Aerlev

Getting transmigrated inside a novel is not really a bad thing—you know the story, you have the power of the future in your hand, you know all the hidden keys. You might as well end up as the most powerful and omniscient being in that world.

That is, if you don’t wake up during the epilogue.

And yet I find myself in the body of a fallen priest at the end of the novel, a tragic hero who had his mana circuit broken in the last war, being shunned, drown in debt, and destined to die not long after. 

Fortunately, I know just the cure.

Unfortunately, the cure was in the hand of one of the Demon Lords—you know, the race that my kingdom just wage war with.

Would he give me the cure if I asked him politely? There’s no harm in trying, right? I’d die if I didn’t get the cure, anyway.

“Sure, but you have to be my bride as the price,” the Demon Lord said.

...huh? Sir, you know I’m (technically) a priest, right?

The Demon Lord’s Bride (BL)

I mumbled in a low tone as my eyes stared at the condition of my inner thighs. They were as red as a blooming flower, creating a line from the rigorous movement befalling upon my skin last night.

How many times did he end up doing it last night? I wasn't counting, and my muddled head couldn't think properly anyway.

"Sorry," I heard his insincere apology, accompanied by a light-hearted chuckle as he embraced me from behind, rubbing the area near the reddened part.

"Don't!" I warned him with pursed lips, to which he responded with a kiss on my cheek. But he didn't move his fingers further, just stayed holding the outer part of my thigh.

Don't misunderstand--I didn't scold him. I just wanted to try something.

Rainbows and flowers and what it meant to be healthy