calm. “What did he say to you?” She swallowed as her fingers tightened around the stem of her wineglass. “He…” The words caught in her throat. “He asked me…” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “if you loved me yet.” Yunho didn’t blink. Didn’t interrupt. Just listened. “Then…” She looked down for only a moment before continuing. “He said…” Her voice grew quieter. “to let you love me…” The rest refused to come. She could still hear Dante saying it. Still see the complete absence of emotion in his eyes. She opened her mouth but nothing came out so Hongjoong answered for her. “So that it’ll be more enjoyable when he peels her flesh off in front of you.” His voice was flat. “His exact words in fact.” No one moved. The fire in the enormous hearth cracked softly as Lucifer refused to take his eyes off Yunho. He’d seen that expression before. Y/N reached toward Yunho hesitantly, her fingers brushing lightly against the back of his hand. “Yunho…”
His hand turned beneath hers, quietly threading their fingers together. His grip wasn’t painful. It wasn’t even tight. It was steady. Grounding. He looked at her. “Did he touch you?” She shook her head immediately. “No. Hongjoong made sure of it.” Yunho gave the smallest nod. Then, for the first time since Hongjoong had spoken… he looked across the table at Hongjoong. “You were with her the entire time?”
“I was.”
“And after he left?”
“I searched the district.” Hongjoong held his gaze without hesitation. “He was gone.” Yunho looked toward the windows overlooking the sprawling lights of Hell. His expression remaining unnervingly composed. Lucifer recognized it immediately. It was the same look he would get. His son wasn’t deciding whether to act. He was deciding how.
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The walk back to their chambers was unusually quiet. Not uncomfortable. Just… quiet. The corridors of the palace stretched endlessly before them, polished black stone reflecting the glow of crimson sconces mounted high along the walls. Their footsteps echoed softly through the empty halls while servants respectfully stepped aside as the Prince and Princess of Hell passed. Y/N stole glances at Yunho more than once. He hadn’t raised his voice at dinner. Hadn’t stormed from the table the table in search of Dante. If anything… that worried her more. When the heavy doors to their chambers swung closed behind them with a deep, resonating thud, the silence seemed to settle around them all over again as Y/N turned toward him. “Yunho…” He slipped his jacket from his shoulders, draping it over the back of a chair before loosening the top button of his shirt. “I don’t want you doing something reckless because of what Dante said.” She took a cautious step closer. “Yunho…”
“I don’t want to talk about Dante.” His voice wasn’t cold. It was simply… decided as he turned to face her fully, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I’d rather talk about something else.” He withdrew a small black velvet box. Y/N stared at it. “What’s that?” A faint smile touched his lips. “I had something made.” Her eyes widened as he opened the box and nestled against the midnight velvet rested a ring unlike anything she’d ever seen. The band was forged from polished black obsidian metal, smooth as glass and dark enough to swallow the firelight surrounding them. Delicate feathers, each carved with astonishing detail, wrapped gracefully around the band, their curved forms embracing a breathtaking pear shaped gemstone at the center. The stone shimmered with impossible color. In one moment it was the brilliant turquoise of sunlit Mediterranean water. Then she shifted slightly and the blue deepened becoming the rich sapphire of the sea beneath the surface. Exactly like…. “Melissani.” She barely breathed the word as Yunho smiled. “I hoped you’d recognize it.” Her eyes never left the ring. The tiny marquise cut stones surrounding the center gem caught the light like scattered reflections dancing across water. It was Greece. The cave. Their honeymoon. That peaceful afternoon where the world had disappeared and, for a little while. Only them.
She looked up at him, speechless. “When…”
“The day after we saw the cave. After we met that old couple.” He admitted it almost sheepishly. “I contacted the royal jeweler.”
“You…”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” His thumb brushed gently across the velvet box. “I wanted you to have something that reminded you of the happiest place you’ve ever been.” Y/N felt tears prick unexpectedly at the corners of her eyes. “You’ve been carrying this around all day?” He nodded. “I wanted tonight to be perfect.” She laughed softly through the emotion building in her chest. “I don’t think today qualifies as perfect.”
“No.” His smile became smaller. “But this part can.” He lifted the ring from its box then reached for her hand. His fingers were warm against hers as he carefully slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Not too loose. Not too tight. As though it had always belonged there. The blue stone caught the firelight immediately, sending ripples of turquoise and sapphire dancing across the walls around them. Y/N stared at it unable to look away. “It’s…” Her voice cracked. “…beautiful.” She turned her hand slowly beneath the light, watching the colors shift exactly the way the water had beneath the opening in the cave. Then… something else caught her attention. Her eyes drifted from her own hand… to his. “Yunho. You have one.” Only now did she notice the ring resting on his left hand. The band matched hers. Black obsidian metal polished to a mirror sheen. But instead of feathers embracing a gemstone, tiny sculpted horns and feathers chased one another around the entire band in an endless circular pattern. Over and over and over again. The marks the covenant had carved into their wrists the day he chose to save her. Yunho glanced down at it almost absentmindedly as she stepped closer, taking his hand between both of hers as she studied the ring. “The horns…” He nodded. “And the feathers…” She smiled, tears finally slipping free. “So we’re carrying each other.” His expression softened in a way that still amazed her every time she saw it. “Exactly.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They simply stood there, hands intertwined, the blue stone catching the firelight between them. Yunho lifted her hand and pressed a gentle kiss against her knuckles, just beneath the new ring. “No matter where we are.” His eyes met hers. “Whether it’s this palace… or a cave in Greece… or somewhere neither of us has seen yet…” His thumb brushed over the feathered band. “I wanted you to have something that would always remind you…” A quiet smile crossed his face. “…that you are home to me.” Y/N didn’t wait another second. She surged forward, fisting the front of Yunho’s shirt and yanking him into a hard, open mouthed kiss. Their teeth clicked before his tongue slid against hers, tasting the lingering sweetness of wine making him groan into her mouth, hands immediately sliding down to grip her waist, then lower, palms spreading over her ass as he lifted her clean off the floor letting her legs wrap around him as Yunho carried her across the room without breaking the kiss.
The moment her back hit the mattress he was on her, mouth devouring hers again while his hands worked at the zipper of her dress. Fabric tore slightly in his haste but he didn’t care. “I’ll buy you another one.” He promised and she laughed breathlessly as they stripped each other fast and messy. Her dress hit the floor. His shirt followed. Pants and underwear were shoved down in one motion. When they were finally naked, Y/N pushed him onto his back and climbed over him. She straddled his hips but stayed upright on her knees, leaning down to press open mouthed kisses across his chest. Her tongue tracing the hard line of muscle, teeth grazing a nipple before she sucked it between her lips. Her new nails dragged down his torso, red lines blooming in their wake. Yunho’s abs jumped under the touch as he watched her with dark, hungry eyes, one hand sliding into her hair, the other gripping her thigh. “Fuck…” he muttered. “You remember what I said at dinner?” She lifted her head, lips shiny, glancing at her nails and smirked. “You told me to test them out later.” His dick twitched against her inner thigh. “Do it.”
Yunho sat up in one fluid motion, hands sliding under her ass as he lifted her again, turning them so her back hit the pillows. He settled between her spread thighs, dick heavy and aching against her slick folds. No teasing. No slow build. The rings on their fingers caught the low light as he grabbed her hips and lined himself up and sank into her in one long, deep thrust. Y/N’s mouth fell open on a broken moan as the stretch burned in the best way. Her walls fluttered around him buried inside her. Yunho didn’t move at first. He just stayed deep, forehead pressed to hers, breathing hard. “Been thinking about this since you showed me…” he growled. “Since you sat there at the table letting me feel you up while everyone was eating. Couldn’t stop imagining how they’d feel digging into me.” He pulled back and thrust again, slow, deliberate, grinding his hips so the tip of his dick dragged against that perfect spot inside her making Y/N’s hands fly to his shoulders, nails biting into the muscle there. The sharp points pressed in, and Yunho’s eyes fluttered shut for a second. “That’s it,” he praised, voice rough. “Mark me up, baby. Show me how good I’m fucking you.”
He kept the pace measured at first, each thrust deep and rolling. Y/N’s legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him closer. Every time he bottomed out she gasped, nails scraping down his shoulders in long, stinging lines. The red welts stood out against his skin as Yunho hissed through his teeth but didn’t slow down. “Harder,” she begged, voice already shaking. “Please, baby….” He answered by snapping his hips faster. The bed creaking under the force. Skin slapping against skin as Y/N’s nails raked down his back now, leaving angry red trails that made him growl. The sound vibrated through his chest and straight into her. “Fuck…. yes, just like that,” he groaned. “Dig those pretty claws in. I want to feel you tomorrow when I’m walking around the banquet. Want everyone to know my wife owns me.” Y/N cried out, back arching. Her walls clenched around him rhythmically as Yunho fucked her through it, relentless, hips pistoning. Sweat slicking their bodies as her nails dragged lower, across his ass, then his ribs, his chest, then up again to his shoulders. Each scratch pulling another filthy sound from his throat.
He panted against her mouth. “I love you. Love how tight you are around me. Love how you take every inch like you were made for it. Made for me. Love these fucking nails tearing me apart while I ruin you.” He shifted his angle, grinding deep on every thrust so his pelvis rubbed her clit and Y/N’s thighs started to shake. Her nails sank in harder, almost drawing blood but Yunho didn’t care. He wanted it. Needed the proof that she was here, real, his. And he was hers. “Come for me,” he ordered, voice low and commanding. “Come on, baby. Let me feel it.” She shattered with a broken sob of his name. Her pussy clamping down hard, pulsing around him in hot, wet waves as Yunho kept thrusting through it, fucking her through every aftershock, forehead pressed to hers, eyes locked on her face. “Fuck, I love you,” he groaned. “Love you so much….. fuck…” His rhythm faltered and he slammed into her one last time and stayed buried to the hilt as he came, dick throbbing as he kept rocking through it, pushing every drop deeper while her walls milked him and Y/N whimpered at the heat, nails still digging into his shoulders, holding him close. They stayed like that for a long while, panting, foreheads together, bodies locked as Yunho’s hands stroked her sides, gentle now, thumbs brushing over the marks he’d left on her hips and pressed soft kisses to her cheeks, her nose, her lips.
He eased out slowly, watching his cum leak from her before he gathered her into his arms and rolled them so she was draped over his chest. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her back while her nails, now gentler, stroked over the scratches she’d given him. “I do. I Love you,” he said again, quieter this time, like a promise. “More than anything.” Y/N nuzzled into his neck, breathing him in. The rings on their joined hands glinted in the low light, a quiet reminder of the bond they’d sealed. Outside, Hell continued its chaos, but in this room there was only the sound of their breathing and the steady beat of two hearts that had finally found home as Y/N finally, truly, said those words. “I love you too.”
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Hours later, the palace had gone quiet. The fires burning in the hearth had settled into glowing embers as Y/N slept peacefully beneath dark silk sheets. Yunho hadn’t slept. He lay on his side for a long while simply watching her. One of her hands rested against the pillow between them, the ring catching the faint light every time she shifted in her sleep. Loose strands of hair had fallen across her face, and every now and then she’d murmur something unintelligible before settling again. Carefully, so carefully she wouldn’t wake, he brushed the hair back from her cheek, thumb lingering there for a moment. Then he quietly slipped from the bed. He pulled back on his discard’s pants, not bothering with his shirt, and crossed the chambers barefoot before easing open the balcony doors. Cool night air drifted inside. The city of Hell stretched endlessly below, rivers of molten light winding between towering black spires while distant thunder rolled somewhere beyond the mountains.
Yunho rested both hands on the stone railing. “Garrett.” The name disappeared into the night but nothing happened. “Garett. Don’t make me say it again.” A second later… black smoke erupted near the edge of the balcony and a tall figure stepped from it, adjusting the cuffs of an expensive charcoal suit with an expression that suggested profound irritation. Garrett sighed dramatically. “I was in the middle of an SNL after party.” Yunho didn’t turn around. “He threatened her again.” Garrett’s expression changed. Not to surprise. To understanding. His eyes flicked toward the open balcony doors. Through them, he could just make out Y/N asleep beneath the covers. He looked back at Yunho. “So….. how do you want me to do it?”
Yunho said nothing. Garrett didn’t need him to. There was no need to explain.
They both knew who he meant. Dante’s succubus lover. The woman Garrett had been watching ever since Yunho had given the order before his honeymoon.
Yunho remained silent as he looked back through the open doors. His gaze settled on Y/N. She’d rolled slightly onto her side. One hand now rested beneath her cheek. Completely unaware of the conversation taking place only outside their chambers. Garrett followed his line of sight as Yunho’s voice lowered. “Just make it quick.” Garrett studied him for another moment. “You know Dante will know why.”
“I know.”
“He’ll come after you.”
“I know.”
“He’ll probably come after her harder.”
Yunho finally met Garrett’s eyes. “He already is.” The words hung in the air between them and Garrett gave a single nod. “No suffering?” Yunho looked back toward the bedroom. “No. No messages either. No spectacle.” Garrett inclined his head. “It’ll be over before she knows it.” The smoke began gathering around him once more and just before he disappeared, he stopped. “For what it’s worth…” Yunho looked over. “You’re better than I. If Dante threatened the woman I loved….” He smirked darkly. “I’d skin that succubus in front of him after I let her starve.” Then both he and the smoke vanished into the Hellish night leaving Yunho alone on the balcony. The wind tugged gently at his hair as he stared out over his kingdom.
Behind him, from inside the chambers, Y/N stirred softly in her sleep again. He closed his eyes for a brief moment. Then turned and quietly went back inside, easing the balcony doors shut behind him before returning to the bed, slipping beneath the covers and wrapping an arm around her as though, for just a few hours, he could keep the rest of Hell outside.
tags: explicit smut + public fingering + I am terrible at accents + prompt game: open
"Si, baby, can you please help me with the zipper?" You asked through the slanted door of the dressing room you stood in staring at the mirror, knowing that the clerk had finally left your husband alone.
Simon stepped inside and shut the door, making the room so much smaller, his big broad shoulders touched each wall as he moved to stand behind you, and his thick fingers zipped up your dress slowly.
Your gazes met in the mirror, making you smile.
His hands slid around your waist as he dipped his head down and brushed his lips against your neck. "I love the dress, fits perfectly." Simon's voice thickened as he stared at you while he trailed his fingers down to bunch the silken fabric higher, exposing your legs and thighs.
"You're going to get us in so much trouble!" You laughed quietly and melted in his arms, leaning into him while letting Simon slip his hand past the elastic band of your panties to stroke your pussy slowly, teasing your hole with one fat finger, making you moan softly.
Simon's free hand covered your mouth. "You don't want to get caught, d'you, love?" He drawled in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You shook your head and bucked your hips, desperately wanting more.
"Good girl."
Those two words flooded your cunt with sticky slick that he gathered with his fingers to swirl against your clit that throbbed against his touch. Simon knew your body like a map, knew what places to touch to turn you into such a mess for him.
Being married for a few years will do that.
It had to be quick because the saleswoman could come back.
"How is the dress working?" She startled you when her voice floated between the slants that hid what was happening. Simon let go of your mouth and nodded to let you talk.
You cleared your throat and gasped when Simon sank a single finger inside you. "Fine! Thanks!" Your voice wavered only a little bit.
Silence filled the air, but you still waited a few minutes before you moved and grasped Simon's wrist, silently begging him to add another finger, and he did, which he curled and then fucked you fast.
In the small room, the wet squelching sounded so much louder.
Your nails dug into his arms as you tipped your head back, fucking yourself on his thick fingers, trying to hurry up and cum because you did not want to get caught in a predicament like this. "Cum for me."
Simon's soft demand whispered in your ear made your cunt clench tight around him, letting your climax wash over you. Again, he covered your mouth to muffle your moans while still fingering you to draw it out.
"Did I help with the dress?" Simon asked with a crooked grin as you peeled yourself away from the best you could in the small space.
"More than that, now unzip it and get out before we get in trouble."
summary: she was a one night stand until he saved her life now they’re bound for eternity
warning: dom yunho, sub reader, nail kink, slight pain kink, unprotected sex, creampie
genre: dark romance, supernatural, smut
pairing: prince of hell yunho x afab human reader
word count: 9.9k
chp 6
chp 8 coming soon
masterlist
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Lucifer sat perfectly still in one of the oldest chambers in Pandemonium. The meditation room was silent enough that even the floating candle flames seemed unwilling to crackle. Ancient runes glowed beneath him in a wide circle etched into the black stone floor, their silver light rising and falling with each measured breath he took as the doors opened. “Your Majesty…” Without opening his eyes, Lucifer sighed. “Seonghwa…”
“Yes, sire?”
“What have I told you?”
Seonghwa remained standing just inside the doorway, hands folded neatly behind his back. “Don’t interrupt you while you’re meditating.”
“And what,” Lucifer asked patiently, “are you doing?”
“Interrupting you while you’re meditating.”
One amber eye cracked open. “I appreciate that you’ve stopped arguing with me.”
“I’ve learned it saves time.”
Lucifer hummed. “I suppose it does.” Seonghwa inclined his head. “The final arrangements have been completed.” Lucifer’s expression didn’t change. “The ballroom?”
“Prepared.”
“The guests?”
“Invitations accepted.”
“The musicians?”
“Waiting.”
“The kitchens?”
“Already at work.”
“Good.”
Seonghwa waited another moment before continuing. “Prince Yunho and Y/N returned approximately ten minutes ago.” Lucifer’s other eye opened. “They’re back?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
In one smooth movement, Lucifer rose to his feet. The glowing runes beneath him faded into the polished black floor as he adjusted the cuffs of his dark coat as a grin slowly spread across his face. “Come.” Seonghwa already knew where they were going. “Must we? Last time I walked into their chambers unannounced I found your daughter in law gripping your sons horn while…”
“Please stop talking.” Lucifer looked over one shoulder. “My son has just returned from his honeymoon.” Lucifer’s grin widened. “I haven’t seen him in days.”
“You’ve been scrying on him.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“It should.”
“It doesn’t.”
Before Seonghwa could argue further, Lucifer had already stepped into the corridor and with a quiet sigh that suggested centuries of experience dealing with this exact sort of behavior, Seonghwa followed. The walk through the palace was surprisingly short. Royal guards stationed around the corridor outside the prince’s chambers bowed immediately, stepping aside without a word. Lucifer didn’t bother knocking. He simply pushed the massive doors open and walked inside. The chambers were warm, filled with the familiar scent of sandalwood and old books. Several travel bags rested near the entrance as Yunho stood beside the wardrobe with his back partially turned, stacking the last of their luggage neatly against the wall, looking up at the sound of the door opening. “Father.”
From somewhere deeper in the chambers came the unmistakable rush of running water. The shower. Y/N was humming softly to herself behind the closed bathroom door, completely unaware they had visitors. Lucifer simply looked at his son. Really looked at him. The first thing he noticed wasn’t the luggage. Or the faint scent of the Mediterranean sea that still clung to his clothes. It wasn’t even Y/N’s scent woven so naturally into his own that, for the first time, Lucifer could no longer tell where one ended and the other began. No. It was his face. Four hundred years. Four centuries of watching Yunho carry the weight of immortality like a chain around his neck. Four hundred years of carefully hidden loneliness. Of duty. Of restraint. Of convincing himself he was destined to outlive anyone he dared care about. That burden…. was gone. Not completely but Lucifer knew better than anyone that love came with its own fears. But the emptiness that had lived behind his son’s eyes for centuries had vanished and in its place was something quieter.
Lucifer’s smile softened before he could stop it. He had seen that look only once before. A small cottage in Korea. Wildflowers growing outside the window. A stubborn young witch laughing because she’d just thrown salt at the Devil himself. He remembered catching his own reflection in a bucket of water days later. He had worn that same expression. He hadn’t realized it then. Not until years afterward. The same impossible softness. The same quiet certainty. The same terrifying realization that someone else’s happiness had somehow become more important than his own. Lucifer looked back at his son. “Well.”
Yunho frowned. “What?”
Lucifer folded his arms. “It finally happened.” Yunho stared at his father with a brow raised. “What did?” Lucifer’s smile became almost unbearably knowing. “You’ve fallen exactly as hard as I did. A rarety for those like us.” Yunho opened his mouth. Closed it. Then glanced instinctively toward the bathroom, where the water was still running beyond the closed door as Lucifer laughed. A rich, genuine laugh that echoed through the chambers. “There it is.”
Yunho looked back at him. “What?”
“That.” Lucifer pointed directly at him. “You looked toward the bathroom before you answered me.” Yunho frowned harder. “So?”
“So,” Lucifer said, unable to stop smiling, “four hundred years ago, every time someone asked me a question…” He nodded toward the bathroom door. “I looked to wherever your mother happened to be standing before I answered.” Yunho glanced back towards the bathroom as his father’s expression softened again. “You don’t even realize you’re doing it.” Yunho simply stood there in the middle of his chambers, surrounded by half unpacked luggage, listening to the distant sound of Y/N humming to herself in the shower. And somewhere deep down, he realized his father was right.
Lucifer let the silence linger for another few seconds, studying his son with an expression that had softened into something almost impossible for anyone outside the room to witness. It wasn’t the calculating gaze of the King of Hell. It wasn’t the ancient predator who had ruled Pandemonium since before most civilizations had learned to write. It was simply a father looking at his child and quietly appreciating that, after four centuries, the loneliness he’d watched consume him had finally begun to loosen its grip. Then, inevitably, the softness disappeared beneath a grin. “Now then.” Yunho sighed. “What.”
“I have news.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Lucifer clasped his hands behind his back, casually strolling farther into the chambers as though he owned the place. Which, technically… he did. “I’ve arranged a welcome banquet.” Yunho groaned. “You’ve arranged what?”
“A welcome banquet.”
“I heard that part.”
“It’s in Y/N’s honor.”
Yunho closed the wardrobe doors with considerably more force than necessary before slowly turning to face his father. “Father.”
“What?”
“We just got back.”
“I know.”
“Less than fifteen minutes ago.”
“I know.”
“The woman you’re throwing the banquet for is currently in the bathroom trying to wash the sand from Greece out of her hair.”
“I know.”
“And your solution to that…” Yunho gestured broadly around the room. “was to invite all of Hell over?” Lucifer looked genuinely confused. “Not all of Hell. Just the important people.” Yunho stared at him in exasperation. “That’s somehow worse.” Seonghwa, who had been quiet this entire time, remained near the doorway, wisely saying nothing Lucifer continued as though his son hadn’t spoken. “She’s the Princess of Hell now.”
“I know.”
“She’s my daughter in law.”
“I am aware.”
“The kingdom should meet her properly.”
“They’ve met her.”
“They’ve seen her.” Lucifer corrected him with a raised finger. “Those are two entirely different things.” Yunho rubbed both hands down his face. “Father…” Lucifer smiled. “Everything has already been arranged.”
“Cancel it.”
“No.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Father.”
“Son.”
Yunho exhaled sharply through his nose. “She doesn’t even know this place really yet.” His voice had lost its irritation now, replaced by something quieter. “She’s still adjusting. Not to mention how when someone bows to her and she looks behind herself because she thinks they’re greeting someone else.” Yunho’s gaze drifted unconsciously toward the bathroom door again, where the faint sound of running water still filled the chambers. “I don’t want her overwhelmed.” For the first time since entering the chambers, Lucifer’s expression grew thoughtful. He hadn’t been considering politics. Or appearances. Or royal expectations. He’d simply been excited. Excited to introduce the woman who had somehow managed to do what nothing else in four hundred years ever had. He looked at his son again. Really looked at him. Every objection Yunho had made… not one of them had been about himself. Not once had he complained about attending another royal function. Not once had he mentioned how exhausted he was after traveling. Every single concern had been for Y/N.
Lucifer smiled to himself. There it was again. Without realizing it… his son had started measuring the world by someone else’s comfort. “I can postpone it until tomorrow evening,” Lucifer said at last and Yunho blinked shocked. “Really?”
“I am capable of compromise.”
Seonghwa coughed politely. “Occasionally.” Lucifer ignored him. “Which brings me to the second reason I came.” Yunho’s expression immediately became suspicious again. “There was a first?”
“There were several.” Lucifer’s smile faded just enough for Yunho to recognize the shift. “Eres stopped by while you were away.” The room grew noticeably quieter as Yunho’s relaxed posture straightened. “Eres.”
“He wished to offer his congratulations.”
Yunho let out a humorless breath. “I’m sure he did.”
“He seemed… disappointed you hadn’t returned yet.”
“I imagine he was.”
Lucifer watched his son’s face carefully. “He also informed me his daughter is very distraught with your new wife.” Another long silence settled over the chambers. Behind the bathroom door, Y/N’s quiet humming continued, blissfully unaware that her name was already moving through the highest circles of Hell. Yunho’s eyes drifted toward the sound for only a moment before returning to his father. His voice, when he finally spoke, was calm. “Keep her away from her.” Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “Estrie is just…. different.”
“She’s a psychopath.” Yunho snapped and for a moment, neither Lucifer nor Seonghwa spoke. “I’ll have a word with Eres before the banquet.” Lucifer promised as the steady rush of water from the bathroom stopped. All three men looked instinctively toward the closed door and Yunho’s expression changed instantly. “She’s finished.” Lucifer followed his son’s gaze before an amused smile spread across his face. “I gathered as much.” A cabinet door opened somewhere inside the bathroom. Glass bottles clicking softly against marble. Drawers sliding open. The unmistakable sounds of someone finishing a shower. Yunho looked back at his father. “You should probably…”
“I should.” Lucifer nodded in complete agreement. “I have no desire to be standing in my son’s chambers when my daughter in law walks out wrapped in nothing but a towel.” Seonghwa cleared his throat. “I was trying very hard not to be the one to say it.”
“You shouldn’t have to.” Lucifer adjusted the cuffs of his jacket before making his way toward the door. As he passed Yunho, he paused just long enough to clap a hand against his son’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you.” There wasn’t a hint of teasing in his voice this time. Just quiet sincerity. Yunho met his father’s eyes for a brief moment before giving a small nod. “Thanks.” Lucifer smiled once more before heading for the doorway as Seonghwa inclined his head politely toward the prince. “I’ll have preparations adjusted for tomorrow evening.”
“I appreciate it.”
The massive doors swung shut behind them with a muted thud just as Y/N stepped out of the bathroom, a large black towel wrapped securely around her, another smaller one draped over her shoulders as she rubbed at her damp hair. Wisps of steam escaped around her, carrying the scent of lavender and sandalwood into the room as she looked around curiously. “Were you talking to someone?” Yunho couldn’t help smiling. “My father.” He walked over, gently taking the smaller towel from around her shoulders before beginning to dry the ends of her hair himself. “They left about five seconds before you came out.” Y/N let him keep drying at her hair with the towel before brushing past him towards the wardrobe. Yunho watched her, moving to lean against the dark marbled vanity. She glanced towards him with an easy smile. “Would you hand me that brush?” He reached across the vanity, passing it to her before quietly. “I know you can hear me pretending not to watch,” he admitted as she dropped the towel she had on.
A laugh escaped her. “I was wondering how long that would last.” With an amused shake of her head, she tossed the towel onto the nearby chair and began getting dressed without the slightest hint of self consciousness around him. There was something different now. Greece had changed them both. The uncertainty that had existed between them in those first days after the binding had disappeared completely now, replaced by an effortless comfort. She slipped into a flowing black crocheted dress that hugged her figure she got back in Athens, falling gracefully to her ankles. The intricate weave caught the light, while the elegant cutouts at her waist and neckline gave it an almost regal quality without sacrificing its relaxed, vacation inspired feel. She adjusted the halter at the back of her neck before running her fingers through her still damp hair. “Well?” Yunho stared at her for several seconds… just simply stared making her fold her arms. “You’re supposed to say something.” He kept staring. “I am.” Still nothing until he cleared his throat. “I’m just trying to remember how.” Her cheeks warmed, rolling her eyes. “You see me naked all the time.” His eyes slowly traveled back to hers. “Not my fault you somehow manage to look like royalty in literally everything you put on.” She smiled despite herself. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He grinned. “It was.” He walked over, gently brushing an imaginary crease from the side of her dress before resting his hands lightly on her waist. “You look beautiful.” Her smile softened. “Thank you.” For a quiet moment they simply stood there together. Then Yunho remembered. “My dad wasn’t just here to annoy me.” Y/N snorted. “I’m shocked.”
“He postponed the banquet until tomorrow evening.” Her eyebrows lifted. “Banquet?” Yunho reluctantly nodded. “A welcome banquet.” She furrowed her brows as she looked up at him. “For me?” He nodded like it was obvious looking much like his father in that moment. “For you.” She blinked. “Why?” Yunho kissed her, thumb rubbing at her chin as he grabbed it gently. “Because you’re the Princess of Hell now.” She sighed dramatically before back away from him to finish brushing her hair. “I suppose I should start getting used to things like this.” He smiled faintly before it vanished completely and she immediately noticed the change in his expression. “What?” Yunho’s gaze drifted toward the window before returning to her. “There’ll probably be someone at the banquet named Estrie.” Y/N tilted her head. “Estrie?” He nodded… hesitating for a moment. “Her father, Eres… has spent a very long time trying to convince my father that the two of us should’ve been married. Arranged marriage.” Y/N studied his face. She didn’t like where this was going. That new found possessiveness she had for him growing…. “Did you… did you two ever…” Yunho answered before she could even finish. “No.” The response came so quickly it almost overlapped her question. “Never.” She scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “I wasn’t even finished asking.”
“I know what you were asking.” He stepped closer, his expression earnest. “No.” He shook his head firmly. “Never. Not once. I never kissed her. I never fucked her. Never led her on to think otherwise.” His voice was calm, but there wasn’t the slightest trace of hesitation. “My father never accepted the proposal, and I never gave Estrie any reason to believe I wanted it.” Y/N searched his face for a long moment. “Okay.” He shook his head. “I mean it.” Y/N reached out grabbing his hand and tugging him to her. “I believe you.” He let out a slow breath of relief. She trusts him. “Eres never stopped pushing for it. And Estrie…. His expression tightened. “She… didn’t take rejection particularly well.” Y/N folded her arms loosely. “So why are you warning me?” Yunho stared at her completely serious as images flashed through his mind before he could stop them. Estrie smiling as she’d pushed a sobbing succubus into the River Styx simply because Yunho had spent one evening with her. She hadn’t even been angry. She’d smiled. And most of all….. Estrie despised humans. “Because she’s had centuries to imagine a future that doesn’t exist anymore. Decades in hoping for a betrothal.” He squeezed her hand, gently intertwining their fingers. “And I don’t know how she’s going to react when she finally meets the woman I will spend eternity with.” Y/N looked down at their joined hands before looking back up at him. “Do I need to be worried?” Yunho was quiet for a moment. “I don’t think she’ll be a danger to you while my father is present.” He offered a reassuring smile. “But if she says anything… or makes you uncomfortable…” His thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles. “I’ll kill her. I’ll send her to purgatory myself.”
Y/N stared at him for a long moment, trying to decide whether he was joking. He wasn’t though. She’d known that the moment he’d said it. He would. Without hesitation. Without remorse. If someone tried to hurt her… Yunho would become exactly what Hell had raised him to be. She squeezed his hand once before a different thought surfaced, one that had been lingering in the back of her mind ever since she’d arrived in Hell. “Can I ask you something?” His expression softened immediately. “You know you can.” She shifted her weight against the vanity. “I’ve heard all of you mention it since I’ve been here. Purgatory.” The word itself coming from her seemed to change the atmosphere of the room. The warmth in Yunho’s eyes dimmed slightly. “What is it exactly?” Silence settled between them and for a few moments, Yunho simply looked at her, deciding where to begin. “It’s not part of Hell.” Y/N frowned. “It isn’t?” He shook his head. “No.” He guided her over toward the sofa near the fireplace, taking a seat before gently pulling her down into his lap. Their hands remained intertwined, his thumb absentmindedly brushing across her knuckles as he searched for the right words. “Humans have… misunderstood a lot of things over the thousands of years they’ve written about us.” She listened carefully. “Hell…” He glanced around their chambers. “as you’ve noticed, is a kingdom.” His voice was calm. “A civilization. A home. There are cities. Families. Children. Music. Art. Markets. Schools.” He gave her a small smile. “You’ve already seen most of that. There are punishments here too. There are prisons. There are laws. But Hell itself isn’t endless torture.”
Y/N’s brow furrowed as she threaded her fingers through his hair, fingertips lightly tracing one of his horns. “Then… where did humans get that idea?” Yunho’s expression became noticeably more serious. “Purgatory.” He tightened his arms around her, leaning his head slightly into her touch. “When a demon dies… or if they get their asses exorcised up top…. their soul doesn’t remain here.” Y/N’s eyes widened. “Demons can die?” Yunho chuckled a little despite everything. “Yes…. though we’re incredibly difficult to kill. But yes. And when one of us dies…” His gaze drifted toward the fire crackling quietly across the room. “that’s where we’re sent.” Y/N swallowed, suddenly gripping his horn like she was afraid he’d be taken there right now. “Forever?” Yunho didn’t meet her gaze. “Forever.” The room seemed quieter now. Even the crackling fire suddenly felt distant. “It’s also where the worst human souls are taken. The truly cruel. The monsters. The ones whose evil wasn’t born from desperation or fear…” He looked back at her. “but choice.” Y/N felt a chill run across her skin. “The images humans paint. The lakes of fire. The endless screaming. The eternal torment. The place where hope no longer exists…” His jaw tightened. “They weren’t describing Hell.” She stared at him. “Then why does everyone call it Hell?”
“A mistake. A convenient one. Humans rarely understand the difference.” He leaned back against the sofa, pulling her with him. “Most religions merged the two places together over time. So they became the same thing. But they never were.” Y/N was quiet for a long moment before she had to know. “Have you ever seen it?” Yunho’s seemed to drain of color. He didn’t answer for a long moment and when he did, his voice was much more quiet than before. “Once.” His eyes had grown distant. “I was young. Father took me because he believed every prince should understand exactly what awaited anyone foolish enough to betray our kingdom.” His grip tightened around her more. “I’ve never forgotten it.” He drew in a slow breath. “There are no cities. No sky. No music. No silence. Just…” He searched for a word that seemed impossible to find. “…absence.” His voice had almost become a whisper. “It strips away everything that made you who you were. Time. Identity. Memory. Hope. The suffering never ends because it was never designed to. It exists only to remind those trapped there of every choice they made. And it never lets them forget.” Y/N hadn’t realized she’d started clinging to him until her one hand had curled around the back of his neck and the other was practically holding onto his horn for dear life. “Even demons are afraid of it?” Yunho let out a humorless laugh. “Afraid?” He looked at her. “I’ve watched ancient demons who have laughed in the face of archangels go completely silent when Purgatory is mentioned.” His expression remained unreadable. “There isn’t a single demon alive who doesn’t fear dying. Not because we fear death.” His voice dropped another octave. “But…. because we know what comes after.”
“So when you said…” Y/N swallowed. “that you’d send Estrie there…” Yunho met her eyes without flinching. “I meant every word.” There wasn’t anger in his voice. There wasn’t even hatred. Only certainty. “If she ever became a threat to you… if she ever tried to…. or does hurt you….” His thumb gently stroked at her back, the tenderness of the gesture standing in stark contrast to the words that followed. “I would do whatever was necessary to make sure she never had the chance to do it again.” The room fell silent once more. Outside their chambers, the vast kingdom of Hell carried on as it always had. But somewhere far beyond its borders… beyond the cities, beyond the palace, beyond even the oldest reaches of Pandemonium… there existed another place entirely. One that even the Prince of Hell prayed he would never see again.
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Later that afternoon, the markets of Hell were every bit as alive as they had been before the honeymoon. Stone streets carved from polished black volcanic rock twisted between hundreds of storefronts, their windows glowing with warm amber light beneath crimson lanterns suspended from wrought iron brackets. Demons haggled over enchanted jewelry beside vendors selling freshly baked bread. Children darted between crowded stalls chasing one another with tiny black wings fluttering behind them while musicians played strange stringed instruments on street corners, their melodies drifting through the warm infernal air. Y/N still wasn’t sure how Hell had managed to become one of her favorite places to simply… wander. It wasn’t what she’d expected. Nothing here ever was. Hongjoong walked comfortably beside her, one hand tucked into the pocket of his tailored black trousers while the other lazily spun a pair of sunglasses around one finger. “You know,” Y/N said, glancing sideways at him, “I think Yunho secretly hired you as a bodyguard.” Hongjoong snorted. “You know he did.” They continued walking, passing an elderly demon arguing over the price of tomatoes with a farmer before Y/N suddenly stopped so abruptly that Hongjoong nearly walked into her. “What?”
She pointed across the street. “No way.” Hongjoong followed her gaze. A beautiful storefront stood nestled between a bookstore and an apothecary. The windows were decorated with black orchids and polished obsidian mirrors, elegant gold lettering across the glass reading: INFERNA BEAUTY ATELIER Hair • Nails • Glamour Magic. Y/N stared then snorted in disbelief. “There’s really a salon in Hell.” Hongjoong folded his arms. “There are several.” She slowly looked at him. “I’ve seen it all.” She grinned. “Come on.” Without waiting for an answer, she crossed the street toward the salon and Hongjoong sighed dramatically before following after her. “I knew this was going to happen.” The bell above the door chimed softly as they stepped inside. The salon was breathtaking. Dark marble floors reflected dozens of dragon bone crystal chandeliers filled with softly glowing crimson flames. Shelves lined with enchanted cosmetics stretched along one wall while plush black velvet chairs surrounded polished obsidian styling stations. The air smelled faintly of jasmine, vanilla, and something smoky that somehow worked perfectly together. Conversation throughout the salon stopped almost instantly. Every demon inside turned. And one by one they bowed. “Princess.”
Y/N immediately looked behind herself. “You really don’t have to do that.” Several of them exchanged uncertain glances but remained respectfully lowered. One of the stylists smiled nervously. “It’s tradition, Your Highness.” Y/N rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m really going to have to get used to that.” Hongjoong chuckled. “I’ve been telling you.” She shot him a look before smiling awkwardly at the salon. “So…” She clapped her hands together once. “Who can do my nails?” Three hands shot into the air at once. Another stylist nearly tripped over herself hurrying forward. “I can! I’m Cora.” She practically beamed before gently ushering Y/N toward an oversized velvet chair. “This way, Princess.” Before Y/N had even fully sat down, another appeared beside her carrying an elegant crystal glass filled with what looked suspiciously like sparkling blackberry lemonade. Y/N blinked. “I didn’t order anything.” The woman smiled warmly. “You don’t have to.” She placed the drink onto the side table before disappearing again. Y/N slowly looked toward Hongjoong. “Did she just…” Hongjoong was openly laughing now. “You outrank everyone in this room except Lucifer and Yunho.” He shrugged. “They’re going to spoil you.”
“I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“You’ll survive.”
Cora settled onto the stool opposite her, carefully laying out an impressive collection of bottles, powders, tiny brushes, and shimmering enchanted pigments. She looked up with an excited smile. “What were you thinking today, Princess?” Y/N looked over the display. Every imaginable color. Every finish. Every shape. She honestly had no idea. “I don’t know…” A grin spread across her face. “I guess…” She glanced around the salon. “something dark and twisty. I mean…. We’re literally in Hell.” Cora giggled, her crimson eyes lighting up. “I have the perfect idea.” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You do?” She nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, absolutely.” Cora immediately began selecting deep black lacquer infused with subtle garnet pigment, followed by gleaming metallic chrome powders that caught the light like polished obsidian. For the next hour, Y/N chatted easily with the stylists, learning which districts everyone lived in, hearing stories about their families, and laughing every time someone accidentally called her “Your Highness” before correcting themselves to “Princess.” By the time the final layer of glossy topcoat had cured beneath enchanted crimson lights that would hold the look for a very long time, Cora gently lifted Y/N’s hand with obvious pride. The nails were unlike anything Y/N had ever worn. Long, elegant stiletto tips gleamed like polished onyx. Deep crimson shimmered beneath the glossy black surface, almost like glowing embers trapped beneath obsidian glass. Flowing silver chrome framed each nail in sharp, organic curves, giving the illusion that molten metal had frozen around pools of dark garnet. They looked dangerous. Like they had been designed just for the Princess of Hell.
Y/N slowly turned her hand beneath the light, watching the crimson catch and shift beneath the glossy black. “These…” She looked up, grinning. “are the coolest nails I’ve ever had.” Cora beamed, clearly relieved. “I’m so happy you like them.” Hongjoong leaned over for a closer look before giving an approving nod. “They suit you.” Y/N laughed. “I don’t know whether that’s a compliment…” Hongjoong smirked. “Or a warning.”
The little brass bell above the salon door chimed softly as Y/N and Hongjoong stepped back onto the bustling streets of Hell. The warmth of the salon gave way to the lively chaos of the marketplace once again. Vendors called out daily specials from enchanted bakeries. A pair of young demons chased one another through the crowd, laughing as one accidentally knocked over a stack of pumpkins nearly twice his size before hurriedly setting them back upright with embarrassed apologies. Somewhere farther down the street, a violinist played alongside an enormous creature with four arms plucking strings on an instrument Y/N still couldn’t name. She couldn’t stop admiring her hand. Every few steps she turned it beneath the lantern light, watching the crimson beneath the glossy black shift like embers beneath obsidian. They almost looked the same shade as her father in law’s horns. “Okay,” she admitted with a grin. “These might actually be my favorite nails I’ve ever had.” Hongjoong glanced over. “You’ve looked at them twelve times.”
“Twelve?”
“You’ve been counting?”
“I was bored.”
She rolled her eyes. “I hate that you’re observant.” Hongjoong shrugged. “It’s my job.” She laughed, lifting her hand again. They’re just… really cool.” They continued weaving through the market until Hongjoong slowed and his easy smile disappeared. Y/N noticed almost immediately. “What?” He didn’t answer. His eyes had settled on someone standing farther down the street. Someone leaning lazily against one of the black stone columns bordering the marketplace. Hands tucked into his pockets. Watching them. No… watching her. Dante. And his crooked smile spread slowly as their eyes met. “There she is.” Y/N felt her own smile disappear as Hongjoong sighed under his breath. “Keep walking.” Dante pushed himself away from the column. “I think not.” He strolled toward them with the same infuriating confidence he’d carried the last time she’d seen him. Dark eyes traveling deliberately from the top of Y/N’s head… the black dress. To the fresh manicure she was still admiring moments ago. Then back to her face. “My…” His grin widened. “The prince’s wife certainly looks comfortable.” Y/N folded her arms. “Dante.”
“Princess.” He gave an exaggerated little bow that somehow managed to feel insulting rather than respectful. Hongjoong stepped smoothly between them. “Walk away.” Dante barely acknowledged him. “I’ve been trying.” His gaze drifted around Hongjoong as though he weren’t even there. “You know…” He looked back at Y/N. “You really hurt my feelings the last time we spoke.” She arched an eyebrow. “I did?” He nodded with a false pout. “You did.” He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. “I made what I thought was a very compelling threat. I pour my heart into intimidating you… and you call it a daydream.” Y/N couldn’t help smiling. “It is a daydream.” Hongjoong’s voice remained calm. “Dante. Walk away.” Dante continued to ignore him. Instead, he began slowly circling them. Unhurried. Like a predator amusing himself. Hongjoong pivoted with him, never allowing Dante behind Y/N making Dante laugh quietly before stopping directly in front of Y/N again. He tilted his head. Studying her. Really studying her. The confidence. The way she refused to shrink in front from demon nobility. “So tell me…” His voice became almost conversational. “Princess.” He paused almost for dramatic effect. Then, with unmistakable curiosity… “Does the Prince love you yet?”
Y/N didn’t answer right away. The question settled between them, swallowed by the noise of the marketplace until it almost seemed louder than the merchants shouting only a few feet away. Her mind drifted backward. His threat to Yunho. At the time she’d dismissed it. Called it a daydream. Now… After Greece. After Yunho had promised to spend eternity proving himself to her. After he’d whispered those three words without even realizing he’d said them… she wasn’t so sure the question was really for her. Her eyes lifted back to Dante and she shrugged one shoulder. “Go ask him.” Dante smiled. Not the theatrical grin he’d worn moments ago. Something quieter. Sharper. More genuine. “Interesting.” He took a slow step toward her and Hongjoong immediately moved. One smooth stride placed him squarely between them. “That’s close enough.” Dante’s eyes shifted lazily to Hongjoong, looking him up and down. Like someone acknowledging an inconvenient piece of furniture. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“You are now.” Hongjoong didn’t move. Neither did Dante as the marketplace around them had begun to notice. Conversations softened. Merchants suddenly found themselves very interested in reorganizing their displays while discreetly keeping one eye on the confrontation. No one intervened though. No one was foolish enough. Dante sighed dramatically. “I simply wanted him to remember the romise I made.” His eyes slid around Hongjoong’s shoulder until they found Y/N again and the playful amusement disappeared completely. The smile vanished from his face so suddenly it was almost jarring. And when he spoke again… there was nothing theatrical left. Only cold certainty. “Let him love you, Princess.” The words were quiet. Almost gentle. And that somehow made them infinitely worse. “It’ll make it so much more enjoyable…” His gaze never left hers. “when I peel your flesh off in front of him.”
The marketplace fell silent. Even the violinist somewhere down the street had stopped playing. And for the first time since she’d met Dante… Y/N saw no trace of humor in his eyes. He wasn’t trying to frighten her. He wasn’t boasting. He wasn’t provoking Yunho. He was simply telling her what he intended to do. Hongjoong took one deliberate step forward. “You should leave.” The warning carried enough weight that several nearby demons instinctively backed away. Dante didn’t even look at him. His eyes remained fixed on Y/N for one final second. Then black smoke erupted around him. It billowed upward in a twisting column before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared leaving nothing behind except lingering silence. Only when Hongjoong was absolutely certain Dante was gone did he slowly exhale. “Well.” Y/N was still staring at the empty spot where he’d been standing, heart hammering painfully against her ribs. Because…. She wouldn’t admit it allowed…. but he scared her. Hongjoong turned toward her, checking on her. “Are you alright?” She swallowed. “He’s insane.” Hongjoong didn’t disagree but instead corrected it a little. “No.” His eyes swept the marketplace one last time. “He’s patient.” There was a difference. And it was far more dangerous.
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The banquet hall was considerably quieter than it had been the morning Y/N had first had breakfast. Servants moved silently between tables carrying silver platters piled high with roasted meats, fresh bread, roasted vegetables, and fruit that only seemed to grow in Hell. Y/N had barely finished telling one servant she didn’t need anything else before another quietly refilled her glass anyway. She sighed. “I’m beginning to think nobody listens when I say I’m full.”
“They hear you,” Hongjoong said, reaching for another roll. “They simply choose to ignore you. They’re afraid Yunho will find out they let his wife go hungry.” Across the table, Lucifer nodded once. “They’re making the correct decision.” Y/N laughed despite herself as Seonghwa, seated beside Lucifer, reached calmly for a serving dish at the exact same moment Hongjoong did. Their hands bumped and Hongjoong narrowed his eyes. “I was reaching for that.” Seonghwa glared at him. “So was I.”
“You saw me.”
“I acknowledged your attempt.”
Hongjoong scoffed. “You’ve always been insufferable.”
“And yet,” Seonghwa replied smoothly, placing vegetables onto his own plate before sliding the dish toward Y/N instead, “you spent nearly a century following me around.”
“I was supervising.”
“You called it courting.”
“I was lying.”
“You wrote poetry.”
Hongjoong nearly choked on his drink as Lucifer didn’t even look up from cutting into his dinner. “It was dreadful poetry.” Y/N looked between the two of them before bursting into laughter. “You two are unbelievable.” Hongjoong sneered at Seonghwa. “We’re divorced,” he answered. “As though we could forget,” Lucifer muttered and the familiar rhythm settled over the table with surprising ease. For all their bickering, there was an odd comfort to it. Like watching people who had argued for centuries and simply accepted it as part of life. Lucifer finally leaned back in his chair, swirling the dark wine in his glass before looking toward Y/N. “So. Why, exactly…” His brow lifted. “did you and my son decide leaving Wooyoung alone in my villa with an archangel was a sensible idea?” Y/N blinked, shaking her head. “We didn’t really decide. It just…” She smiled sheepishly. “…kind of happened.” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. “That is somehow less reassuring.” Y/N laughed. “They needed a place to hide. Wooyoung said God is… pretty pissed.”
Silence. So thick the air suddenly could have suffocated someone. Then… Lucifer snorted. Actually snorted. The sound startled everyone at the table as he leaned back farther in his chair, shaking his head with a smile that looked remarkably familiar to Yunho’s. “My father…” He took another drink. “has always been…” He searched for the right word before looking at Y/N. “well…” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “a conservative asshole, as you would say up top.”
Hongjoong immediately covered his mouth to hide a laugh as Y/N failed completely. Seonghwa merely sighed, though there was the faintest hint of amusement in his expression. “I imagine,” he said, “that is not how the scriptures describe Him.”
“They tend to leave out the inconvenient parts,” Lucifer replied dryly as Y/N tilted her head. “You still call him your father.” Lucifer’s fingers paused around the stem of his glass. And for just a moment, something unreadable crossed his face. “I do.” The King of Hell was quiet for several seconds. “Because…” His voice was calm. “before humanity ever gave Him titles…” He glanced back at her. “He was simply my father.” The words settled over the table as Lucifer took another slow sip before a crooked smile returned. “Unfortunately…” He looked toward Y/N again. “being someone’s father has never guaranteed their pleasant company.” The conversation around the table begun to find its rhythm again when the massive doors at the far end of the banquet hall groaned open and every servant in the room straightened almost instinctively. Boots echoed against polished obsidian as Yunho strolled in. His fitted jacket hung open over a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. His silver hair was slightly tousled, as though he’d been running his hands through it for most of the day, and despite the composed expression he wore entering the room, the moment his eyes found Y/N… he softened. Lucifer didn’t even bother hiding his amusement. “You almost missed dinner.”
Yunho didn’t look away from his wife. “I know.” He reached the table, slowing behind Y/N’s chair. She turned toward him just as his hand came to rest lightly against the back of her seat. ““There you are,” she said, smiling. “Here I am.” Without hesitation, he leaned down, hand brushing gently against her jaw as he kissed her. When he pulled back, his forehead lingered against hers for the briefest moment. “You have a good afternoon?” he asked quietly. She smiled, hiding the way she wanted…. Knew… she would have to tell him about Dante. “I got my nails done.” His eyes immediately dropped to where her hand rested on the table. “You did.” She couldn’t help grinning as she held them up for inspection. “What do you think?” Yunho took her hand without a second thought. Turning it carefully beneath the crimson chandelier light. The glossy black shifted. Deep crimson shimmered beneath the surface like embers trapped beneath glass. The silver detailing caught the light as though liquid metal had frozen across each nail. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “They’re beautiful.” His thumb traced lightly across the side of her hand before he looked back up at her. Only this time his eyes had darkened, voice dropping so only she could hear. “I think we should… test them out later.” It took Y/N a moment to register what he meant and when she did, she smirked, turning away from him and picking her wine glass up to not make anything obvious that her husband wanted her to scratch him.
Lucifer watched the entire exchange over the rim of his own wineglass. He heard every word his son said. Yunho finally released Y/N’s hand, though only so he could pull out the chair beside her. As he sat, his knee bumped lightly against hers beneath the table. Then his hand moved, resting on her thigh. Y/N felt the gentle pressure beneath the table and glanced sideways at Yunho who was already reaching for a plate as though nothing had happened. Completely innocent as his hand started rubbing against her thigh over her dress. Only the corner of his mouth betrayed him and she smiled to herself and let him shove a bite of steak into his mouth as he continued to move his hand higher up her thigh.
Y/N found herself watching Yunho more than her own dinner. He now sat beside her with one arm resting comfortably along the back of her chair, the other still occupied with his meal, every so often glancing sideways to make sure she was actually eating too. It was such an ordinary thing. So ordinary that it almost made her forget the marketplace. Forget Dante. Forget the way his smile had disappeared before he’d spoken. She looked down at her plate, turning her fork through the vegetables without really seeing them. She had to tell him. She just… she wanted one more minute where everything felt normal. Across the table, Hongjoong noticed. He watched Y/N for another few seconds before looking at Yunho. “Dante threatened her today.” The room stopped. Yunho’s fork never reached his mouth. It simply froze. The quiet clink of silver against porcelain echoed through the banquet hall as he slowly set it back onto his plate. Lucifer didn’t speak. He merely turned his head toward his son. Watching. Waiting. Anticipating the storm before the first crack of thunder. Beside him, Seonghwa grew unnaturally still. Even the servants standing along the walls seemed to instinctively stop moving.
Y/N’s heart sank. She’d wanted to tell him herself. Yunho didn’t look at Hongjoong. He looked at her. His voice, when it came, was almost impossibly way too calm. “What did he say to you?” She swallowed as her fingers tightened around the stem of her wineglass. “He…” The words caught in her throat. “He asked me…” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “if you loved me yet.” Yunho didn’t blink. Didn’t interrupt. Just listened. “Then…” She looked down for only a moment before continuing. “He said…” Her voice grew quieter. “to let you love me…” The rest refused to come. She could still hear Dante saying it. Still see the complete absence of emotion in his eyes. She opened her mouth but nothing came out so Hongjoong answered for her. “So that it’ll be more enjoyable when he peels her flesh off in front of you.” His voice was flat. “His exact words in fact.” No one moved. The fire in the enormous hearth cracked softly as Lucifer refused to take his eyes off Yunho. He’d seen that expression before. Y/N reached toward Yunho hesitantly, her fingers brushing lightly against the back of his hand. “Yunho…”
His hand turned beneath hers, quietly threading their fingers together. His grip wasn’t painful. It wasn’t even tight. It was steady. Grounding. He looked at her. “Did he touch you?” She shook her head immediately. “No. Hongjoong made sure of it.” Yunho gave the smallest nod. Then, for the first time since Hongjoong had spoken… he looked across the table at Hongjoong. “You were with her the entire time?”
“I was.”
“And after he left?”
“I searched the district.” Hongjoong held his gaze without hesitation. “He was gone.” Yunho looked toward the windows overlooking the sprawling lights of Hell. His expression remaining unnervingly composed. Lucifer recognized it immediately. It was the same look he would get. His son wasn’t deciding whether to act. He was deciding how.
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The walk back to their chambers was unusually quiet. Not uncomfortable. Just… quiet. The corridors of the palace stretched endlessly before them, polished black stone reflecting the glow of crimson sconces mounted high along the walls. Their footsteps echoed softly through the empty halls while servants respectfully stepped aside as the Prince and Princess of Hell passed. Y/N stole glances at Yunho more than once. He hadn’t raised his voice at dinner. Hadn’t stormed from the table the table in search of Dante. If anything… that worried her more. When the heavy doors to their chambers swung closed behind them with a deep, resonating thud, the silence seemed to settle around them all over again as Y/N turned toward him. “Yunho…” He slipped his jacket from his shoulders, draping it over the back of a chair before loosening the top button of his shirt. “I don’t want you doing something reckless because of what Dante said.” She took a cautious step closer. “Yunho…”
“I don’t want to talk about Dante.” His voice wasn’t cold. It was simply… decided as he turned to face her fully, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I’d rather talk about something else.” He withdrew a small black velvet box. Y/N stared at it. “What’s that?” A faint smile touched his lips. “I had something made.” Her eyes widened as he opened the box and nestled against the midnight velvet rested a ring unlike anything she’d ever seen. The band was forged from polished black obsidian metal, smooth as glass and dark enough to swallow the firelight surrounding them. Delicate feathers, each carved with astonishing detail, wrapped gracefully around the band, their curved forms embracing a breathtaking pear shaped gemstone at the center. The stone shimmered with impossible color. In one moment it was the brilliant turquoise of sunlit Mediterranean water. Then she shifted slightly and the blue deepened becoming the rich sapphire of the sea beneath the surface. Exactly like…. “Melissani.” She barely breathed the word as Yunho smiled. “I hoped you’d recognize it.” Her eyes never left the ring. The tiny marquise cut stones surrounding the center gem caught the light like scattered reflections dancing across water. It was Greece. The cave. Their honeymoon. That peaceful afternoon where the world had disappeared and, for a little while. Only them.
She looked up at him, speechless. “When…”
“The day after we saw the cave. After we met that old couple.” He admitted it almost sheepishly. “I contacted the royal jeweler.”
“You…”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” His thumb brushed gently across the velvet box. “I wanted you to have something that reminded you of the happiest place you’ve ever been.” Y/N felt tears prick unexpectedly at the corners of her eyes. “You’ve been carrying this around all day?” He nodded. “I wanted tonight to be perfect.” She laughed softly through the emotion building in her chest. “I don’t think today qualifies as perfect.”
“No.” His smile became smaller. “But this part can.” He lifted the ring from its box then reached for her hand. His fingers were warm against hers as he carefully slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Not too loose. Not too tight. As though it had always belonged there. The blue stone caught the firelight immediately, sending ripples of turquoise and sapphire dancing across the walls around them. Y/N stared at it unable to look away. “It’s…” Her voice cracked. “…beautiful.” She turned her hand slowly beneath the light, watching the colors shift exactly the way the water had beneath the opening in the cave. Then… something else caught her attention. Her eyes drifted from her own hand… to his. “Yunho. You have one.” Only now did she notice the ring resting on his left hand. The band matched hers. Black obsidian metal polished to a mirror sheen. But instead of feathers embracing a gemstone, tiny sculpted horns and feathers chased one another around the entire band in an endless circular pattern. Over and over and over again. The marks the covenant had carved into their wrists the day he chose to save her. Yunho glanced down at it almost absentmindedly as she stepped closer, taking his hand between both of hers as she studied the ring. “The horns…” He nodded. “And the feathers…” She smiled, tears finally slipping free. “So we’re carrying each other.” His expression softened in a way that still amazed her every time she saw it. “Exactly.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They simply stood there, hands intertwined, the blue stone catching the firelight between them. Yunho lifted her hand and pressed a gentle kiss against her knuckles, just beneath the new ring. “No matter where we are.” His eyes met hers. “Whether it’s this palace… or a cave in Greece… or somewhere neither of us has seen yet…” His thumb brushed over the feathered band. “I wanted you to have something that would always remind you…” A quiet smile crossed his face. “…that you are home to me.” Y/N didn’t wait another second. She surged forward, fisting the front of Yunho’s shirt and yanking him into a hard, open mouthed kiss. Their teeth clicked before his tongue slid against hers, tasting the lingering sweetness of wine making him groan into her mouth, hands immediately sliding down to grip her waist, then lower, palms spreading over her ass as he lifted her clean off the floor letting her legs wrap around him as Yunho carried her across the room without breaking the kiss.
The moment her back hit the mattress he was on her, mouth devouring hers again while his hands worked at the zipper of her dress. Fabric tore slightly in his haste but he didn’t care. “I’ll buy you another one.” He promised and she laughed breathlessly as they stripped each other fast and messy. Her dress hit the floor. His shirt followed. Pants and underwear were shoved down in one motion. When they were finally naked, Y/N pushed him onto his back and climbed over him. She straddled his hips but stayed upright on her knees, leaning down to press open mouthed kisses across his chest. Her tongue tracing the hard line of muscle, teeth grazing a nipple before she sucked it between her lips. Her new nails dragged down his torso, red lines blooming in their wake. Yunho’s abs jumped under the touch as he watched her with dark, hungry eyes, one hand sliding into her hair, the other gripping her thigh. “Fuck…” he muttered. “You remember what I said at dinner?” She lifted her head, lips shiny, glancing at her nails and smirked. “You told me to test them out later.” His dick twitched against her inner thigh. “Do it.”
Yunho sat up in one fluid motion, hands sliding under her ass as he lifted her again, turning them so her back hit the pillows. He settled between her spread thighs, dick heavy and aching against her slick folds. No teasing. No slow build. The rings on their fingers caught the low light as he grabbed her hips and lined himself up and sank into her in one long, deep thrust. Y/N’s mouth fell open on a broken moan as the stretch burned in the best way. Her walls fluttered around him buried inside her. Yunho didn’t move at first. He just stayed deep, forehead pressed to hers, breathing hard. “Been thinking about this since you showed me…” he growled. “Since you sat there at the table letting me feel you up while everyone was eating. Couldn’t stop imagining how they’d feel digging into me.” He pulled back and thrust again, slow, deliberate, grinding his hips so the tip of his dick dragged against that perfect spot inside her making Y/N’s hands fly to his shoulders, nails biting into the muscle there. The sharp points pressed in, and Yunho’s eyes fluttered shut for a second. “That’s it,” he praised, voice rough. “Mark me up, baby. Show me how good I’m fucking you.”
He kept the pace measured at first, each thrust deep and rolling. Y/N’s legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him closer. Every time he bottomed out she gasped, nails scraping down his shoulders in long, stinging lines. The red welts stood out against his skin as Yunho hissed through his teeth but didn’t slow down. “Harder,” she begged, voice already shaking. “Please, baby….” He answered by snapping his hips faster. The bed creaking under the force. Skin slapping against skin as Y/N’s nails raked down his back now, leaving angry red trails that made him growl. The sound vibrated through his chest and straight into her. “Fuck…. yes, just like that,” he groaned. “Dig those pretty claws in. I want to feel you tomorrow when I’m walking around the banquet. Want everyone to know my wife owns me.” Y/N cried out, back arching. Her walls clenched around him rhythmically as Yunho fucked her through it, relentless, hips pistoning. Sweat slicking their bodies as her nails dragged lower, across his ass, then his ribs, his chest, then up again to his shoulders. Each scratch pulling another filthy sound from his throat.
He panted against her mouth. “I love you. Love how tight you are around me. Love how you take every inch like you were made for it. Made for me. Love these fucking nails tearing me apart while I ruin you.” He shifted his angle, grinding deep on every thrust so his pelvis rubbed her clit and Y/N’s thighs started to shake. Her nails sank in harder, almost drawing blood but Yunho didn’t care. He wanted it. Needed the proof that she was here, real, his. And he was hers. “Come for me,” he ordered, voice low and commanding. “Come on, baby. Let me feel it.” She shattered with a broken sob of his name. Her pussy clamping down hard, pulsing around him in hot, wet waves as Yunho kept thrusting through it, fucking her through every aftershock, forehead pressed to hers, eyes locked on her face. “Fuck, I love you,” he groaned. “Love you so much….. fuck…” His rhythm faltered and he slammed into her one last time and stayed buried to the hilt as he came, dick throbbing as he kept rocking through it, pushing every drop deeper while her walls milked him and Y/N whimpered at the heat, nails still digging into his shoulders, holding him close. They stayed like that for a long while, panting, foreheads together, bodies locked as Yunho’s hands stroked her sides, gentle now, thumbs brushing over the marks he’d left on her hips and pressed soft kisses to her cheeks, her nose, her lips.
He eased out slowly, watching his cum leak from her before he gathered her into his arms and rolled them so she was draped over his chest. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her back while her nails, now gentler, stroked over the scratches she’d given him. “I do. I Love you,” he said again, quieter this time, like a promise. “More than anything.” Y/N nuzzled into his neck, breathing him in. The rings on their joined hands glinted in the low light, a quiet reminder of the bond they’d sealed. Outside, Hell continued its chaos, but in this room there was only the sound of their breathing and the steady beat of two hearts that had finally found home as Y/N finally, truly, said those words. “I love you too.”
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Hours later, the palace had gone quiet. The fires burning in the hearth had settled into glowing embers as Y/N slept peacefully beneath dark silk sheets. Yunho hadn’t slept. He lay on his side for a long while simply watching her. One of her hands rested against the pillow between them, the ring catching the faint light every time she shifted in her sleep. Loose strands of hair had fallen across her face, and every now and then she’d murmur something unintelligible before settling again. Carefully, so carefully she wouldn’t wake, he brushed the hair back from her cheek, thumb lingering there for a moment. Then he quietly slipped from the bed. He pulled back on his discard’s pants, not bothering with his shirt, and crossed the chambers barefoot before easing open the balcony doors. Cool night air drifted inside. The city of Hell stretched endlessly below, rivers of molten light winding between towering black spires while distant thunder rolled somewhere beyond the mountains.
Yunho rested both hands on the stone railing. “Garrett.” The name disappeared into the night but nothing happened. “Garett. Don’t make me say it again.” A second later… black smoke erupted near the edge of the balcony and a tall figure stepped from it, adjusting the cuffs of an expensive charcoal suit with an expression that suggested profound irritation. Garrett sighed dramatically. “I was in the middle of an SNL after party.” Yunho didn’t turn around. “He threatened her again.” Garrett’s expression changed. Not to surprise. To understanding. His eyes flicked toward the open balcony doors. Through them, he could just make out Y/N asleep beneath the covers. He looked back at Yunho. “So….. how do you want me to do it?”
Yunho said nothing. Garrett didn’t need him to. There was no need to explain.
They both knew who he meant. Dante’s succubus lover. The woman Garrett had been watching ever since Yunho had given the order before his honeymoon.
Yunho remained silent as he looked back through the open doors. His gaze settled on Y/N. She’d rolled slightly onto her side. One hand now rested beneath her cheek. Completely unaware of the conversation taking place only outside their chambers. Garrett followed his line of sight as Yunho’s voice lowered. “Just make it quick.” Garrett studied him for another moment. “You know Dante will know why.”
“I know.”
“He’ll come after you.”
“I know.”
“He’ll probably come after her harder.”
Yunho finally met Garrett’s eyes. “He already is.” The words hung in the air between them and Garrett gave a single nod. “No suffering?” Yunho looked back toward the bedroom. “No. No messages either. No spectacle.” Garrett inclined his head. “It’ll be over before she knows it.” The smoke began gathering around him once more and just before he disappeared, he stopped. “For what it’s worth…” Yunho looked over. “You’re better than I. If Dante threatened the woman I loved….” He smirked darkly. “I’d skin that succubus in front of him after I let her starve.” Then both he and the smoke vanished into the Hellish night leaving Yunho alone on the balcony. The wind tugged gently at his hair as he stared out over his kingdom.
Behind him, from inside the chambers, Y/N stirred softly in her sleep again. He closed his eyes for a brief moment. Then turned and quietly went back inside, easing the balcony doors shut behind him before returning to the bed, slipping beneath the covers and wrapping an arm around her as though, for just a few hours, he could keep the rest of Hell outside.
A.N: Hi my loves! 🩷 Thank you so so much for your amazing support, you've made me so happy! 🩷I hope you'll like this one as well, and please let me know what you think🩷 ILYSM, kisses! 🩷
Pairing: Robb Stark x F!Reader
Summary: Every skill needs honing.
Word Count: 4,2k
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, suggestive themes, medieval era expectations and viewpoints on marriage and gender. MDNI- Do not read if you're under 18.
Series Masterlist
Being the lady of the castle was no easy task even under normal circumstances, and these two weeks had been nothing but chaos.
But in your opinion, you were getting much better at it.
You and Robb made quite a successful team in Lord and Lady Stark’s absence. Everything in Winterfell was being handled quite effectively; the lady guests were welcomed and entertained while the lords held meetings with Robb. Preparations for the coming winter continued in the background not only for the bannermen and their families, but also for the small folk in Wintertown and all over the north. While most northerners still saw you as an outsider, you were beginning to prove yourself, and you were certain that Silas and your father would’ve been very proud if they could see you now; you had already sent both of them ravens to tell them all about it.
And in happier news, Bran had woken up last week. Though Maester Luwin said he could never walk again, you were thankful to the gods that he was alive, everything else could be sorted out.
Needless to say, Bran didn’t see it that way.
“Have you two seen Rickon?”
Both Jon and Theon stopped eating their breakfast and looked up at you at the same time.
“Wasn’t he with you and Robb?” Jon asked and you shook your head.
“Robb went to visit Bran in his room, I figured they would want to talk alone. The last time I talked to him, he wasn’t really…” you trailed off and shrugged. “Which is expected.”
“Aye, he wasn’t really interested in talking to me either.”
“He just needs time,” Theon said. “That’s it—oh, there’s Rickon.”
You turned your head to find Rickon absolutely covered in mud, making you gasp. The little boy didn’t seem like he minded the mud on his clothes at all, judging by the toothless smile he gave you when he reached the table.
“Hello!”
“What’s happened?!” you asked, covering your mouth with your hands and he looked down at himself.
“I was playing with Shaggy.”
“In the mud?”
“Aye!”
You seemed to be the only one who was shocked at the state of him, because instead of reacting in any way, Jon just ruffled his little brother’s hair while Theon let out a laugh. Rickon grabbed a piece of cheese from Theon’s plate without even wiping his hands, then darted through the hall before you could stop him, almost crashing into Robb’s legs on his way out. Robb looked over his shoulder to check where his little brother was rushing off to, then approached you and pressed a kiss on your temple.
“Here you are,” he said and touched the small of your back before he sat down, so you took the seat next to Jon’s. “Where’s he going?”
“To the yard, I’d say,” Jon answered while you stared at the entrance, your mouth half agape.
“He’s covered in mud,” you managed to say, “and he ate food without cleaning his hands.”
“He does that.”
Your eyes widened. “But that’s not healthy!”
“He has never fallen ill his entire life,” Jon said and Robb nodded.
“Besides, it’s Rickon,” he stated as if that was enough of an explanation, and reached out to steal a piece of bread from Jon’s plate, but Jon swatted his hand away.
“Go get your own plate!”
“I’m not really hungry.”
“Then keep your hands off my food!”
“So you’re saying you won’t share your bread with me? Your brother? Your blood?”
“Aye, that’s what I’m saying—”
“Did someone at least tell Rickon that it’s not good manners to walk around covered in mud?”
“Multiple septas did.” Robb filled himself a drink and offered you, but you shook your head. “He doesn’t listen.”
“Besides, he’s northern,” Theon said. “He’s not gonna grow to be one of those flowery Reach knights with their southern manners and poems—”
“What is it with your animosity toward poetry, Greyjoy?” you asked with a frown. “Is it because you can’t read?”
“Your brother asked me the same thing—I can read!”
“Allegedly,” you pointed out, and Robb and Jon exchanged glances, both biting back identical grins. “I’ve heard Ironborn look down on literacy to the point of accusing people who can read as sorcerers.”
“Well, seeing the raids on the Reach, we’re still better fighters than—”
“None of that,” Robb interrupted him while you glared at Theon, and Jon heaved a sigh.
“How’s Bran?”
“As expected,” Robb muttered. “I don’t think staying in that room is going to make him feel better. I’ll get him out to the yard the moment Maester Luwin says we can.”
“That should help.”
“I hope so.”
“Has father written back yet?”
“No ravens arrived,” Robb said while Jorelle made her way to you. “Should be any day now, though.”
“My lady, you wanted me to remind you about your meeting with Lady Sabitha,” she said. “She’s waiting for you.”
Theon nodded at Jorelle with a smirk.
“Lady Jorelle,” he greeted her. “Hello.”
Robb and Jon both looked from Theon to Jorelle with the exact same expression of boyish wonder on their faces, and Jorelle raised her brows, eyed him up and down, then chortled.
“Absolutely not, Greyjoy.”
Robb stifled a laugh and kicked Jon under the table while Jon pressed his fist on his lips to hide his smile. Theon sat up straighter, clearly not discouraged as he puffed his chest.
“But I’m…”
“Greyjoy, I understand that you lack subtlety so I’m going to be as direct as my manners allow me,” you told him and stood up from your seat. “If you ever bother my ladies-in-waiting, I’ll make sure you can never speak a word to them or anyone else ever again. I’m sure the whole castle will thank me for it.”
There was a proud grin on Robb’s face as you pecked him on the cheek, then you threw an arm over Jorelle’s shoulder and you both walked away from the table, giggling.
After your small meeting with Lady Sabitha, the rest of your day was considerably idle. You visited Bran, you spent some time with Rickon, and now you and your ladies-in-waiting had nothing to do but remain in your room and gossip until dinner time. You laid in your bed, with Jorelle by your side and Wylla laid on her stomach at the foot of the bed, reading a book. Alys was braiding Lyra’s hair and Barbrey was embroidering something for her new gown on the sofa across the hearth, occasionally holding it up for Alys and Lyra’s opinion.
It reminded you of the Reach, back when you and Margaery and your friends would spend time together before the jousts.
“Jo?”
Jorelle turned her head to see you better. “Hm?”
“What kind of husband do you want?”
The question gathered everyone’s attention in the room. Alys stopped braiding Lyra’s hair, Lyra’s head snapped around and Barbrey looked up from her embroidery, her eyes widening. Wylla pursed her lips without pulling her gaze off the page, but you could tell her ears perked up with the way she stopped following the lines. Jorelle craned her head to see you better.
“What brought this on?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking,” you said. “You know, when Greyjoy tried to talk to you earlier today—”
“Gods no!”
“No, obviously not him!” you said in a rush. “None of you will wed him, are you jesting? I hate him, he’s vile.”
“He’s your lord husband’s best friend,” Wylla pointed out and you shrugged.
“I still hate him, Robb knows it,” you said. “But it made me think, it’s clear you have admirers, all of you.” You motioned around the room. “Silas fixed my betrothal, and it took him such a long time to make a decision. And you’re my ladies-in-waiting, it’s my responsibility to find you good suitors. I’m determined to find you the best men in the realm, but I can only do that if I know what kind of husbands you want.”
Alys thought for a second. “Perhaps we should make a list.”
“Good idea!” You jumped from the bed and rushed to the desk to grab the inkpot and the quill, and parchments. You dipped the quill into the inkpot, then wrote all their names on different parchments and pointed at Lyra with your quill.
“Lyra, are you certain—”
“I won’t wed, I’m certain,” Lyra cut you off. “Men can be so annoying.”
“She’s not wrong on that one,” Jorelle muttered and Lyra gave her a grin.
“I can also fight Greyjoy if he bothers you.”
“Not needed at this point, but thank you Lyra.”
“Me next!” Barbrey said, sitting up straighter. “I want a southron husband.”
“Where in the south?” you asked and Barbrey frowned as if the thought hadn’t hit her before.
“Um, the Reach?”
“The men of the Reach are full of audacity, I’ve found,” Jorelle grumbled and you shot her a smirk.
“I think you mean the men of Dorne.”
Jorelle bit back a laugh and held up her hands. “All the same to me.”
“And I want him to be a knight,” Barbrey added, her nose stuck in the air. “Like…like that knight you danced with on your wedding.”
You blinked a couple of times. “Loras?”
“Yes, The Knight of Flowers!” Barbrey said. “Oh he was so handsome!”
“Barbrey.” You tried to control your expression. “You would not want Loras as a husband.”
“Why did you not?” Alys asked and shifted her weight. “I mean I know Lord Robb is the love of your life, but before that? The Knight of Flowers is your best friend’s brother, and you two looked like the perfect southron lady and the knight when you danced.”
Well, there were many reasons; the main one being that your brother was Loras’ type and not you, regardless of how you two looked while you were dancing.
“Loras is like a brother to me,” you said. “We could never see each other like that. How about you, Alys? What kind of husband do you want?”
“I don’t want a southron,” Alys said. “I don’t want to be so far away from my family. I want a brave northern fighter, but he must be handsome, and my age.”
“Do you have someone in mind?”
Her cheeks got pink and she averted her glances.
“…No.”
You arched a brow. “Alys.”
“I don’t have anyone in mind, I just—”
“She admires the heir of House Ryswell,” Wylla sang without looking up from her book, making Alys gasp.
“I do not!”
“You danced with him at the wedding and you were flustered afterwards.”
“Wylla!”
“How else are you going to get the husband you want if you keep it a secret?”
“What kind of reading is that?” Jorelle asked her, gesturing at the book in front of Wylla. “You keep chiming in.”
“Yes well, while you are all listing your requirements for suitors…” Wylla wiggled her brows and turned the page before she held it up so that all could see the vulgar illustration. “I’m learning how to keep my future husband under my spell.”
The room exploded into chaos in a second. Alys jumped from her seat at the same time with Barbrey, who nearly face planted on Lyra in her haste to rush to Wylla. Jorelle sat up in bed and snatched the book from Wylla’s hands, holding it out of her reach while she all but wrestled her to get it back.
“Jo!”
“Where did you find this?”
“Let me see! Let me see!”
“What does it say?”
“Oh it says everything.”
“Barbrey, stop pushing!”
“You won’t even wed, Lyra, no need for you to see!”
The title of the book was familiar to you; it was very famous all over the south. Of course all the septas and the maesters forbid it, saying that it was not appropriate for ladies, but that had never stopped you or any of your friends. All it required was a couple gold dragons given to the right maid, and a ball thrown in someone’s honor so that you and your friends could gather in one of your bedchambers while the rest of the household was busy with the guests.
Though, you were rather surprised to see it was famous enough to be found in the north as well.
“That’s disgusting!” Barbrey let out a squeal as she leaned in to grimace at the drawing. “So very disgusting!”
“Then stop looking?”
“I cannot!”
You pressed your fist on your mouth so that you could hide your smile, leaning back to the table while they all gathered around the bed and turned the page.
“But I don’t—but—” Alys stammered. “My lady mother said, on my wedding night, I’m to just lay there.”
“So did mine! My husband will know what to do, she said.”
Gods, the north really was different than the south, this was yet another proof of it. All your ladies-in-waiting were the same age as you, women grown, and yet they were clueless when it came to certain things because the north was incredibly strict on such matters.
Jorelle turned the page again and yelped in surprise, a scowl twisting her beautiful face. “Seven hells, I’m not doing that!”
“Let me see—”
“I’m a lady,” Barbrey insisted. “I care not what the book says, I’m not putting my mouth anywhere near…that thing.”
“Do all men know about this?”
“I’d say so.”
“Do you suppose there’s a book for them as well?”
“A book?” Wylla asked with a scoff. “They have no need to read about it. What do you think they do in brothels, hold hands?”
“Lady wives don’t do such things,” Alys insisted while Jorelle lifted her head as if she just remembered your presence in the room. “I’m sure of it.”
“I still don’t understand the—the physics of this?”
“You know what Lyra, you were right. If this is what will be expected of me, I’m not going to wed either.”
“My personal feelings aside, it does sound very uncomfortable, I’m not going to lie.”
“Is it?” Jorelle asked you, her voice cutting through the chatter. “Is it very uncomfortable?”
Stunned silence fell upon the room as all the girls turned their heads to stare at you while you bit back your grin.
“Hm?”
“Oh but she doesn’t do that!” Alys said in a haste. “She’s the most graceful lady of the south, Jo.”
“And she’s been quiet since the beginning of this conversation,” Lyra pointed out, narrowing her eyes at you. “Too quiet.”
Barbrey held up the book and pointed at the illustration on the page. “Did you do this?”
Wylla elbowed her. “Barbrey!”
“What? Lord Robb is mesmerized by her, everyone knows it!”
“Because she is beautiful, you idiot, not because she does such tricks!”
You dragged the tip of your tongue on your lip, then heaved a dramatic sigh.
“You see, I would tell you,” you said. “But since such conversations are unladylike, you’d have to swear—”
“I swear it! I swear on my honor!”
“Me too!”
“So do I, on my honor and house!”
“Aye, on my house too!”
“I will never breathe a word, I swear it.”
“…That it doesn’t leave this room,” you finished your sentence with a laugh. “Very well then.”
They all plopped down on your huge bed, their attention fully on you as you jumped to sit on the desk.
“Lady Olenna, my best friend’s grandmother always said the marital bed is the way to keep one’s husband mesmerized,” you said. “It matters even more than how you look, how much wealth your family has, or what your house is; that right there is the key, she would say.”
“So you knew about all these things?”
“I did,” you said airily. “The south isn’t as strict as the north, and though I lacked practice, I didn’t lack knowledge.”
“Yes well,” Alys grumbled. “In the north we lack both for some reason.”
Barbrey raised the book again, pointing at the page without a word and you nodded, making all of them gasp.
“You did that?!”
Well, they didn’t need to know how you did exactly that in Robb’s solar the other day.
“I reacted similarly when I first heard about it,” you admitted, “It sounded intimidating, the idea of doing that with some faceless husband in the future that I couldn’t even imagine. And unlike what everyone keeps telling women, you shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to. I wouldn’t, if I didn’t want to. However, Robb is…” You tried to find the right words. “I desire him so much that sometimes I feel like I can’t even think or breathe. I don’t speak for all married women obviously, but for me it wasn’t uncomfortable.”
“I’d be so embarrassed to do that though,” Wylla muttered and you cleared your throat.
“At first I was too, but then—” You fixed your skirts just so that you could do something with your hands. “He’s never made me feel uncomfortable, no matter what we’re doing. That’s why I find the marital bed so much fun.”
“Fun!?”
“Of course,” you said. “It can be very pleasurable you know? For women as well, not just men.”
“I heard it’s terrible for women.”
“It’s not terrible.” Your laugh echoed in the room. “Not even close. When you wed someone who loves you, they simply want you to be happy. Not only outside, but also in your bedchambers.”
Barbrey pointed at the next page, making you hiss in a breath.
“Um, no.” You grimaced and shook your head. “Not that, I would not.”
Jorelle leaned over to peek at what it was before Barbrey showed you another illustration.
“How about this?”
“Oh.” Your face grew hotter. “He does that. A lot.”
Jorelle’s jaw dropped. “You’re jesting, surely!”
“I thought at first his beard would be a problem, but as it turns out—”
“Your lord husband kisses you there?”
“Yes.”
“Why? That doesn’t lead to an heir.”
“Well.” You pressed your palms on your cheeks to soothe the fire. “Not everything is about siring heirs.”
“But how come no one said it’d be fun?” Wylla asked to the room. “All I kept hearing was the importance of heirs, why was I not told it could be fun?”
“I think unfortunately many women don’t know,” you said. “But thankfully I know, because I wed the love of my life, and so will all of you. I’ll make sure of it.” You winked at Lyra. “As long as you want to wed, of course. There’s always the option not to.”
“I’ll take that option,” Lyra stated. “I’m uninterested.”
“I’m interested,” Barbrey pointed out and shuffled the pages before she held up the book again. “Not the other thing, but I want to try this.”
You leaned in with the rest of the girls to see the illustration better. Jorelle narrowed her eyes while Wylla tilted her head, Lyra’s lips curled downwards and Alys put a hand on her hip, letting out a hum.
“Oh I haven’t tried that one yet either,” you said after a beat and held out your hand to motion at the book. “But as my best friend would say, every skill needs honing. May I?”
An hour before dinner, you had already changed your gown and had your maid do your hair while your ladies-in-waiting went to their own bedchambers to get ready. You had dismissed your maid to read some more in secret, so engrossed in the book that you had lost the track of time, hence why you didn’t even hear Robb’s approaching footsteps until the door opened. Your head whipped up and you jolted in bed as if someone pricked you with a needle, a gasp catching in your throat.
“My love!” you squealed, closing the book and pushing it under the bed in haste. “You’re back!”
“I am.” He came closer to peck you on the lips before he flung himself on the bed, and tilted his head. “Why are you out of breath?”
Seven hells.
“I was reading poetry,” you said after a pause, waving a hand in the air. “It always evokes feelings in me, I get very emotional.”
Confusion pinched his brows and you took a deep breath to calm yourself, then pushed yourself from the bed to make your way to the big table, earning a groan of displeasure from him.
“Come back.”
You let out a giggle and held up a cup, but he shook his head, so you only filled one cup with wine before you returned to bed. After taking a sip, you put the cup on your bedside table and let him pull you back in the bed so that you could straddle him while he wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling to your bosom.
“Gods, you smell so good,” he murmured and you stifled a laugh.
“How was your day?” you asked, playing with the auburn curls at the nape of his neck, and he hummed.
“Busy. Yours?”
“Not as busy,” you said. “What’s happened?”
“There’s some unrest between two families up in the mountains,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin. “Norreys and Burleys. Both too stubborn to speak to each other without drawing swords.”
“Oh my poor love,” you cooed, a smile curling your lips when his shoulders relaxed. “And you must be the peacemaker?”
He nodded. “In person, probably.”
The simple sentence was more than enough to wipe your smile off your face, your body tensing up. The memory of what had happened the last time he was away flashed before your eyes, your stomach doing a painful flip as you gulped. You knew that he had no idea, you had made sure that he would have no idea, but it didn’t mean you were ready for him to leave once again, this time for more than just one week—probably for a moon, with how far the mountains were from Winterfell.
But what were you supposed to say?
I don’t feel safe here when you’re away?
That was out of the question. Lady Olenna would’ve reprimanded you if she heard you even consider saying such a thing; a lady didn’t demand or plead, she made people think they wanted what she wanted all along.
In the subtlest manner, of course.
“Oh my,” you said. “Well, I’m quite excited to meet them then. Do you suppose their wives will come with as well? When you invite those lords here?”
He pulled back to give you a fond smile.
“You misunderstand me, sweeting—”
“I suppose they will, considering the distance,” you cut him off. “And I understand why, if you went off to the mountains to settle such dispute, it’d take what? Almost a moon for you to come back? Gods, it’d break my heart so terribly.” You curled your fingers over the back of his hand so that you could press his palm on the soft swell of your chest where he could feel your heartbeat. “To be away from you for that long. I’d miss you so, so much.”
Robb’s eyes darkened with desire as they lingered on your cleavage, then snapped up to your lips again. “Would you?”
You knew you were supposed to come up with a seductive remark as an answer, this was the perfect moment; and yet what you ended up saying was more of a heartfelt confession rather than some southern wordplay.
“I know the whole north says it’s just because we’re newlyweds, but…” You lowered your glances, your heart skipping a beat at the heat of his gaze alone. “Robb, I don’t believe anyone understands how much I crave you, all the time. It’s intimidating sometimes.”
He swallowed thickly, his other hand sliding up to cradle your cheek, tracing the line of your bottom lip with his thumb as he tilted your head up.
“And why is it intimidating, my beautiful wife?” he asked, the deep rumble of his voice sending a pleasant shiver through you before he pressed open-mouthed kisses on your chest while tugging at the front laces of your gown. “My heart is at your command forever, you know this.”
You had to try really, really hard to focus and pull yourself together through the haze of want, especially with the way you could feel the proof of his desire under you.
“I thought, for—” A curt laugh escaped you. “I feared for a moment just now, that you would go to them and not the other way around. But you would not, surely?”
He paused for a second, then he lifted his head to look at you; his eyes heavy-lidded like he was as intoxicated with your presence as you were with his.
“Of course not.”
You nodded, batting your lashes. “They’ll come here instead?”
“Aye,” he murmured. “They’ll come here instead.”
You couldn’t stop the proud smile lighting up your face before he grabbed your waist and flipped you under him, making you squeal.
“Robb! My love, we have guests for dinner—”
“They’ll wait,” he growled as he trailed his lips down your neck, untying the laces of your gown. “The whole castle, the whole north, the whole realm. If my wife craves me, they’re all going to wait.”
A.N: Hi my loves! 🩷 Thank you so so much for your amazing support, you've made me so happy! 🩷I hope you'll like this one as well, and please let me know what you think🩷 ILYSM, kisses! 🩷
Pairing: Robb Stark x F!Reader
Summary: Every skill needs honing.
Word Count: 4,2k
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, suggestive themes, medieval era expectations and viewpoints on marriage and gender. MDNI- Do not read if you're under 18.
Series Masterlist
Being the lady of the castle was no easy task even under normal circumstances, and these two weeks had been nothing but chaos.
But in your opinion, you were getting much better at it.
You and Robb made quite a successful team in Lord and Lady Stark’s absence. Everything in Winterfell was being handled quite effectively; the lady guests were welcomed and entertained while the lords held meetings with Robb. Preparations for the coming winter continued in the background not only for the bannermen and their families, but also for the small folk in Wintertown and all over the north. While most northerners still saw you as an outsider, you were beginning to prove yourself, and you were certain that Silas and your father would’ve been very proud if they could see you now; you had already sent both of them ravens to tell them all about it.
And in happier news, Bran had woken up last week. Though Maester Luwin said he could never walk again, you were thankful to the gods that he was alive, everything else could be sorted out.
Needless to say, Bran didn’t see it that way.
“Have you two seen Rickon?”
Both Jon and Theon stopped eating their breakfast and looked up at you at the same time.
“Wasn’t he with you and Robb?” Jon asked and you shook your head.
“Robb went to visit Bran in his room, I figured they would want to talk alone. The last time I talked to him, he wasn’t really…” you trailed off and shrugged. “Which is expected.”
“Aye, he wasn’t really interested in talking to me either.”
“He just needs time,” Theon said. “That’s it—oh, there’s Rickon.”
You turned your head to find Rickon absolutely covered in mud, making you gasp. The little boy didn’t seem like he minded the mud on his clothes at all, judging by the toothless smile he gave you when he reached the table.
“Hello!”
“What’s happened?!” you asked, covering your mouth with your hands and he looked down at himself.
“I was playing with Shaggy.”
“In the mud?”
“Aye!”
You seemed to be the only one who was shocked at the state of him, because instead of reacting in any way, Jon just ruffled his little brother’s hair while Theon let out a laugh. Rickon grabbed a piece of cheese from Theon’s plate without even wiping his hands, then darted through the hall before you could stop him, almost crashing into Robb’s legs on his way out. Robb looked over his shoulder to check where his little brother was rushing off to, then approached you and pressed a kiss on your temple.
“Here you are,” he said and touched the small of your back before he sat down, so you took the seat next to Jon’s. “Where’s he going?”
“To the yard, I’d say,” Jon answered while you stared at the entrance, your mouth half agape.
“He’s covered in mud,” you managed to say, “and he ate food without cleaning his hands.”
“He does that.”
Your eyes widened. “But that’s not healthy!”
“He has never fallen ill his entire life,” Jon said and Robb nodded.
“Besides, it’s Rickon,” he stated as if that was enough of an explanation, and reached out to steal a piece of bread from Jon’s plate, but Jon swatted his hand away.
“Go get your own plate!”
“I’m not really hungry.”
“Then keep your hands off my food!”
“So you’re saying you won’t share your bread with me? Your brother? Your blood?”
“Aye, that’s what I’m saying—”
“Did someone at least tell Rickon that it’s not good manners to walk around covered in mud?”
“Multiple septas did.” Robb filled himself a drink and offered you, but you shook your head. “He doesn’t listen.”
“Besides, he’s northern,” Theon said. “He’s not gonna grow to be one of those flowery Reach knights with their southern manners and poems—”
“What is it with your animosity toward poetry, Greyjoy?” you asked with a frown. “Is it because you can’t read?”
“Your brother asked me the same thing—I can read!”
“Allegedly,” you pointed out, and Robb and Jon exchanged glances, both biting back identical grins. “I’ve heard Ironborn look down on literacy to the point of accusing people who can read as sorcerers.”
“Well, seeing the raids on the Reach, we’re still better fighters than—”
“None of that,” Robb interrupted him while you glared at Theon, and Jon heaved a sigh.
“How’s Bran?”
“As expected,” Robb muttered. “I don’t think staying in that room is going to make him feel better. I’ll get him out to the yard the moment Maester Luwin says we can.”
“That should help.”
“I hope so.”
“Has father written back yet?”
“No ravens arrived,” Robb said while Jorelle made her way to you. “Should be any day now, though.”
“My lady, you wanted me to remind you about your meeting with Lady Sabitha,” she said. “She’s waiting for you.”
Theon nodded at Jorelle with a smirk.
“Lady Jorelle,” he greeted her. “Hello.”
Robb and Jon both looked from Theon to Jorelle with the exact same expression of boyish wonder on their faces, and Jorelle raised her brows, eyed him up and down, then chortled.
“Absolutely not, Greyjoy.”
Robb stifled a laugh and kicked Jon under the table while Jon pressed his fist on his lips to hide his smile. Theon sat up straighter, clearly not discouraged as he puffed his chest.
“But I’m…”
“Greyjoy, I understand that you lack subtlety so I’m going to be as direct as my manners allow me,” you told him and stood up from your seat. “If you ever bother my ladies-in-waiting, I’ll make sure you can never speak a word to them or anyone else ever again. I’m sure the whole castle will thank me for it.”
There was a proud grin on Robb’s face as you pecked him on the cheek, then you threw an arm over Jorelle’s shoulder and you both walked away from the table, giggling.
After your small meeting with Lady Sabitha, the rest of your day was considerably idle. You visited Bran, you spent some time with Rickon, and now you and your ladies-in-waiting had nothing to do but remain in your room and gossip until dinner time. You laid in your bed, with Jorelle by your side and Wylla laid on her stomach at the foot of the bed, reading a book. Alys was braiding Lyra’s hair and Barbrey was embroidering something for her new gown on the sofa across the hearth, occasionally holding it up for Alys and Lyra’s opinion.
It reminded you of the Reach, back when you and Margaery and your friends would spend time together before the jousts.
“Jo?”
Jorelle turned her head to see you better. “Hm?”
“What kind of husband do you want?”
The question gathered everyone’s attention in the room. Alys stopped braiding Lyra’s hair, Lyra’s head snapped around and Barbrey looked up from her embroidery, her eyes widening. Wylla pursed her lips without pulling her gaze off the page, but you could tell her ears perked up with the way she stopped following the lines. Jorelle craned her head to see you better.
“What brought this on?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking,” you said. “You know, when Greyjoy tried to talk to you earlier today—”
“Gods no!”
“No, obviously not him!” you said in a rush. “None of you will wed him, are you jesting? I hate him, he’s vile.”
“He’s your lord husband’s best friend,” Wylla pointed out and you shrugged.
“I still hate him, Robb knows it,” you said. “But it made me think, it’s clear you have admirers, all of you.” You motioned around the room. “Silas fixed my betrothal, and it took him such a long time to make a decision. And you’re my ladies-in-waiting, it’s my responsibility to find you good suitors. I’m determined to find you the best men in the realm, but I can only do that if I know what kind of husbands you want.”
Alys thought for a second. “Perhaps we should make a list.”
“Good idea!” You jumped from the bed and rushed to the desk to grab the inkpot and the quill, and parchments. You dipped the quill into the inkpot, then wrote all their names on different parchments and pointed at Lyra with your quill.
“Lyra, are you certain—”
“I won’t wed, I’m certain,” Lyra cut you off. “Men can be so annoying.”
“She’s not wrong on that one,” Jorelle muttered and Lyra gave her a grin.
“I can also fight Greyjoy if he bothers you.”
“Not needed at this point, but thank you Lyra.”
“Me next!” Barbrey said, sitting up straighter. “I want a southron husband.”
“Where in the south?” you asked and Barbrey frowned as if the thought hadn’t hit her before.
“Um, the Reach?”
“The men of the Reach are full of audacity, I’ve found,” Jorelle grumbled and you shot her a smirk.
“I think you mean the men of Dorne.”
Jorelle bit back a laugh and held up her hands. “All the same to me.”
“And I want him to be a knight,” Barbrey added, her nose stuck in the air. “Like…like that knight you danced with on your wedding.”
You blinked a couple of times. “Loras?”
“Yes, The Knight of Flowers!” Barbrey said. “Oh he was so handsome!”
“Barbrey.” You tried to control your expression. “You would not want Loras as a husband.”
“Why did you not?” Alys asked and shifted her weight. “I mean I know Lord Robb is the love of your life, but before that? The Knight of Flowers is your best friend’s brother, and you two looked like the perfect southron lady and the knight when you danced.”
Well, there were many reasons; the main one being that your brother was Loras’ type and not you, regardless of how you two looked while you were dancing.
“Loras is like a brother to me,” you said. “We could never see each other like that. How about you, Alys? What kind of husband do you want?”
“I don’t want a southron,” Alys said. “I don’t want to be so far away from my family. I want a brave northern fighter, but he must be handsome, and my age.”
“Do you have someone in mind?”
Her cheeks got pink and she averted her glances.
“…No.”
You arched a brow. “Alys.”
“I don’t have anyone in mind, I just—”
“She admires the heir of House Ryswell,” Wylla sang without looking up from her book, making Alys gasp.
“I do not!”
“You danced with him at the wedding and you were flustered afterwards.”
“Wylla!”
“How else are you going to get the husband you want if you keep it a secret?”
“What kind of reading is that?” Jorelle asked her, gesturing at the book in front of Wylla. “You keep chiming in.”
“Yes well, while you are all listing your requirements for suitors…” Wylla wiggled her brows and turned the page before she held it up so that all could see the vulgar illustration. “I’m learning how to keep my future husband under my spell.”
The room exploded into chaos in a second. Alys jumped from her seat at the same time with Barbrey, who nearly face planted on Lyra in her haste to rush to Wylla. Jorelle sat up in bed and snatched the book from Wylla’s hands, holding it out of her reach while she all but wrestled her to get it back.
“Jo!”
“Where did you find this?”
“Let me see! Let me see!”
“What does it say?”
“Oh it says everything.”
“Barbrey, stop pushing!”
“You won’t even wed, Lyra, no need for you to see!”
The title of the book was familiar to you; it was very famous all over the south. Of course all the septas and the maesters forbid it, saying that it was not appropriate for ladies, but that had never stopped you or any of your friends. All it required was a couple gold dragons given to the right maid, and a ball thrown in someone’s honor so that you and your friends could gather in one of your bedchambers while the rest of the household was busy with the guests.
Though, you were rather surprised to see it was famous enough to be found in the north as well.
“That’s disgusting!” Barbrey let out a squeal as she leaned in to grimace at the drawing. “So very disgusting!”
“Then stop looking?”
“I cannot!”
You pressed your fist on your mouth so that you could hide your smile, leaning back to the table while they all gathered around the bed and turned the page.
“But I don’t—but—” Alys stammered. “My lady mother said, on my wedding night, I’m to just lay there.”
“So did mine! My husband will know what to do, she said.”
Gods, the north really was different than the south, this was yet another proof of it. All your ladies-in-waiting were the same age as you, women grown, and yet they were clueless when it came to certain things because the north was incredibly strict on such matters.
Jorelle turned the page again and yelped in surprise, a scowl twisting her beautiful face. “Seven hells, I’m not doing that!”
“Let me see—”
“I’m a lady,” Barbrey insisted. “I care not what the book says, I’m not putting my mouth anywhere near…that thing.”
“Do all men know about this?”
“I’d say so.”
“Do you suppose there’s a book for them as well?”
“A book?” Wylla asked with a scoff. “They have no need to read about it. What do you think they do in brothels, hold hands?”
“Lady wives don’t do such things,” Alys insisted while Jorelle lifted her head as if she just remembered your presence in the room. “I’m sure of it.”
“I still don’t understand the—the physics of this?”
“You know what Lyra, you were right. If this is what will be expected of me, I’m not going to wed either.”
“My personal feelings aside, it does sound very uncomfortable, I’m not going to lie.”
“Is it?” Jorelle asked you, her voice cutting through the chatter. “Is it very uncomfortable?”
Stunned silence fell upon the room as all the girls turned their heads to stare at you while you bit back your grin.
“Hm?”
“Oh but she doesn’t do that!” Alys said in a haste. “She’s the most graceful lady of the south, Jo.”
“And she’s been quiet since the beginning of this conversation,” Lyra pointed out, narrowing her eyes at you. “Too quiet.”
Barbrey held up the book and pointed at the illustration on the page. “Did you do this?”
Wylla elbowed her. “Barbrey!”
“What? Lord Robb is mesmerized by her, everyone knows it!”
“Because she is beautiful, you idiot, not because she does such tricks!”
You dragged the tip of your tongue on your lip, then heaved a dramatic sigh.
“You see, I would tell you,” you said. “But since such conversations are unladylike, you’d have to swear—”
“I swear it! I swear on my honor!”
“Me too!”
“So do I, on my honor and house!”
“Aye, on my house too!”
“I will never breathe a word, I swear it.”
“…That it doesn’t leave this room,” you finished your sentence with a laugh. “Very well then.”
They all plopped down on your huge bed, their attention fully on you as you jumped to sit on the desk.
“Lady Olenna, my best friend’s grandmother always said the marital bed is the way to keep one’s husband mesmerized,” you said. “It matters even more than how you look, how much wealth your family has, or what your house is; that right there is the key, she would say.”
“So you knew about all these things?”
“I did,” you said airily. “The south isn’t as strict as the north, and though I lacked practice, I didn’t lack knowledge.”
“Yes well,” Alys grumbled. “In the north we lack both for some reason.”
Barbrey raised the book again, pointing at the page without a word and you nodded, making all of them gasp.
“You did that?!”
Well, they didn’t need to know how you did exactly that in Robb’s solar the other day.
“I reacted similarly when I first heard about it,” you admitted, “It sounded intimidating, the idea of doing that with some faceless husband in the future that I couldn’t even imagine. And unlike what everyone keeps telling women, you shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to. I wouldn’t, if I didn’t want to. However, Robb is…” You tried to find the right words. “I desire him so much that sometimes I feel like I can’t even think or breathe. I don’t speak for all married women obviously, but for me it wasn’t uncomfortable.”
“I’d be so embarrassed to do that though,” Wylla muttered and you cleared your throat.
“At first I was too, but then—” You fixed your skirts just so that you could do something with your hands. “He’s never made me feel uncomfortable, no matter what we’re doing. That’s why I find the marital bed so much fun.”
“Fun!?”
“Of course,” you said. “It can be very pleasurable you know? For women as well, not just men.”
“I heard it’s terrible for women.”
“It’s not terrible.” Your laugh echoed in the room. “Not even close. When you wed someone who loves you, they simply want you to be happy. Not only outside, but also in your bedchambers.”
Barbrey pointed at the next page, making you hiss in a breath.
“Um, no.” You grimaced and shook your head. “Not that, I would not.”
Jorelle leaned over to peek at what it was before Barbrey showed you another illustration.
“How about this?”
“Oh.” Your face grew hotter. “He does that. A lot.”
Jorelle’s jaw dropped. “You’re jesting, surely!”
“I thought at first his beard would be a problem, but as it turns out—”
“Your lord husband kisses you there?”
“Yes.”
“Why? That doesn’t lead to an heir.”
“Well.” You pressed your palms on your cheeks to soothe the fire. “Not everything is about siring heirs.”
“But how come no one said it’d be fun?” Wylla asked to the room. “All I kept hearing was the importance of heirs, why was I not told it could be fun?”
“I think unfortunately many women don’t know,” you said. “But thankfully I know, because I wed the love of my life, and so will all of you. I’ll make sure of it.” You winked at Lyra. “As long as you want to wed, of course. There’s always the option not to.”
“I’ll take that option,” Lyra stated. “I’m uninterested.”
“I’m interested,” Barbrey pointed out and shuffled the pages before she held up the book again. “Not the other thing, but I want to try this.”
You leaned in with the rest of the girls to see the illustration better. Jorelle narrowed her eyes while Wylla tilted her head, Lyra’s lips curled downwards and Alys put a hand on her hip, letting out a hum.
“Oh I haven’t tried that one yet either,” you said after a beat and held out your hand to motion at the book. “But as my best friend would say, every skill needs honing. May I?”
An hour before dinner, you had already changed your gown and had your maid do your hair while your ladies-in-waiting went to their own bedchambers to get ready. You had dismissed your maid to read some more in secret, so engrossed in the book that you had lost the track of time, hence why you didn’t even hear Robb’s approaching footsteps until the door opened. Your head whipped up and you jolted in bed as if someone pricked you with a needle, a gasp catching in your throat.
“My love!” you squealed, closing the book and pushing it under the bed in haste. “You’re back!”
“I am.” He came closer to peck you on the lips before he flung himself on the bed, and tilted his head. “Why are you out of breath?”
Seven hells.
“I was reading poetry,” you said after a pause, waving a hand in the air. “It always evokes feelings in me, I get very emotional.”
Confusion pinched his brows and you took a deep breath to calm yourself, then pushed yourself from the bed to make your way to the big table, earning a groan of displeasure from him.
“Come back.”
You let out a giggle and held up a cup, but he shook his head, so you only filled one cup with wine before you returned to bed. After taking a sip, you put the cup on your bedside table and let him pull you back in the bed so that you could straddle him while he wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling to your bosom.
“Gods, you smell so good,” he murmured and you stifled a laugh.
“How was your day?” you asked, playing with the auburn curls at the nape of his neck, and he hummed.
“Busy. Yours?”
“Not as busy,” you said. “What’s happened?”
“There’s some unrest between two families up in the mountains,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin. “Norreys and Burleys. Both too stubborn to speak to each other without drawing swords.”
“Oh my poor love,” you cooed, a smile curling your lips when his shoulders relaxed. “And you must be the peacemaker?”
He nodded. “In person, probably.”
The simple sentence was more than enough to wipe your smile off your face, your body tensing up. The memory of what had happened the last time he was away flashed before your eyes, your stomach doing a painful flip as you gulped. You knew that he had no idea, you had made sure that he would have no idea, but it didn’t mean you were ready for him to leave once again, this time for more than just one week—probably for a moon, with how far the mountains were from Winterfell.
But what were you supposed to say?
I don’t feel safe here when you’re away?
That was out of the question. Lady Olenna would’ve reprimanded you if she heard you even consider saying such a thing; a lady didn’t demand or plead, she made people think they wanted what she wanted all along.
In the subtlest manner, of course.
“Oh my,” you said. “Well, I’m quite excited to meet them then. Do you suppose their wives will come with as well? When you invite those lords here?”
He pulled back to give you a fond smile.
“You misunderstand me, sweeting—”
“I suppose they will, considering the distance,” you cut him off. “And I understand why, if you went off to the mountains to settle such dispute, it’d take what? Almost a moon for you to come back? Gods, it’d break my heart so terribly.” You curled your fingers over the back of his hand so that you could press his palm on the soft swell of your chest where he could feel your heartbeat. “To be away from you for that long. I’d miss you so, so much.”
Robb’s eyes darkened with desire as they lingered on your cleavage, then snapped up to your lips again. “Would you?”
You knew you were supposed to come up with a seductive remark as an answer, this was the perfect moment; and yet what you ended up saying was more of a heartfelt confession rather than some southern wordplay.
“I know the whole north says it’s just because we’re newlyweds, but…” You lowered your glances, your heart skipping a beat at the heat of his gaze alone. “Robb, I don’t believe anyone understands how much I crave you, all the time. It’s intimidating sometimes.”
He swallowed thickly, his other hand sliding up to cradle your cheek, tracing the line of your bottom lip with his thumb as he tilted your head up.
“And why is it intimidating, my beautiful wife?” he asked, the deep rumble of his voice sending a pleasant shiver through you before he pressed open-mouthed kisses on your chest while tugging at the front laces of your gown. “My heart is at your command forever, you know this.”
You had to try really, really hard to focus and pull yourself together through the haze of want, especially with the way you could feel the proof of his desire under you.
“I thought, for—” A curt laugh escaped you. “I feared for a moment just now, that you would go to them and not the other way around. But you would not, surely?”
He paused for a second, then he lifted his head to look at you; his eyes heavy-lidded like he was as intoxicated with your presence as you were with his.
“Of course not.”
You nodded, batting your lashes. “They’ll come here instead?”
“Aye,” he murmured. “They’ll come here instead.”
You couldn’t stop the proud smile lighting up your face before he grabbed your waist and flipped you under him, making you squeal.
“Robb! My love, we have guests for dinner—”
“They’ll wait,” he growled as he trailed his lips down your neck, untying the laces of your gown. “The whole castle, the whole north, the whole realm. If my wife craves me, they’re all going to wait.”
Possessive!Gaz who either, one: ends up dating such a soft and sweet girl or the independent girl who he helps learn to be soft on the inside.
He’s the type of man who will blow up your phone if your location is off till you pick up, and when you decide to pick up he’s still very calm and collected, “My love?”
“Talk to me.”
And you can hear the turn signal on, bad sliding at the car he’s in moves, “I just noticed you turned off your location… are you okay? You at home?”
You bite, “‘M perfect actually, exactly where I’m supposed to be. just minding my business… are you?”
Your boyfriend lets out a laugh you just can hear doesn’t reach his eyes, “You are a funny girl sweetheart, my business is your business though. ‘Nd that includes your location, please joke with someone else, yeah?”
“Sheesh Garrick, you’re no fun.”
“Not about this, ‘m not. Let’s chat when I get home, hm?”
Possessive!Gaz doesn’t like miscommunication, it’s no running off or avoiding conversation for long. He’s always sat next to you, with your hands in his, doesn’t even like the idea of going to bed angry.
How devious can possessive!Gaz be, can be the perfect man in the room, all smiles and jokes, long as he can keep a hand on you, a mere touch, his eyes on you, behind him, beside him, in front of him (preferably). Doesn’t mind faking a smile or two, maybe three, and then drilling his cock into you from the back.
One hand on the curve of your arched back, the other gripping your curls, as you sob his name again, making you fuck yourself again this veiny cock that wast stretching you out. Every slow clap! of your ass smacking against his pelvis while you ease yourself down his length over and over, jaw slack every time you feel his cockhead smooch you’re sticky sweet spot.
“Come on baby,” he lets out a low grunt, curved length pounding i into you that has you mewling so loud your neighbors can hear, taking his time making sure you feel every inch. Hearing every squelch, “Show me how much I belong to you, grippin me so tight.”
Your nails claw at the back of his thighs, bouncing down on his cock hard you feel a snap pull in your stomach, your pussy spasming around his girth.
You head lulls to the side, pushing at his thighs to let up but the man only grinds deep inside you, gloves of your ass pancakes against him, you practically squeal his name “Kyleee.”
“Not gonna be enough with just that lovie, gotta make mess on it.”
He fucks into you rough, arm snacked around your waist now, plucking your hair a little harder, louder moans irrupting from your mouth. His balls smacking against your slippery cunt with every thrust, Kyle lets out a raspy drawl, “Hah- had me- fuck mm- me ‘f all people smilin as they talked to you. Tried t’ get close to you like they- thaaaats it sweet girl- they know you like I do. Was on my best behavior for you wasn’t I?”
Kyle fics your ass a harsh smack that makes you jolt, “[+]?”
“Yes!” You yelp out, almost toppling over till he drags his cock out, till his weeping tip it in, “Need my reward darlin, tell me [+].”
“‘S mine,” you bite your lip to hold in another aggressive moan, hips swiveling down, his hard on massaging your walls just right, “Fuck it’s all mine Kyle, mine!”
You can feel his smirk against your ear, rutting his cock back into you fast, you’re creaming around him, he fucks you through it, till his cock is nuzzled deep inside you, spurts of his cum filling your tummy, “That’s my greedy girl, my gooood girl.”
Morning sunlight poured through the tall windows of Keres’s estate, painting long golden rectangles across the polished marble floors. The villa was already awake. Staff moved quietly through the halls preparing breakfast, luggage had been gathered near the entrance, and somewhere outside gulls cried over the Aegean as Yunho stood on the front terrace beside their suitcases, one hand tucked into the pocket of his black board shorts while the other rested lazily atop the handle of the larger case. The Mediterranean breeze tugged at the sleeves of his dark gray henley as he looked toward the winding road that would eventually take them to the ferry for Kefalonia. Footsteps echoed across the stone behind him. “I was wondering when I’d catch you alone.” Yunho didn’t have to turn. “Keres.” She joined him at the edge of the terrace, dressed in flowing ivory linen, dark sunglasses perched atop her head. She looked out toward the glittering sea before speaking again. “She’s lovely.”
“I know.” Keres smiled faintly. “You’ve become rather attached.” He didn’t deny it. “I have.” Silence settled between them before Keres tilted her head slightly. “Does she know?” Yunho’s brows furrowed. “Know what?” Keres finally looked at him. “That you and I were still sleeping together before you met her.” The words landed with surprising softness. Not cruel. Not jealous. Just simply factual. Yunho let out a quiet breath through his nose. “No. She knows we were together once a long time ago that’s it.”
“And are you planning to tell her?” He thought for a moment. “If she asks…” His gaze drifted toward the front doors of the estate. “I’ll answer.” Keres studied him. “You’re different.”
“I’ve been told.”
“No.” A small smile touched her lips. “I don’t mean happier.” She folded her arms. “I mean… careful.” Yunho chuckled. “I have something worth being careful with now.” Keres followed his line of sight toward the villa. “I never thought I’d hear Lucifer’s son say something like that.”
“Neither did I.” Before either could continue, the front doors opened as Y/N stepped into the sunshine adjusting the strap of the small woven bag resting against her hip. The cream colored outfit she’d chosen looked made for the Greek islands. The textured wrap skirt fluttered gently in the breeze while the matching asymmetrical top left one shoulder bare. Dark sunglasses rested atop her head, and comfortable sandals clicked softly against the stone as she descended the steps and smiled immediately when she saw Yunho. “There you…” She stopped as voice came from the opposite corridor. “Princess.” She turned as Darrius emerged from one of the side hallways fastening the cuff of a charcoal jacket. His movements were as relaxed as ever. Almost. The injury from the previous evening had nearly vanished. Only a thin reddish mark remained around one eye, the last evidence of Yunho’s temper. It was already fading with every passing hour. Demonic healing. He caught her noticing it and smiled. “You should’ve seen the other guy.” Y/N couldn’t help the tiny laugh that escaped. “I have.” She nodded toward the lingering mark. “I think he won.” Darrius barked out a genuine laugh. “I suppose that’s fair.” His gaze flicked briefly toward the terrace where Yunho had already gone completely still then back to her. “I wanted to apologize.” That… she hadn’t expected. “For what?”
“For making your first dinner among Hell’s nobility… eventful.” There was an odd sincerity beneath his usual swagger. “I enjoy provoking your husband.” He shrugged. “That’s between him and me.” His expression softened just enough to be believable. “You, however, had nothing to do with it.” Y/N studied him carefully, not fully believing him. “Apology accepted.” A slow grin spread across Darrius’s face. “I can see why he married you.” Before he could say another word, a familiar voice cut cleanly through the morning air. “Darrius.” Yunho hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t needed to. Every trace of warmth disappeared from Darrius’s amused expression as he looked toward the terrace. Yunho stood exactly where he’d been moments before. Hands relaxed. Expression calm. But his eyes never left the older demon as Darrius lifted both hands in exaggerated surrender. “We’re having a perfectly civilized conversation.” Yunho glared at him. “Then let’s keep it that way.” Y/N glanced between them before walking the remaining distance to Yunho’s side, slipping her hand into his and his fingers closed around hers. Only then did the tension in his shoulders begin to ease. Keres watched the exchange from a few steps away and smiled to herself. Not with envy but understanding. Whatever had existed between her and Yunho belonged to another century. This…. the quiet way he reached for Y/N’s hand without looking. The instinctive way she took it. That belonged to someone else now.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The ferry cut steadily through the impossibly blue Ionian Sea, its wake trailing behind like a ribbon of white silk. The farther they traveled from Athens, the quieter everything seemed to become. The bustle of the port had long since disappeared, replaced by the rhythmic crash of waves against the hull and the occasional cry of gulls circling overhead. Sunlight danced across the water in thousands of glittering fragments, bright enough that Y/N had to squint despite the sunglasses perched on her nose. She rested both forearms against the polished rail, letting the sea breeze tug loose strands of her hair across her face. The air smelled faintly of salt and sunscreen instead of brimstone and smoke, and every deep breath felt like it reached places inside her she hadn’t realized had been tense as Yunho emerged from the ferry’s café balancing two plastic cups filled with iced drinks. He paused for a second before walking over, unable to stop watching her. The sunlight suited her in a way Hell never could. It softened her features, warmed her skin, and turned the loose cream colored outfit she’d chosen into something that looked like it belonged on every postcard Greece had ever printed. He smiled to himself. “I was gone less than three minutes.” She looked over her shoulder. “I noticed.”
“You didn’t come looking for me.”
“I figured you weren’t collecting souls from the snack bar.” A laugh escaped him as he handed her one of the drinks. “Iced peach tea. Except this one is spiked.” She took a sip, humming happily. It was what she let him buy her the first night they met at the club. “You remembered.”
“I remember most things about you.” She gave him a suspicious look over the rim of the cup. “That was smooth.”
“I know.”
“You practiced that.”
“I absolutely didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I’ve had four hundred years to become charming remember.” She laughed, nudging his shoulder before turning back toward the water. And for a while they simply stood together in comfortable silence. The sea stretched endlessly ahead of them, impossibly blue, broken only by tiny sailboats drifting in the distance. Mountains slowly began taking shape on the horizon, their green slopes rising out of the water as if the island itself were waking from the sea as Y/N leaned against the railing again. “It’s weird.”
“Hm?”
“I always thought vacations were something other people got.” Yunho looked at her and shrugged lightly. “My grandmother and I used to watch travel documentaries after dinner.” A smile tugged at her lips. “She’d point at places she’d visited before I was born.” Her gaze stayed fixed on the approaching island. “Greece was always her favorite though. She’d talk about the water for hours.” She laughed quietly. “I’d tease her that water was water.”
“And now?” Y/N looked down at the shimmering sea surrounding them. “I owe her an apology.” Yunho smiled, moving to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, gripping his drink in one hand still as he kissed her shoulder. “I think she’d accept it.” She rested her head lightly back against his chest. “I wish she could’ve seen this.”
“I know.”
“I wish…” She stopped herself before smiling instead. “Actually, she’d probably think marrying the Devil’s son was the most interesting thing I’d ever done.”
“I imagine she’d have questions.”
“So many questions.” Yunho laughed, the sound blending with the wind as they watched Kefalonia grow larger with every passing minute. White buildings began to appear along the shoreline, tucked between green hillsides, and little fishing boats bobbed lazily in the harbor. Y/N’s smile grew until she couldn’t contain it anymore. “That’s it.” Yunho followed her gaze. “I can’t believe we’re actually here.”
“You haven’t even stepped onto it yet.”
“I know.” She looked back up at him, excitement bright enough to rival the sun itself. “Do you think it’s really going to look like all the pictures I’ve seen?” He looked from her to the emerald cliffs waiting in the distance. “I have a feeling,” he said with a small smile, “it’s going to be even better.” As if on cue, the ferry’s horn echoed across the water, long and deep as the harbor of Kefalonia opened before them, the island welcoming them beneath an endless blue sky. The drive to the villa wound through towering cypress trees before finally slowing as ornate wrought iron gates swung open on silent hinges. Beyond them, a long stone drive curved between ancient olive trees whose silver green leaves shimmered in the afternoon breeze. Lavender and rosemary bordered the path, filling the warm air with a fragrance so fresh it drifted through the open windows of the SUV. Ahead, the sea flashed between the trees in brilliant shades of sapphire, growing larger with every turn until the landscape suddenly opened and Y/N forgot how to breathe. The villa sat perched high above the Ionian sea as though it had grown from the cliffs themselves. Cream colored stone glowed beneath the afternoon sun, ivy climbing lazily over its walls while flowering bougainvillea spilled from balconies draped in white linen curtains. Floor to ceiling windows reflected the endless stretch of blue water beyond, and an infinity pool disappeared seamlessly into the horizon, making it impossible to tell where the pool ended and the sea began. Stone terraces stepped down toward a secluded crescent of white sand below, hidden beneath the cliffs and accessible only by a winding staircase carved into the rock.
The SUV rolled to a stop beneath the shaded entrance and Y/N simply stared through the windshield, her mouth slowly falling open. “No.” Yunho smiled without looking at her. “What?”
“This…” She pointed helplessly toward the villa. “This isn’t a villa.”
“No?”
“This is where billionaires go to pretend they’re humble.” A laugh escaped him as he got out the car, walking around to her side and opening the door for her. “I suppose definitions vary.” She looked back toward the house, then toward the ocean glittering beyond it. “You mean to tell me…” She gestured wildly at everything. “this is where we’re staying?”
“For the next several days.” Without the slightest warning, she let out an excited squeal that echoed across the quiet driveway and before Yunho could even react, she launched herself at him. He barely had time to laugh before she collided with him, instinct taking over as his arms wrapped securely around her waist catching her effortlessly, lifting her completely off the ground as she wrapped both legs around his waist. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” she laughed, cupping his face with both hands. “I take it you approve?” Instead of answering, she kissed him. It wasn’t slow or shy. It was bright, spontaneous and full of the kind of happiness that couldn’t be contained. Yunho smiled against her lips before kissing her back, one hand settling securely against the middle of her back while the other supported her beneath her thigh. When they finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his, still grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. “I love it.”
“I can see that.” He laughed, holding her just a little tighter as she laughed, shaking her head and his eyes searched hers. “I’ve never…” She looked back toward the villa, almost disbelieving it was real. “I’ve never seen somewhere this beautiful.” He followed her gaze. “It gets better.” She looked at him like he had completely lost his mind. “It gets better?” He nodded toward the sea. “You haven’t seen the view from the bedroom yet.” She narrowed her eyes playfully before stealing a quick kiss. “I’ve decided something.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’m never leaving.” Yunho chuckled, still holding her as though she weighed nothing. “I was hoping you’d say that.” A polite cough sounded somewhere behind them making them turn their heads in unison to find two impeccably dressed attendants standing beside the SUV, both pretending very hard not to smile as they waited beside the luggage. Y/N buried her face against Yunho’s shoulder with a groan. “We’ve had an audience this entire time, haven’t we?”
“They’ve been remarkably professional about it,” Yunho said, his grin growing wider as she laughed into his shoulder before finally lifting her head again. “Fine,” she declared. “Show me this ridiculously beautiful villa before I decide to climb onto the roof just to see the view.” Without setting her down, Yunho adjusted his hold and started walking toward the front entrance.
“Yunho.”
“Hm?”
“You know I can walk.”
“I know.”
“So why are you carrying me?” He looked down at her with a smile that was entirely too pleased with itself. “Because my wife jumped into my arms.”
“And?”
“I’m enjoying the consequences.” Yunho didn’t loosen his hold once. One arm remained securely beneath Y/N’s legs while the other supported her back, carrying her up the wide stone steps as though she’d become part of him somewhere between Hell and Greece. She laughed quietly, one arm looped around his neck, giving up on pretending she wanted to be put down as the front doors swung open with a flick of Yunho’s and cool air drifted out to meet them, scented faintly with lemon blossoms and polished cedar. The villa’s interior was just as breathtaking as its exterior. Sunlight poured through towering windows that overlooked the sea, illuminating creamy limestone floors and exposed wooden beams that stretched overhead. White linen curtains billowed gently with every breeze coming in from the open terrace doors, while soft neutral furnishings, woven rugs, and shelves lined with books gave the expansive rooms an effortless warmth that made the house feel lived in rather than merely luxurious. Y/N turned her head from one side to the other, trying to take everything in at once. “This is insane.”
“It’s comfortable,” Yunho replied with a teasing smile and she looked at him as though he said something completely outrageous. “Comfortable?”
“Yes.”
She gestured around the soaring room. “Your definition of comfortable is deeply concerning.” The attendants followed them inside with their luggage. “Your Highness,” one of them said politely, “where would you like the cases?” Yunho barely looked away from Y/N. “Just leave them by the front door. We’ll sort them out later.”
“Of course.”
The attendants bowed and quietly set the luggage neatly against the wall before slipping back outside, closing the doors behind them with barely a sound letting silence settle over the villa with only the distant rhythm of waves meeting the cliffs below remaining as Y/N smiled as she looked around again. “I don’t even know where to explore first.”
“The bedroom,” Yunho answered without hesitation and she laughed. “Biased.”
“Entirely.” He adjusted her slightly in his arms before heading toward the sweeping staircase. “You are seriously still carrying me.”
“I am.”
“My legs work.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“So…”
“They’re getting a break.”
She rolled her eyes, though the smile never left her face. “You’re impossible.”
“So you’ve said.” They climbed to the second floor, sunlight spilling across the landing from another wall of windows. Yunho turned down a quiet hallway before stopping outside a pair of tall wooden doors and nudged one open with his shoulder. The bedroom beyond was expansive without feeling ostentatious. White linen curtains framed open French doors leading onto a private balcony overlooking the Ionian sea. A fireplace sat opposite a large bed dressed in crisp white sheets, while the sound of the waves drifted inside with the breeze. Y/N stared for a long moment. “Okay….” She looked back at him with an almost disbelieving smile. “You were right.”
“I usually am.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“It already has.” He carried her a few more steps into the room before leaning close enough that only she could hear. “I was thinking,” he murmured with an unmistakably playful grin, “that we ought to properly christen the honeymoon suite.” Heat immediately rose to her cheeks and she laughed, giving his shoulder a light swat. “You’ve been here less than five minutes.”
“I’ve been remarkably patient.”
“Patient?”
“Exceptionally.”
She shook her head, smiling despite herself. “I think Greece is having a terrible influence on you.”
“I was going to blame my wife.” She met his eyes, unable to stop smiling as he dropped his glamour and let his horns on display. “I walked right into that one.”
“You did.” For a quiet moment, neither of them spoke as the breeze stirred the curtains, sunlight shimmering across the sea beyond the balcony, and the villa settled around them with a peaceful stillness neither had experienced in what felt like forever. Yunho looked from the view back to her. And he felt it then. A feeling that for the first time in his life…. scared the shit out of him…… he suddenly couldn’t imagine eternity without her. That realization hit hard as he kissed her with a slow, deliberate hunger that hid the storm raging inside his chest, swallowing down his feelings and letting it fuel the way his lips moved over hers instead.
He guided her backward without breaking the kiss, lowering her onto the mattress with careful control, his larger frame hovering above her as their tongues slid together and Y/N’s hands found the hem of his shirt, yanking it upward. He let her strip it off, the fabric whispering across his skin before she tossed it aside and slid off the bed onto her knees, fingers hooking into his shorts and tugging them down along with his underwear letting his dick sprang free, heavy and already half hard. She looked up at him with a smirk that made his pulse jump. “I just realized…” she murmured, wrapping her fingers around his shaft and giving it a slow stroke, “I’ve only tasted you once.” The memory of their first night flashed behind his eyes and Yunho’s lips curved into a grin as he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face exactly the way he had that night. “Open,” he said, voice low and she parted her lips as he leaned down and let a thick string of spit fall onto her tongue. She held it there for a moment, eyes locked on his, before closing her mouth and swallowing. Then she leaned in and dragged her tongue from the base of his dick all the way to the tip, slow and deliberate, savoring every inch as her hand stayed wrapped around the base and she opened wider and took the tip into her mouth, sucking gently at first, tongue swirling around it.
Yunho’s hand slid into her hair, not pushing, just resting there. “That’s it… fuck, just like that. Look at you taking me so well already.” She took more of him, inch by inch, until her nose brushed his pelvis and her throat fluttered around him. He groaned, hips twitching but staying still, letting her set the rhythm as she bobbed steadily, saliva dripping down his length, the wet sounds filling the quiet bedroom. Every time she pulled back to breathe, she licked along the underside before sinking down again, deeper each time. “Such a good girl,” he praised, voice rough. “Your throat feels fucking perfect around my dick. Keep going…. don’t stop.” She hummed around him, the vibration making his thighs tense as he let her stay in control, watching her work him with single minded focus until the pleasure built too high. His fingers tightened in her hair and he pulled her up, capturing her mouth again in a messy kiss as he kicked his shorts and underwear the rest of the way off along with his shoes, then reached for her clothes. Piece by piece he stripped her, lips following the newly exposed skin, kissing down her neck, across her collarbones, over the swell of her breasts, sinking lower, pressing open mouthed kisses to her stomach, her hips, the soft skin of her inner thighs. “Fuck…” he breathed against her, “I don’t think I’m ever going to get enough of you.”
Y/N’s fingers threaded through his hair, gripping one of his horns making him moan and his dick to twitch. “Again and again and again, huh?” she echoed him, voice teasing but warm and he answered by sliding two fingers through her folds, finding her already soaking wet. He pushed them inside her pussy in one smooth motion, curling them against her front wall while his other hand lifted toward her mouth. “Suck,” he ordered and she took his middle finger between her lips, sucking it wetly. When it was dripping, he pulled it free and reached behind her, pressing it against her tight rim. He worked it inside her ass slowly while his other two fingers kept thrusting into her pussy. The dual stretch made her moan and rock against his hand as he fucked both holes with steady rhythm, watching her face as pleasure built.
Her walls fluttered around his fingers as she came with a sharp cry, pussy clenching hard, ass squeezing his finger. Yunho didn’t stop though until the tremors eased, then withdrew his hand and licked his fingers that were buried in her pussy clean. Before he could move, Y/N surged forward, catching him off guard. She shoved his chest and he went down onto the bed and she climbed up after him, crawling over his body with a smirk, then turned and wiggled her ass right in front of his face. “You want it?” she teased, looking back over her shoulder and a low growl rumbled from Yunho’s chest as he grabbed her hips and yanked her back. “You sure?”
“Make me scream,” she grinned and his hand cracked across one ass cheek making her gasp, then she bent forward, arching her back and presenting herself to him. Yunho gripped her hips, lined up, and sank into her pussy first, taking his time, rolling his hips in deep, measured thrusts that coated his dick in her arousal. She grew wetter with every stroke, slick sounds filling the room. When she was dripping and moaning, he pulled out and brought his soaked dick to her ass, pressing the tip against her rim, pushing in slowly, giving her time to adjust to the thicker stretch. Y/N gasped his name as he bottomed out, her body trembling. Yunho stayed still, leaning down to kiss along her spine, one hand reaching beneath her to rub slow circles over her clit while the other teased her pussy with two fingers again. And only when she relaxed did he start moving, long, deliberate thrusts that let her feel every inch. He built the pace gradually, hips snapping harder as her moans grew louder and she sobbed his name, pushing back to meet him. “Fuck me,” she begged. “Please…. baby… just fuck me.”
Something in him snapped at the way she begged and called him baby. Yunho’s grip tightened and he started pounding into her ass, the bed creaking under the force. She cried out, fingers clawing at the sheets, begging him not to stop as he pulled her upright against his chest, one hand wrapping around her throat while the other guided her own fingers down to her pussy. “Put them in,” he growled against her ear. “Clench around them.” She slid two fingers inside herself, sobbing as her walls squeezed and Yunho kept fucking her ass in hard, relentless strokes while his fingers rubbed tight circles over her clit. “Mine,” he snarled.
“Yours,” she gasped.
“My pussy.”
“Your pussy.”
“My ass.”
“Your ass.”
The words fed the fire between them as her body shook harder with every thrust. And when she finally broke, she screamed his name, squirting around her own fingers, ass clenching rhythmically around his him. Yunho held her upright, fucking her through it until his own release hit and he buried himself deep, filling her ass and groaning against her neck. They collapsed onto the bed together, breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat. Yunho stayed inside her for a long moment, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder before slowly pulling out, gathering her close, one arm draping over her waist, the unspoken realization of what she meant to him now still burning quietly in his chest as he held her through the aftershocks.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Pandemonium had never been quiet. The palace breathed with constant motion, servants crossing endless corridors, nobles arriving without invitation, ancient demons arguing over matters that had somehow remained unresolved for millennia. Yet somehow, over all of it, Lucifer’s voice still managed to dominate. “I said bigger.” Several servants froze as Seonghwa pinched the bridge of his nose without looking up from the parchment spread across the council table. “Your Majesty…” Lucifer stood before an enormous tapestry depicting Hell’s founding, gesturing animatedly as though the entire celebration already existed in his head. “I want every noble house invited.” Seonghwa sighed. “Every noble house?”
“Yes.” Lucifer replied like it was obvious. “The last time every noble house attended the same event…” he interrupted Seonghwa mid complaint. “Three duels.” Seonghwa corrected him. “Seven.” Lucifer waved a dismissive hand. “Minor details.” Seonghwa gave him a deadpan look. “They burned down the east ballroom.” Lucifer shrugged as if it were no big deal. “We rebuilt it.”
“They poisoned each other’s wine.”
“They survived.”
“Barely.” Lucifer finally looked at him. “And?” Seonghwa stared back. “You’re impossible.” Lucifer smiled smugly. “I rule Hell. I’ve earned it.” A reluctant laugh escaped Seonghwa despite himself. “So what exactly are we celebrating?” Lucifer looked almost offended by the question. “My daughter in law.” Seonghwa dipped his quill into ink. “You do realize most of the aristocracy still hasn’t accepted the marriage.”
“Then they’ll attend.”
“And if they refuse?”
“They won’t.”
“Because?” Lucifer smiled in that uniquely terrifying way only the Devil could. “Because I’m inviting them.” Seonghwa made another note. “So…” Lucifer clasped his hands behind his back, beginning to pace. “I want music.”
“Noted.”
“A feast.”
“Obviously.”
“I want every hall decorated.”
“I’ll inform the staff.”
“And gifts.”
Seonghwa paused. “Gifts?”
“For Y/N.”
“You’ve already given them a villa for their honeymoon.” Lucifer looked genuinely puzzled. “So?” Before Seonghwa could answer, the massive chamber doors swung open with enough force to echo through the throne room. Neither of them looked surprised as an older demon strode inside without waiting to be announced. Tall, broad shouldered, silver threaded through long black hair that hung past his shoulders, Eres carried himself with the effortless authority of someone who had ruled his own territories long before most kingdoms on Earth had existed. Curving obsidian horns framed a face carved with centuries of experience rather than age, and the crimson embroidery stitched into his dark robes marked him as one of Hell’s oldest noble houses. His expression, however….. was anything but composed. “My king.” Lucifer’s smile disappeared. “Eres.” Seonghwa quietly set his quill down. This wasn’t going to be a pleasant visit. Eres stopped several paces before the throne, his green eyes fixed entirely on Lucifer. “I’ve just returned from the eastern territories.”
“I gathered.”
“I was informed…” His jaw tightened. “that Prince Yunho has been bound.” Lucifer had to refrain from being a smartass. “He has.”
“To a human.”
“He has.” Silence settled over the room until finally, Eres laughed but it held no humor whatsoever. “Tell me they’re mistaken.”
“They aren’t.”
“You allowed this?”
“I did more than allow it.” Lucifer folded his hands calmly behind his back. “I blessed the marriage.” The words landed like a blade as Eres stared at him. Then disbelief gave way to anger. “For decades…” His voice remained controlled, though only barely. “For decades we discussed an alliance.” Lucifer remained perfectly still. “We did.”
“My daughter has spent years preparing.”
“I know.”
“We agreed the Prince would one day marry Estrie.”
“We discussed the possibility.”
Eres took another step forward. “It was more than a possibility.”
“No.” Lucifer’s voice stayed level. “It wasn’t.”
“It was understood.”
“It was assumed.” The distinction was razor thin and devastating. Eres’ eyes flashed. “My house has remained loyal to yours for over twelve hundred years.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“My armies answered every summons.”
“They did.”
“My family has stood beside yours through every rebellion.”
“And I’ve appreciated it.”
Eres spread his hands. “And this…” His voice cracked with restrained fury. “is how that loyalty is repaid?” Lucifer’s expression softened only slightly. “No.”
“It feels remarkably similar.”
“The marriage was never promised.”
“You never denied it.”
“I also never accepted it.” The room fell silent again and Seonghwa quietly looked toward the floor. He’d been present for many of those discussions over the years. Lucifer was right. He had never once promised Yunho to Estrie. Hell’s nobility had simply convinced themselves it would happen. Eres exhaled slowly through his nose. “My daughter loves him.” Lucifer had to refrain from rolling his eyes. “As do many.”
“She has for nearly seventy years.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“And now she learns…” His laugh returned, brittle and hollow. “from gossip.” A flicker of actual amusement crossed Lucifer’s face. “I intended to speak with you personally.”
“When?”
“When Yunho returned.”
“After introducing his human wife to the court?” Eres practically spat the word human out in disgust. Lucifer didn’t answer though. “I see.” Eres nodded and turned as though to leave before stopping. And without looking back, he spoke quietly. “Tell me one thing.” Lucifer waited. “Is she truly worth dismantling centuries of alliances?” The Devil looked toward the towering windows overlooking Pandemonium and when he answered, his voice carried none of the authority of a king. Only the certainty of a father. “My son smiled.” Eres frowned as Lucifer looked back at him. “For the first time since he lost his mother…” A faint mournful smile touched his lips. “my son smiled because he was happy.” The throne room became impossibly still but Lucifer’s gaze never wavered. “No alliance is worth taking that away from him.” Eres held his stare for another long moment before inclining his head just enough to acknowledge the answer. Whether he accepted it was another matter entirely. Without another word, Eres turned and walked out of the throne room, the enormous doors closing behind him with a thunderous boom that echoed through Pandemonium. Only after the silence returned did Seonghwa glance sideways at Lucifer. “So…” Lucifer sighed. “So.” Seonghwa stared at him. “I suppose I should make the guest list a little… flexible.” Lucifer rubbed a hand across his face. “No.” Seonghwa blinked, confused. “No?” The Devil’s eyes gleamed with quiet resolve. “Invite House Eres.” Seonghwa stared at him. “To the welcome celebration?”
“Especially them.” A slow, knowing smile spread across Seonghwa’s face. “You want the entire nobility to meet her.” Lucifer returned a menacing smile of his own. “If they’re going to question the Princess of Hell…” His voice lowered with unmistakable confidence. “I’d much rather they do it to her face for my son to see.”
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The drive to Melissani Cave wound through winding mountain roads lined with olive groves and towering cypress trees, the late morning sun spilling across the landscape in sheets of gold. Every few minutes the sea appeared between the hills, impossibly blue before disappearing behind another curve. Y/N had spent most of the drive with the window down, one arm resting against the door as the warm Mediterranean air played with her hair. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of looking at this.”
“You’ve said that six times.”
“I’ve meant it all six.” Yunho smiled to himself as the rental car Jeep rolled into the small parking area overlooking the famous cave. The moment the engine shut off, Y/N was already reaching for the door. “Hurry.” Yunho raised an eyebrow. “We’re on vacation.”
“I know.”
“So why are we in a rush?”
“Because…” She pointed dramatically toward the trees. “there’s an underground lake over there remember.” He laughed. “I don’t think it’s going anywhere.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m fairly confident.” She was already halfway out of the car before he finished speaking. A few minutes later they followed the shaded stone path leading toward the entrance. Y/N had worn the swimsuit Yunho insisted on her buying in Athens. A black bikini peeked through the sheer black mesh cover up that flowed around her legs with every step, the fabric catching the breeze while sunlight filtered through it. Oversized sunglasses rested atop her head now instead of over her eyes, and simple black sandals clicked softly against the stone walkway. Yunho had been staring for nearly five minutes. Not discreetly. Not even pretending. And of course caught him. “What?”
“What?”
“You’ve looked at me exactly twelve times since we got out of the car.”
“I don’t think that’s accurate.”
“I’ve been counting.”
He considered that. “Thirteen?” She snorted as he looked her up and down once more, completely shameless. “I can’t help it. My wife is beautiful.”
“I appreciate the compliment.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.” He grinned, playfully spanking her ass. “It was an observation.” A laugh escaped her before she could stop it and they continued down the path, more tourists came into view, families, couples, photographers, all making their way toward the cave entrance. Y/N leaned closer to Yunho, letting him wrap an arm around her. “I have a question.”
“Hm?”
“Do demons… get sunburned?”
Yunho looked genuinely thoughtful. “No.”
“Lucky.”
“We do overheat, though.”
She looked at him skeptically. “Really?”
“No.”
She smacked his arm. “You lying asshole.”
“I couldn’t resist.” He laughed as the path narrowed before opening onto a natural limestone sinkhole and Y/N stopped so abruptly that Yunho nearly walked into her. “Whoa.” The cave seemed to open beneath the earth itself. Sunlight poured through the collapsed ceiling high above, striking the water below like a spotlight. The lake glowed. Not blue. Not turquoise. But something between sapphire and liquid glass. The light shifted constantly beneath the surface, rippling over ancient limestone walls that curved into darkness beyond where the sun could reach. Small wooden rowboats drifted silently across the water, each carrying only a handful of people while local guides steered them through the cavern with long wooden poles. Y/N simply stared. “I…” She couldn’t find the words as Yunho watched her instead of the cave. “I’ve never seen water…” She laughed softly, almost to herself. “…I didn’t know water could look like that.” The sunlight caught in her eyes as she stepped closer to the railing. “It almost doesn’t look real.”
“It is.”
“I know.” She smiled without taking her eyes off the shimmering lake. “That’s the crazy part.” A boatman called out from below, waving toward the next group waiting to board. Yunho extended his hand. “Ready?” Y/N looked from the cave…. to him… then slipped her fingers into his. “I have a feeling,” she said, smiling brightly, “this is going to be one of those memories I’m still talking about when I’m almost too old to remember.” Yunho’s thumb brushed gently across the back of her hand, her missing the look on his face at the mention of her getting old. Her immortality lingering in the back of his thoughts as if mocking him for being too much of a coward to kill her. “I hope so.”Hand in hand, they descended the worn stone steps toward the waiting boat, disappearing into the brilliant blue heart of the cave. The little wooden boat drifted away from the dock with barely a ripple, its elderly guide using a long polished pole to push them silently across the glowing lake. The deeper they ventured beneath the limestone ceiling, the quieter the outside world became. Conversations softened into whispers as everyone instinctively looked upward. Sunlight poured through the opening high above, scattering across the water until it looked less like a lake and more like liquid sapphire. Y/N sat near the front beside Yunho, one hand trailing lazily just above the water’s surface without quite touching it. She couldn’t stop looking around. Every few seconds another shaft of sunlight found a different angle, painting the cave walls in shifting shades of blue and silver. “This feels fake,” she murmured and Yunho smiled, his shoulder brushing her. “You’re saying that a lot today.”
“Because everything keeps looking like someone edited reality.”
“I’ll admit…” He looked around himself. “Earth has its moments.” She nudged him lightly. “I knew you’d finally admit we’re prettier than Hell.”
“I’m not admitting anything.”
“You just did.”
“I said Earth has moments.” She grinned triumphantly anyway and several seats behind them, an older couple chuckled. The woman had silver hair tucked beneath a wide straw hat while her husband sat beside her with one arm comfortably around her shoulders. Deep laugh lines framed both of their faces, the kind earned over decades rather than years. “You two are adorable,” the woman said warmly making Y/N glance back smiling. “Thank you.”
“Vacation?” Y/N looked at Yunho before answering. “Honeymoon, actually.” The woman’s expression brightened immediately. “Oh! Congratulations!” Her husband reached over to squeeze her hand. “Best kind of trip.” The woman looked between them again before her brow furrowed slightly. “Although…” Y/N tilted her head. “What?”
“I hope you don’t mind me asking.” She smiled apologetically. “Where are your rings?” For the first time since the binding… Y/N blinked as her left hand instinctively lifted. Bare and empty. She looked toward Yunho’s. Also bare. The realization hit both of them at exactly the same time as she had the horn shaped mark around her wrist. He had the feather shaped mark winding around his own. They’d been so consumed by surviving earthquakes, Hell, demon politics, weddings officiated by Reapers, and honeymoon sex that neither of them had once stopped to think about wedding rings. Y/N laughed awkwardly. “That’s actually a really good question.” The older woman smiled knowingly. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry. My husband lost his first ring three weeks after we got married.”
“I dropped it into the Adriatic,” the man admitted sheepishly.
“You threw up over the side of a ferry.”
“I was seasick.”
“You insisted you weren’t.”
“I was wrong.”
Y/N laughed. “We…” She glanced sideways at Yunho. “had a very unconventional wedding.”
“I’ll say,” Yunho muttered under his breath and she bumped his knee with hers before looking back at the couple. “We just… haven’t gotten around to rings yet.” The older woman nodded thoughtfully. “That happens more often than people think.” Her husband smiled fondly at her. “We actually came to Greece for our honeymoon too.” Y/N’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Forty years ago,” the woman said, squeezing her husband’s hand again. “This cave was one of our first stops.”
“We promised each other we’d come back someday.”
“It only took us four decades.”
Her husband laughed. “Life gets busy.”
“It does.” Y/N looked between them, watching the quiet ease with which they sat together. They weren’t constantly talking. They didn’t need to be. Every now and then one would simply glance at the other, smile, and look back toward the shimmering water as though forty years had taught them an entire language without words. “They’re relationship goals,” Y/N whispered quietly to Yunho. He looked at the couple. Then at her. “I can see that.” The older woman overheard just enough to laugh. “My dear…” she said, smiling at Y/N. “The secret isn’t finding someone exciting.”
“No?”
“It’s finding someone you still choose when life stops being exciting.” Her husband nodded. “Eventually the butterflies settle down.”
“And then?” The older woman smiled up at her husband. “If you’re lucky…” Her fingers intertwined with his. “you realize you married your best friend.” Silence settled over the little boat again and Y/N found herself staring thoughtfully at the rippling water. Beside her, Yunho quietly reached over and laced his fingers through hers and she squeezed back without thinking. The older couple smiled to themselves as the boat drifted beneath another shaft of brilliant sunlight and the woman looked toward Yunho with a teasing smile. “And young man…”
“Yes?”
“When you finally buy her a ring…” She winked. “make sure it’s one she’ll never want to take off.” Yunho’s gaze shifted from the woman to Y/N’s empty left hand… then to the horn shaped mark circling her wrist and a quiet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I think,” he said softly, more to himself than anyone else, “I already know exactly what it should look like.” Y/N looked up at him curiously. “You do?” He only smiled, glancing at the water around them. “I have an idea.”
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The little beachfront restaurant sat tucked between swaying palms and the shoreline, strings of warm golden lights hanging overhead like scattered stars while the last rays of the sun melted into the Ionian sea. Waves rolled lazily onto the sand only a few yards away, their quiet rhythm blending with soft Greek music drifting from somewhere farther down the beach. It was the kind of evening that felt too beautiful to belong to real life as Y/N stepped onto the wooden deck ahead of Yunho, smoothing the soft white romper she’d chosen for dinner. The lightweight fabric danced around her legs every time the sea breeze rolled through, the lace up sandals winding elegantly around her calves. The hostess greeted them warmly before leading them toward a table set almost directly on the sand. Candles flickered inside small glass lanterns, their flames dancing every time the breeze swept through. The horizon burned orange. Then pink. Then deep violet. Y/N sighed as she sat down. “I’m serious…. I don’t think I’m ever leaving.” Yunho pulled out her chair before taking the seat across from her. “I could arrange that.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
She looked out toward the sea again. “I could stay here forever.” The word caught him. Forever. His smile remained exactly where it was but something behind his eyes shifted. The waiter arrived, taking their orders before disappearing just as quietly, leaving them alone with the sound of the ocean. Y/N rested her chin in her hand, watching the last edge of the sun disappear beneath the water. She didn’t notice Yunho watching her. He wasn’t seeing the beach anymore. He was seeing… years. Decades. The first silver strand in her hair. The tiny lines beside her smile. Hands that would someday wrinkle. A back that might ache. Eyes that would eventually struggle to read. She’d joked about talking about Greece when she was almost too old to remember. At the time, he’d managed to hide what that sentence had done to him. Now… watching the sunset paint her face… he couldn’t stop imagining it. She was twenty four. So heartbreakingly young as she laughed at something happening farther down the beach where a little girl chased gulls through the surf. The sound pulled another thought through him. One day… she wouldn’t look like this anymore. Unless… his father’s words slipped back into his mind with merciless clarity. Kill her while she’s still young… his jaw tightened. No. He couldn’t. He already knew he couldn’t. Which meant… she would grow old. While he remained exactly the same.
“Yunho?” He didn’t answer. “Baby?” The nickname finally reached him. He blinked, focusing his gaze on her. Y/N was leaning forward now, concern replacing her smile. “You’ve been staring at me for like…” She glanced at the sky as if calculating. “ten minutes.”
“I have?”
“You didn’t even blink.” He tried to smile but didn’t quite reach his eyes. She reached across the table, gently taking his hand. “What’s wrong?” His thumb brushed absentmindedly across her knuckles but nothing came out. Because where would he even begin? By the way, you’re going to die someday unless… No. My father wants me to kill you before that happens. Absolutely not. There’s a way for you to live forever, but… He couldn’t. Not here. Not while she still looked so happy. The candlelight flickered between them as Y/N squeezed his hand again. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you’re thinking so hard you’ve forgotten I’m sitting in front of you.” A quiet breath escaped him and are waited patiently. Until finally…… very quietly… Yunho let it out. “There’s something I haven’t told you.” Her smile faded just enough for concern to take its place. “What is it?” He looked into her eyes. Then down at their joined hands. Then back at her. “I just…” His voice caught before he tried again. “I don’t know how to tell you.” The waves continued to roll onto the shore. The music carried softly through the evening air. And for the first time since arriving in Greece… the perfect honeymoon felt very far away as the words sat between them for so long that the sounds of the restaurant slowly filled the silence. Glasses clinked. Someone laughed somewhere farther down the beach. A server walked past carrying a tray of grilled fish, the scent of lemon and herbs briefly cutting through the salty evening air. Yunho barely noticed any of it. His entire world had narrowed to the woman sitting across from him. He took a slow breath. “When a mortal soul becomes bound to an immortal one…” His fingers remained loosely intertwined with hers atop the table. “…the binding itself doesn’t change the mortal.” Y/N listened without interrupting. “You stay human.” She nodded. “I noticed.”
“You still age. You can still get sick. And…” His voice became quieter. “you’ll eventually die.” The words felt wrong leaving his mouth. “I won’t.” Y/N furrowed her brows. “Won’t what?”
“I won’t die.” He shook his head. “But…. I don’t want to lose you.” Her confusion deepened. “There is…” He searched for words that somehow didn’t exist. “Another part of the binding. If…” His jaw tightened. “…if the immortal bound to the mortal is the one who kills them…”
“What?”
“Their soul returns.” He forced himself to continue. “They wake again. Immortal.” The breeze stirred the candle between them as Y/N simply looked at him. Trying to understand. “So…” Her voice had become almost a whisper. “If…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence so he did it for her. “If I kill you…” His throat tightened around the words. “you would come back.” She looked horrified. “Immortal.” Yunho squeezed her hand. “But I’m not going to.” She finally looked back at him. “What?”
“I’m not.”
“Yunho…”
“I can’t.” His voice cracked. “I thought…” He laughed once, bitterly. “I thought maybe I could.” She watched him carefully. “My father believes I should while you still have your youth. He thinks…” Yunho looked out toward the darkening sea. “…it would spare you.” He couldn’t bring himself to explain the rest. That she’d never wrinkle. Never weaken. Never grow frail. Never leave him. He swallowed hard. “I can’t. Y/N I can’t kill you.” She opened her mouth but he kept talking anyway. “I keep trying to convince myself it’s logical.” He laughed quietly. “It isn’t.”
“It is.”
“It isn’t.” His eyes finally met hers again. “Because I…” The words caught. He’d faced armies. Kings. Archangels. Ancient demons. But none of them had ever made him hesitate like this. “I…” He rubbed a hand across his face. “I think… I’m pretty sure…” He laughed nervously at himself. “I’ve fallen in love with you.” The world seemed to stop. Even the waves sounded farther away and just Y/N simply stared as The Prince of Hell looked almost embarrassed. “I wasn’t planning on saying that tonight.” Or for a while. Because it was insane. They’d known each other a week.
“No?”
“I was hoping to have… significantly more dignity.” Despite everything… a tiny smile tugged at the corner of Y/N’s mouth. “You’ve picked a very romantic setting.” She teased. “I suppose I have.” Before either of them could say anything else, their waiter appeared with an apologetic smile. “Forgive the interruption.” Menus were gently set before them. “Are we ready to order?” Yunho looked at Y/N and she nodded. “I think so.” Several minutes later, after deciding on fresh seafood and roasted vegetables, the waiter disappeared once more, leaving them alone beneath the string lights. Neither spoke for a while. Yunho wondered if he’d ruined the evening. Or the honeymoon. Or everything. If she hates him? Then… Y/N quietly broke the silence. “So…” He looked up. “If you don’t…” She searched carefully for the words. “kill me…” He hated hearing her say it. “I’ll grow old normally?”
“Yes.”
She looked down at their joined hands. Then back at him. “Then do it.” His entire body froze. “What?” She held up a finger. “I mean…” A nervous laugh escaped her. “…not right now.” He continued staring. “I don’t want to die tomorrow.”
“Y/N…”
“But…” She looked out toward the moonlit sea for a long moment before returning her gaze to him. “I also don’t want to leave you.” Those six words stole every thought from his mind as she smiled sadly. “You’ve lived four hundred years. I’ve lived twenty four. If we really are…” She squeezed his hand gently. “bound forever…” Her voice softened. “Then I don’t want forever to end because I got old.” Emotion flashed across Yunho’s face so quickly she almost missed it. “I know that’s probably a terrifying thing to hear. But…” She smiled a little. “I’m also pretty sure I’m falling in love with you too.” Yunho stared at her, his immortal heart feeling as if it would blow into a million pieces inside his chest. “You…” She laughed softly. “I wasn’t planning on saying it tonight either.” For a long moment, neither of them spoke as the candle flickered between their hands. Then, finally, Yunho shook his head with an almost disbelieving smile. “You realize…”
“What?”
“this might be the strangest love confession in history.” Y/N laughed through the tears gathering in her eyes. “It definitely is.” He lifted her hand and pressed a gentle kiss across her knuckles. “We don’t have to decide tonight. We have time.” And Yunho allowed himself to believe it. Not because the decision had become easier. But because, whatever they chose, they would face it together.
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Morning arrived slowly over Kefalonia. Golden sunlight spilled through the open balcony doors, carrying the scent of saltwater and blooming jasmine into the bedroom. White curtains swayed lazily in the breeze, and somewhere below, waves rolled rhythmically against the cliffs. Yunho opened his eyes first and for a long moment he didn’t move. Y/N was still asleep beside him, naked as he was, tangled in the white sheets, one arm stretched across the space where he’d been lying moments before. Her hair fanned across the pillow, the peaceful expression on her face completely at odds with everything they’d survived to reach this quiet little corner of Greece. He smiled despite himself. A week ago she’d been a stranger. Now… now couldn’t imagine waking up without seeing her there. Careful not to disturb her, Yunho slipped quietly out of bed, grabbing one of the lightweight white robes hanging near the bathroom, tying it loosely around his waist before glancing back one last time. She was still sleeping. “Good,” he murmured to himself. Maybe he could surprise her with breakfast.
The villa was almost unnaturally quiet as he padded downstairs, rubbing a hand through his silver hair. He hadn’t even made it halfway across the kitchen before the unmistakable sound of someone opening the refrigerator reached him and his entire body went rigid. Someone was in the kitchen. Every instinct sharpened at once as the refrigerator door swung shut. “Morning.” Yunho nearly jumped out of his skin. “What the fuck, Wooyoung?” Wooyoung stood there holding an orange juice carton like he’d lived in the villa his entire life. “What?” he replied innocently. “Good morning to you too.” Yunho blinked twice before glaring at the lust demon. “How did you get in here?”
“I opened the door.”
“I locked the door.”
“I’m a demon.”
“That’s not the point.” Wooyoung took a casual sip of juice. “I disagree.” Yunho stared at him in complete disbelief before noticing movement near the island countertop. Someone else was standing there. Dark hair. White linen shirt. Looking thoroughly uncomfortable. “San?” The archangel lifted one hand in an awkward little wave. “Hello.” Yunho slowly closed his eyes. “No.” Wooyoung looked confused. “No?”
“No.”
“What do you mean no?”
“I mean…” Yunho pointed between the two of them. “absolutely not.” Wooyoung frowned. “You haven’t even heard why we’re here.”
“I don’t need to.”
“You really do.”
“I really don’t.”
Wooyoung sighed dramatically. “I need somewhere to hide.”
“Hide from who?”
Wooyoung hesitated. “Several people.”
“How several?”
San answered quietly. “Enough that we thought it was better not to count.” Yunho pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me you didn’t bring your problems to my honeymoon.”
“We didn’t bring them. They followed us.” Yunho looked from Wooyoung…. to San then back to Wooyoung. Then realization dawned and his eyes widened. “You two are hiding together.” Wooyoung smiled proudly. “We’re dating.”
“I gathered.”
“And we’re adorable.”
“Debatable.”
San coughed into his fist, unsuccessfully hiding a smile as Yunho pointed toward the front door. “No.” Wooyoung blinked. “No?”
“You and your fucking archangel boyfriend are not ruining my honeymoon.”
“We’re not ruining anything!”
“You appeared in my kitchen before breakfast!”
“We were very quiet about it.”
“You were stealing my orange juice!”
“I was borrowing it.”
“There is no universe where that’s borrowing.” Wooyoung opened his mouth to argue before the unmistakable sound of bare feet padding across the hardwood stairs echoed through the villa. Yunho’s eyes widened. “Oh, no…” Y/N wandered into the kitchen with sleepy eyes, one hand rubbing at them as she yawned. The white sheet she’d hastily wrapped around herself after realizing Yunho had disappeared was tucked securely beneath one arm, leaving one shoulder bare. She hadn’t even fully opened her eyes yet. “Baby…” she mumbled. “You left me…” Then she looked up and entire body froze. For a solid three seconds, nobody spoke. “Why is Wooyoung here?” Wooyoung slowly raised one hand. “Morning?” Y/N’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Wooyoung then to San who she had no idea was. Then at Yunho standing there in nothing but a robe. Then right back to Wooyoung. “Am I still asleep?”
“No,” Yunho answered unfortunately.
“I was hoping I was.”
Wooyoung offered her an awkward smile. “In my defense…”
“You have a defense?”
“I didn’t know you’d be downstairs this early.” Y/N looked down at the sheet wrapped around herself before letting out a tiny squeak. “Oh my God.” It wasn’t as bad as Seonghwa walking in on them in the shower but she was still naked under that sheet. Without another word, she spun around so fast the sheet nearly came loose, caught it at the last second, and bolted straight back toward the staircase. “I’ll… I’ll be back!” Her voice echoed from halfway upstairs. “With clothes!” The bedroom door slammed shut behind her. Wooyoung looked after her before slowly turning back to Yunho. “She looks thoroughly fucked out so I’m assuming the honeymoon has gone splendidly so far.” Yunho stared at him with the flattest expression imaginable. “I am going to throw you into Purgatory myself.” San quietly took another sip of coffee he’d apparently already made for himself. “I did suggest knocking.”
“You did,” Wooyoung admitted.
“I distinctly remember saying, Perhaps we shouldn’t surprise the newlyweds.”
“You did say that.”
“And yet…” Wooyoung shrugged. “I thought it’d be funny.” Yunho let out a long sigh, dropping his forehead briefly into one hand. “I cannot believe this is my honeymoon.” A few minutes later, the bedroom door opened again and Y/N descended the stairs much more cautiously this time, now dressed in a pair of denim shorts and one of Yunho’s oversized black Henleys that nearly reached the middle of her thighs. She stopped beside Yunho, lightly bumping his arm. “You could’ve warned me.”
“I just found them. There wasn’t exactly time for a detailed explanation.” She huffed a laugh despite herself before looking back at Wooyoung. “So…. What are you doing here?” Wooyoung smiled brightly at her. “Well…. the big guy upstairs kind of found out one of his favorite archangels have been topping me and he might be a tad bit mad.” San closed his eyes. “I told you that wasn’t how you should phrase it.”
“It was the quickest explanation.”
“It was certainly… an explanation.”
Y/N looked from Wooyoung to San, then slowly toward Yunho. “Did I hear that correctly?” Yunho sighed. “Unfortunately.” Wooyoung leaned casually against the kitchen island. “So now Heaven is looking for him.” San raised a finger. “Technically, they’re looking for both of us.”
“True.”
Y/N frowned. “Because you’re… together?” San nodded. “It isn’t exactly encouraged.” Wooyoung snorted. “Encouraged is one way to put it.” San rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely apologetic. “We really are sorry.” Y/N looked at him. He was the complete opposite of Wooyoung. Calm where Wooyoung was chaos. Polite where Wooyoung was… well, Wooyoung. “So…” she said carefully, “how long are you planning on hiding here?” Wooyoung looked at San and neither answered making Yunho glare at them. “Absolutely not.”
“What?”
“That silence tells me you don’t have a plan.”
“We’re figuring it out.”
Y/N laughed again before walking over to the coffee machine. “Okay,” she said, reaching for a mug. “Before anybody starts another argument…” She glanced over her shoulder. “does anyone else want coffee?”
“I would love some more,” San answered politely as Wooyoung raised his hand. “I’ll take some.” Yunho stared at him. “You have some nerve asking my wife to make you coffee after breaking into our villa.” Wooyoung looked at Y/N. “See! I told you he’s possessive.” Y/N smiled over the rim of the coffee tin. “I’ve noticed.” Yunho looked at her in mock betrayal. “You were supposed to be on my side.”
“I am.”
“Then why are you smiling?”
“Because…” She laughed softly as she measured out the coffee grounds. “I kind of think this is the most normal morning we’ve had all week.” The kitchen fell quiet for a moment. She wasn’t wrong. No earthquakes. No demon politics. No assassination threats. Yunho looked around the room, then back at Y/N and a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it is.”
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Late afternoon sunshine bathed the harbor in warm gold by the time the four of them finally left the villa. Y/N stepped out onto the stone walkway first, a pair of sunglasses perched atop her head as the sea breeze immediately caught the flowing hem of her black dress. The long sleeves hugged her arms while the cutouts at her waist revealed just enough skin to keep it playful, the asymmetrical skirt drifting behind her with every step. It was the kind of outfit that looked effortlessly elegant against the whitewashed buildings of Kefalonia, especially with the sparkling blue water stretching endlessly beyond them. Yunho followed a second later, locking the villa behind him. His silver hair caught the sunlight as he adjusted the sleeves of the red and black flannel hanging open over a fitted black tank top. Black cargo shorts sat comfortably on his hips, sunglasses hooked through the neckline of his shirt. It was the closest thing the Prince of Hell owned to vacation clothes. He looked up and stopped. “Seriously?” Y/N turned in a slow circle, letting the breeze lift the skirt slightly before planting a hand on her hip. “What?”
“You couldn’t have warned me.”
“About?”
“That.”
She looked down at herself with exaggerated innocence as he laughed under his breath. “I was hoping we’d actually make it through today’s sightseeing.”
“We are.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m going to spend the entire day making sure every man around the island remembers how to keep his eyes to himself.”
Y/N grinned. “There he is.” Her grin slowly turned into a smirk.
“Who?”
“My possessive husband.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Mhm.” She reached up, tugging lightly on one of the strings near the neckline of her dress and Yunho’s eyes immediately followed the movement. “Don’t.” A mischievous smile spread across her face. “I didn’t even do anything.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I was.”
“I knew it.”
She laughed, slipping her hand into his before he could continue pouting. “I dressed up for you. Because I love the way you look at me.” That stole every remaining complaint from him and his ears turned the faintest shade of pink. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“I just did.” Before Yunho could recover enough to answer, the front gate creaked open behind them. “Oh good!” Wooyoung announced brightly. “You’re finally ready.” Yunho’s shoulders sagged. “No.” San offered an apologetic smile as he stepped through the gate behind him, dressed simply in a loose cream button up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms and light linen trousers. “We brought pastries.” Wooyoung triumphantly held up a paper bag. “And coffee.”
“I don’t care.”
“They’re still warm.”
“I still don’t care.”
Wooyoung looked genuinely offended at Yunho. “You don’t care about pastries?”
“I care that you’re here.”
“We’re sightseeing together.”
“No, we’re sightseeing.” Yunho pointed between himself and Y/N. Then pointed toward Wooyoung and San. “You two are following us.”
“It’s the same island.”
“Go see a different part of it.”
Wooyoung draped an arm around San’s shoulders. “But we like this part.” San quietly lifted the paper bag. “There are pistachio croissants.” Y/N’s head turned so quickly Yunho almost laughed. “Pistachio?” The archangel nodded. “The bakery owner insisted we try them.” Y/N looked at Yunho. Then at the bag. Then back at her husband. “Can they come?” Yunho stared at her in disbelief. “You’ve betrayed me…”
“They have pastries.”
“You were on my side five seconds ago.”
“I still am.”
“You switched teams for baked goods.”
“I switched teams for pistachio baked goods.”
Wooyoung pumped a victorious fist into the air. “Yes!” Yunho pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot believe I just lost my wife to a croissant.”
“You didn’t lose her,” Wooyoung said, already pulling one from the bag. “You merely underestimated the power of European pastries.” San accepted his own pastry before offering one to Y/N with a warm smile and she took it happily. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Y/N smiled at San before she looked up at Yunho, slipping her hand back into his. “Come on, Prince of Hell.” She tugged him gently toward the winding streets overlooking the harbor. “I want to see the island.” Still muttering under his breath about uninvited guests and stolen honeymoons, Yunho let himself be pulled along anyway, his fingers tightening around hers as the four of them disappeared into the maze of sunlit streets above the sparkling Ionian sea. The streets of Argostoli were alive with the lazy rhythm of a Greek afternoon. Balconies overflowed with bright bougainvillea, cats lounged in patches of warm sunlight without a care in the world, and every few storefronts another café spilled laughter onto the cobblestone streets. The scent of fresh bread, citrus, and the sea drifted together on the breeze as tourists wandered between little family owned shops selling handmade ceramics, olive oils, local wines, and shelves full of tiny souvenirs. Y/N was absolutely in heaven. “Ooh.” She disappeared into yet another little shop before Yunho had even finished the last bite of his croissant. He stopped outside the doorway. “Again?” She looked over her shoulder. “They have magnets.”
San accepted the paper shopping bag Y/N had already filled with postcards and little bottles of locally made olive oil. “I can carry these.”
“Thank you.”
Yunho reached for the bag. “I’ll carry them.” San immediately let go. “Of course.” Y/N smiled to herself. There it was again. She wandered deeper into the shop, picking up a tiny hand painted ceramic pomegranate before holding it toward the sunlight. “It’s cute.”
“It’s fragile.”
“I know.”
“It’ll break in the suitcase.”
“I know.”
“You’re buying it anyway.”
“I am.”
Yunho sighed dramatically before taking it from her with surprising care and wrapping it back in the tissue paper exactly as the shop owner had packed it. She watched him for a second. Then another. Until finally… a smile slowly spread across her face. “You know… you’re kind of like a puppy.” Yunho looked up. “Excuse me?” She nodded confidently. “You follow me everywhere.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I’m making sure you don’t accidentally buy the entire island.”
“Mhm.”
“You have no sense of restraint. And honestly I blame myself.”
She folded her arms. “And yet…” He raised an eyebrow. “you’ve been carrying every single bag I’ve bought.”
“That’s called being helpful.”
“No.” She stepped closer, grinning. “That’s called puppy behavior.” Wooyoung laughed so hard he nearly dropped his coffee ad Y/N slipped her hand into Yunho’s again. “You know…” she said more quietly this time, “I kind of like having my own very tall puppy.”
“I am not a puppy.”
“No?”
“No.”
“You just happen to follow me into every shop.”
“I’m supervising.”
“Mhm.”
“So you don’t spend three thousand euros on decorative spoons.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I was considering them.”
“I knew it.”
She laughed, leaning briefly against his arm before they wandered back outside into the warm afternoon sun. They spent another hour weaving through narrow streets lined with colorful storefronts until Y/N suddenly stopped in front of a small artisan shop tucked between a bakery and a florist. Wind chimes danced gently outside the entrance. Inside, shelves overflowed with handcrafted wooden music boxes, carved figurines, embroidered tablecloths, and delicate stained glass ornaments that caught the sunlight like little jewels. Yunho slowed beside her and his smile faded into something quieter as his eyes lingered on a small carved wooden jewelry box decorated with pressed flowers beneath polished glass. “My mom would’ve loved this place.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. Y/N turned toward him. Watching as he seemed to lose him for a moment in memories. “You’ve… never really talked about her.” He didn’t answer. For several long seconds he simply stared through the shop window. Even Wooyoung fell silent and San quietly drifted toward the opposite side of the street, giving them space without saying a word. Y/N didn’t push. She simply waited until Yunho exhaled slowly. “My father met her in Korea.” His voice had become softer than she’d ever heard it. “The early 1600s. She was a witch.” He smiled faintly. “She’d already been practicing for decades.” He looked toward the mountains rising beyond the town. “She fascinated him.”
“I can imagine.”
“He wasn’t supposed to stay.”
“But he did.”
“He stayed for almost thirty years.”
Y/N’s eyebrows lifted.
“Thirty?”
“He kept finding excuses.” A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Yunho’s mouth. “He’d claimed he was studying humans.” Y/N laughed quietly. “He was studying one human.”
“Exactly.” Yunho looked back toward the little jewelry box. “They fell in love.”
“And she knew… who he was?”
“From the first day.”
“How?”
“She told me the first thing she did when he appeared in her cottage…” His smile became almost nostalgic. “was throw salt at him.” Y/N stared at him, a small snort leaving her. “What?”
“It didn’t work.”
She laughed. “I assume not.”
“She told him afterward she knew he wasn’t a ghost.”
“What did she think he was?”
“A very handsome problem.”
Y/N grinned. “You and your father seemed to have that in common.” Yunho chuckled softly, his smile slowly disappearing again. “When she was around forty… my father brought her and me to Hell.” Y/N looked at him in surprise. “She lived there?”
“For years.” He nodded. “She had her own gardens. My father rebuilt an entire courtyard because she said Hell needed flowers.” Y/N couldn’t help smiling at the image. “I can actually picture Lucifer doing that.”
“He complained the entire time.”
“But he still did it.”
“He always did.” The warmth left Yunho’s expression. “But…” His voice became almost a whisper. “They weren’t bound.” Y/N’s smile faded. “So…”
“So she stayed human.” Yunho swallowed the lump in his throat at those last memories of his mother. “She kept getting older.” The sounds of the busy street seemed to fade around them as he looked out toward the sea. “My father could’ve interfered. But she wouldn’t let him. She said death had already chosen its path.” His fingers tightened almost unconsciously around Y/N’s hand. “By the time she became sick… she was tired. She told him she’d had a beautiful life.” His voice grew rough. “She didn’t want the man she loved spending eternity wondering whether she’d only stayed because he refused to let her go.” Y/N felt her chest tighten. “What did he do?”
“He respected her choice.” Yunho stared silently toward the glittering Ionian Sea. “I’ve never seen my father beg anyone before.” He gave a quiet, humorless laugh. Yunho had been too young to understand it then. Looking back now, he realized that wasn’t the King of Hell kneeling beside his mother’s bed. It was simply a husband who couldn’t imagine a world without his wife. “But he begged her.” His eyes never left the horizon. “And she still smiled at him… held his face… and told him that loving someone doesn’t mean stealing every goodbye.” For a long moment, neither of them moved. Y/N simply reached for his hand with both of hers. And this time… it wasn’t because he was following her. It was because she realized exactly where his fear came from. It had never been about immortality alone. He had watched the most powerful being he’d ever known discover that even love couldn’t always win against time.
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Night settled over the villa with the slow, easy rhythm that seemed unique to the Greek islands. The balcony doors had been left cracked open, allowing the cool evening breeze to drift through the bedroom, carrying the distant sounds of waves rolling against the cliffs below. Moonlight spilled across the hardwood floors in pale silver ribbons as steam still lingered in the adjoining bathroom. The shower shut off and a moment later Yunho stepped out, a white towel slung low around his waist as he rubbed another through his damp hair. Water still traced lazy paths down his shoulders while he wandered barefoot into the bedroom. Y/N was curled comfortably against the headboard, a book she’d picked up earlier that afternoon resting in her lap as she glanced up. “Feeling better?”
“Hm.” Yunho stopped as a muffled thump echoed from somewhere farther down the hallway. Then another thump. Then what sounded suspiciously like someone moaning before being hastily shushed. He slowly closed his eyes. “I should just let God kill them.” Y/N looked up from her book. “What?” Another muffled moan drifted through the villa and her eyebrows lifted. “Oh.” Yunho pinched the bridge of his nose. “I gave them one guest room. I specifically gave them the guest room on the opposite side of the villa.” Another unmistakable moan louder this time. “And somehow,” he muttered, “they’re still the loudest people on the island.” Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, trying very hard not to laugh. “They’re really…”
“Unfortunately.”
She pulled the blanket a little higher as amusement spread across her face. “I forgot…” Yunho looked over with one brow raised. “Isn’t he like your…” She gestured vaguely. “grandfather or something?” He furrowed his brows. “Who?”
“God.”
Yunho shrugged as though she had asked whether he’d ever tried olives. “Technically.”
“Technically?”
“I’ve never met him. My dad hates him. He hates my dad. Hates me. And everyone hates him.” That answer caught her off guard. “Really?” Yunho shook his head, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Just because humans worship him…. doesn’t make him good.” Y/N was quiet for a while. The only sounds in the room were the waves beyond the balcony and the occasional muffled noise from somewhere down the hallway that Yunho was making a very deliberate effort to ignore. She closed her book and rested it on the nightstand. “Yeah.” Yunho looked over. “They usually are.” His brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?” She drew one knee toward her chest, absentmindedly tracing the edge of the blanket with her fingertips. “My ex…” The words came slowly. “I…” She let out a small breath. “I broke up with him about a year before my grandma passed. He was…” She gave a humorless little laugh. “Perfect.”
“Perfect?”
“To everyone else.” She looked toward the moonlit balcony. “He volunteered. He remembered birthdays. He brought flowers to my grandma every Sunday.” She smiled sadly. “People loved him.” Yunho watched her expression change. It wasn’t anger. It was disappointment. Like she still mourned the version of him she’d thought existed. And he didn’t like it. Knew he wouldn’t like what she was about to say. “Then…” she said quietly. “he wasn’t.” Silence settled over the room and Yunho’s gaze never left her but his jaw clenched, his claws elongating without thinking. “What happened?” She swallowed. “He got comfortable.” The words barely rose above a whisper. “It started with little things.” She shrugged faintly. “Telling me what I should wear. What friends I shouldn’t spend time with. Criticizing everything I did.” She looked down at her hands. “And every time I’d say something…” Her smile disappeared. “he’d apologize. And then he’d do it again.” Yunho’s eyes went black as she continued. “I kept telling myself he’d go back to being the person I met. But he didn’t.”
Yunho had to control himself. Choose his words wisely. Because if she said what he thought she was going to…. if this story went where he knew it was going…. “Did he hurt you?” The question was so quiet it almost disappeared into the breeze. Y/N looked at him and for a long moment she didn’t answer. “It’s why I left him.” Something shifted in Yunho. His entire posture changed. The softness he’d been carrying all evening was completely gone now beneath something much colder. His eyes remained on hers, but there was now a dangerous stillness behind the black depths. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. Almost too calm. “Do you want me to kill him?”
“What?”
“If that’s what you want…” He didn’t look like he was joking. “I can.” She stared at him. “Yunho…”
“He’ll never touch you again.”
“He hasn’t.”
“He never will.” His expression never changed. “I’ll make certain of it.” She reached over and gently took his hand. “No. I already got away.” His jaw remained set as she shook her head. “I don’t need revenge.”
“He hurt you.”
“He did.”
“And he gets to keep living like nothing happened.”
Y/N gave his hand a gentle squeeze. She forgot momentarily that this was the son of Satan she was talking to. “Maybe.” She offered him a small, tired smile. But if I asked you to kill every person who ever hurt me…” Her thumb brushed across his knuckles. “I’d lose the man I’m falling in love with.” That finally made him look at her. Really look at her. “And I don’t want that.” His shoulders loosened if only slightly as he turned his hand over and intertwined their fingers. “I still don’t like him.” She laughed softly. “I don’t either. And hey, if I ever see him again….” She leaned over, kissing him, lips lingering against his own. “you can kick his ass.” A soft laugh escaped Yunho as he leaned in again, kissing her once more. It was slower this time, unhurried, the kind of kiss that didn’t need to prove anything. His hand came up to cradle the side of her face, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek as though reassuring himself she was really there. When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together as the moonlight spilled across the room, painting silver across the blankets while the sea whispered beyond the balcony. Yunho looked into her eyes for a long moment. “I would never do that.” Y/N searched his face, not sure what he meant. “What?”
“Hurt you. Like that.” His voice was barely above a whisper as she watched him carefully. “But I will never become that.” His hand slipped into hers again. “I know…” He gave a small, almost self conscious smile. “I know that’s not something I can just promise and expect you to believe.” He looked down at their intertwined fingers. “Anyone can make promises.” His thumb brushed slowly across the back of her hand. “But…” When he looked back up, there wasn’t a trace of uncertainty left in his eyes that had slowly turned back to their normal brown along with his claws retreating. “I have eternity to prove it to you.” The words settled over the room like the gentle sound of the waves outside. “I’ll spend every day showing you.” Y/N felt her throat tighten. “You don’t have to convince me.”
“I want to. I need to.” For himself and for her. She reached up, brushing a damp strand of silver hair away from his forehead. “I already believe you.” The corner of Yunho’s mouth lifted into a small smile. “I still intend to prove you right.” She smiled back before leaning forward to kiss him again. “You really are impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Y/N reached for him without hesitation, fingers curling into the damp fabric of his towel as she tugged him forward and Yunho came willingly, lowering himself until their mouths met again in a slow, deeper kiss that tasted like midnight and salt air. His lips trailed lower, brushing the column of her throat, then dragging his tongue deliberately across the faint mark he’d left there back at Keres’ villa. The wet heat of it making her shiver and in a voice she had never heard from him before, low, cracked open, almost fragile, he whispered against her skin, “Let me make love to you.”
She watched him, breath caught, as he sat back just enough to peel the oversized henley up and over her head. The shirt landed somewhere on the floor and Yunho’s gaze dropped to her breasts and leaned in again, pressing open mouthed kisses across the swell of one, then the other, tongue circling a nipple slowly before he sucked it between his lips, drawing a soft sound from her throat. The towel around his waist had already begun to tent, the thick outline of his dick pressed visibly against the cotton as he took his time, alternating between gentle sucks and the flat drag of his tongue. He kissed lower, down the center of her stomach, the muscles there twitching under his mouth as his horns unglamored as he moved, dark and ridged, curving back from his temples. The sight of them made something tighten low in Y/N belly as Yunho settled between her spread thighs, pressing kisses to the soft skin there before hooking his fingers into her panties and sliding them down.
He kissed her pussy first, then lower, lips parting to drag his tongue through her folds in one long, unhurried stroke making Y/N gasp, hips twitching as Yunho’s hands slid under her thighs, holding her open as he licked again, slower this time, savoring. He sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked, tongue flicking in tight circles until her back arched and her hands found his horns without thinking, fingers wrapping around them. The moment she gripped them, Yunho moaned into her pussy, the vibration traveling straight through her as he doubled down, sucking harder, tongue working relentlessly while she held onto his horns like handles. He kept her pinned with one broad forearm across her lower belly, refusing to let her squirm away as he focused on her clit. The pressure building fast and sharp until Y/N’s thighs trembled around his head. “Yunho… baby…” she sobbed, voice breaking as her orgasm hit hard. Her whole body seizing, thighs clamping around his head as she came against his mouth. But Yunho didn’t pull back, he licked her through every pulse, tongue broad and gentle now, cleaning every drop until she was shaking and oversensitive. Only then did he kiss his way back up her body, lips shiny as sat back on his knees between her legs, the towel finally discarded as he yanked it off. His dick stood heavy and flushed, the tip glistening as he wrapped one hand around the base and dragged the length slowly through her slick folds, rubbing the underside against her swollen clit without pushing inside.
Y/N watched as he kept a steady rhythm until the teasing became too much and she reached down, fingers circling his wrist. “Please… I need you inside me.” Yunho’s eyes flicked up to hers, dark and soft at the same time, she didn’t have to beg again, he’d give her whatever she wanted. He tapped his his dick against her clit once more before lining himself up and sinking in slowly, inch by inch, watching her face the entire time. Once he was fully buried inside her, he lifted one of her legs, hooking it over his shoulder so he could hold it there while her other leg wrapped around his waist and he stayed upright on his knees, rolling his hips in long, measured strokes that let her feel every inch. His gaze stayed fixed on where they joined. Her arousal coated him, creamy and glistening each time he withdrew and the sight made his jaw tighten.
He leaned his forehead against the leg he held, breathing through his nose as he watched his dick disappear inside her again and again. After several minutes of that slow pace he lowered her leg, wrapping both of hers around his waist, leaning over her as his thrusts deepened, still controlled but gaining speed. Y/N’s arms came up around his shoulders, hands finding his horns once more and the moment she gripped them he groaned, hips stuttering. “Fuck, just like that,” he breathed against her ear. “Hold onto me. You feel so good…. so tight and wet and perfect. Taking me so well. Mine…” She moaned, clenching around him. “Yunho… you’re so deep. Don’t stop.” She pulled herself up a little by the grip she had on his horns, forehead against his own. “Please….. I need it…..” He kissed her, swallowing the words, then buried his face in her neck again as his pace quickened. The wet sound of skin meeting skin filled the room as her thighs started to shake again. “I’m….. fuck, I’m coming,” she gasped, voice high and broken as the first gush of her release hit him and he moaned loudly into her throat, hips never faltering. She squirted around him, soaking the sheets beneath them while she sobbed his name over and over.
Yunho kept thrusting through it, drawing every last tremor from her until she was limp and whimpering and only then did his own control slip. His thrusts grew erratic, desperate as he moved to press his forehead back against hers, eyes squeezed shut. “Gonna fill you up,” he panted. “Again….. and again….” His dick twitched inside her. “And again……. fuck…. love you…..” it slipped out as he came with a broken whimper, dick pulsing deep inside her. His hips jerked with each spurt until he had nothing left, body trembling above her. And he stayed buried to the hilt, breathing hard, pressing soft kisses to her jaw and temple while they both came down. And for a long moment neither of them moved. Yunho’s body stay joined with hers until eventually he eased out carefully, watching the mix of their releases slip from her and then kissed her again, slower this time, almost reverent. “Stay right there,” he murmured. “I’ll get something to clean you up… then we can do that all over again if you want.”
Y/N smiled, dazed and sated, fingers still loosely curled around one of his horns. “I want.” Yunho’s answering grin was soft and wicked all at once as he leaned down to kiss her once more before slipping off the bed, already planning how he would take his time with her again. That little “love you” slip up lingering around them, Yunho realizing he didn’t even notice he’d said it until it was already out in the open, but there was no fighting it. No denying it. Because he did. He does. And damn anyone who tried taking her from him.
johnny getting so transfixed on the sight of your thong peeking out of your pajama shorts.
you’re both sprawled out on the living room couch, johnny on his back, and you lying stomach down on top of him with your cheek resting on his chest. your knee is hiked up a bit over his hip just enough to be comfortable. he’s holding a book up in the air with one hand.
he’s not the biggest reader, but simon recommended it, and he has trouble saying no to simon.
his other hand explores you absentmindedly. nothing inherently sexual yet. but then he feels the waistband of your thong that had ridden up the curve of your hips from the position you’re in. he calls it serendipitous.
it’s not in a place where it’s bothering you at this point, just a slight bit of pressure. he can’t help but tug the cotton up just a little bit, waiting to see if you’ll flinch.
he pretends he’s still focused on his book when really he lost his place about five minutes ago.
you shift, readjusting and cramming yourself further into johnny’s chest, if that’s even possible at this point.
you murmur a tired “stop it,” and johnny’s hand move up your back and away from your underwear. a few more minutes of johnny pretending to read pass, and you’ve reentered that floaty state between sleep and consciousness.
he feels your breathing even out, and his hand wanders back to the band of your underwear. this time he gives it a firm yank upwards.
you screech, shooting up from his chest, now straddling his hips. you can feel his cock chubbing up through his trousers and groan in disgust.
“ugh! johnny you are such a freak, you know that?” you slap his chest, and he grabs your wrists to stop your swatting before it reached his face.
then you’re storming off, yelling one last “disgusting!” his way.
